Page 33 of The Russian's Bought Bride

His expression doesn’t change, and he doesn’t move. “No.”

Pushing the fear aside, my anger spikes instantly, and I give him an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not leaving,” Nikolai says, refusing to budge. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” I repeat, unable to believe how he thinks he has any right to dictate where I am. “You don’t get to decide that! I never consented to being here in the first place, and now you want to keep me like a prisoner?”

“You agreed to stay.”

“I agreed because you made it sound like I had a choice, and because of whoever was behind the clinic,” I fire back. “That’s not the same thing!”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he maintains his stony calm. “They are the reason you’re not safe out there.”

“Right…because I’m any safer here with you. You really think they’d just track me down the moment I set foot out there?”

“They could,” he says, cold in the way he utters those words. “Easier than you’d think.”

I don’t say anything to that, since I don’t know anything about these people, and if they can organize a medical fraud scheme, then I have reason to believe they possess the means to find me all over again. Still, that doesn’t make Nikolai any better.

He takes a breath and moves a step closer with his hands in his pockets. “Look, you don’t have to trust me, but you do have to stay. Let me take them down.”

I already know what he’s doing. He’s trying to soften me up and to make me see eye-to-eye with him despite receiving the short end of the stick. In all honesty, I don’t even know what keeping me here does to benefit him. It doesn’t make any sense, and everything leaves me with a sense of frustrated dread.

“No,” I say, shaking my head as I take a step toward the hallway. “I don’t have to do any of this. I’m done…I’m done letting you tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“Danielle—”

“Don’t say my name like you even remotely know me!”

We both pause then, trying to gauge the other’s next move. His eyes on me are sharp and assessing, but he still waits.

Forcing my way towards the door, I make it three steps before he’s in front of me, blocking the front entrance.

I stop short and pull in a harsh breath. “Move.”

“No.”

“Move, Nikolai,” I repeat, louder now.

“That’s not happening.”

The rage bubbles up inside me like it never has before, and I grit my teeth. “Are you serious right now? You’re just going to stand there and physically stop me from leaving?”

“If that’s what it takes,” he says coolly, looking down at me like he knows full well I don’t have the advantage here. The calm way he says it twists my stomach.

“You don’t get to do this!” I shout, stepping forward as I try to push past him.

I barely make contact before his hand closes around my wrist, firm enough to be a warning, but not unbearable. Still, it’s unyielding, like he’d rather stand here for days like this than let me leave.

My pulse spikes instantly, and my breath catches as I look down at where he’s holding me, then back up at his face. My voice drops as I mutter, “Let go.”

“Not if you’re going to run.”

“I’m not running, I’m leaving!”

I try to pull my wrist free, but he doesn’t budge. Not even a little.

The difference in strength hits me all at once as I feel it in the way my arm barely moves under his grip. In the way he’s standing there like a solid, immovable wall. To him, I’m not even a challenge.