Page 8 of Bound in Possession

"I demand to know what is going on," I say, my voice trembling slightly but retaining its sharp edge. "Who exactly are you, why did you just trade a small fortune for me, what on earth was that disgusting display back there, and where are you taking me?"

Maksim doesn't even look at me. He keeps his gaze locked on the side mirror, his gun still ready. "Maksim Sokolov. That was an underworld auction. And right now, I am taking you somewhere safe."

I have to admit, the fact that he answered my questions earns him a point in his favor. It’s more than I’ve been given my entire life. Not even my father affords me that much.

But it doesn’t change the fact that this is far from an ideal situation. I’m still angry. Still terrified.

I’m trapped in a car with a strange man—no, three strange men—being driven to God knows where. As monstrous as my father is, and he probably is a bigger devil than all three of them combined, at least I know him. I know what he’s capable of. These men are complete unknowns, and that’s what scares me the most.

I have no idea what they plan to do to me.

“Safe?” I let out a breathless, mocking laugh. “Forgive me if I find your definition of safe a little lacking, considering I was just shoved into a glass table and am now being driven to my death by three armed strangers. And Sokolov? You’re Bratva.”

"And you are a Caruso," he replies smoothly, finally cutting his eyes toward me. His tone is flat, entirely unaffected by my sarcasm. "Which means you should be well aware of how the world works. Press harder on that wound. You're bleeding on my leather."

I glare at him, my chest heaving. "Oh, my deepest apologies for inconveniencing your upholstery with my fluids. If you had left me like I asked, your pristine car wouldn't be at risk."

"If I had left you there, Viktor would be tearing that dress off you right now," he says, his voice a dangerous, low hum that sends a strange shiver down my spine. "So keep your attitude in check, printsessa. You're alive."

"Alive and kidnapped," I counter, crossing my uninjured arm over my chest. "I am certain my father will have a great deal to say about this. My father is Massimo Caruso, I’m sure you know him.”

From the front passenger seat, Dmitri turns around and passes a clean roll of gauze back. Maksim takes it instantly, leaning across the seat toward me, clearly intending to apply the pressure to my ribs himself.

I immediately slap his hand away, my eyes flashing with a warning. "Do not touch me."

Maksim pauses, his eyes narrowing into dangerous, rigid slits as he glares at me. The silence in the backseat is deafening for a beat. Slowly, with unyielding finality, he shoves the roll of gauze directly into my palm.

"Your father sold you to the highest bidder, Camilla," he says, his jaw clenched as he turns his head back to the window. "I just happened to be the one with some of the deepest pockets. Now hold the gauze yourself and stop the bleeding."

He is right, and I can’t even argue against it. The cold reality of his words settles heavy in my chest. I press the gauze firmly against my bleeding side, biting down hard on my bottom lip to swallow the moan of pain threatening to escape.

I notice he didn't argue earlier when I implied he was driving me to my death, and I want to press him on it, to demand to know my ultimate fate. But what could I actually do? Even if he openly admits he is driving me to my death, I am entirely at his mercy.

I turn my head toward the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of neon, fighting back the burning tears threatening to spill over.

Eventually, the sedan slows, turning down a secluded path until we reach a house. It is pitch black outside, and I can barely take in the dark, imposing silhouette of the exterior before Maksim is guiding me firmly out of the car and leading me inside.

The interior is stunning—luxurious, pristine, and entirely devoid of personal touches. We don’t dally in the spacious living room; his hand remains unyielding on my arm as he steers me straight upstairs and into a massive bedroom.

The moment the door clicks shut behind us, he steps into my space, reaches for the neckline of my dress, and tugs.

I slap his arm away instantly, my eyes flashing. "What do you think you are doing? Take your hands off me."

He doesn't let go. His grip is like iron on the fabric, his expression completely unbothered by my outrage.

"Stop moving, Camilla," he commands, his voice a flat, authoritative tone. "You are bleeding through the cloth." Maksim loses the last of his patience. Ignoring my protests, he uses his superior strength to grip the torn, ruined fabric of my gown and rips it open with a sharp, decisive pull.

The cool air of the bedroom hits my skin, but before I can even open my mouth to scream at him, his focus shifts entirely. His gray-blue eyes narrow as he leans in, completely clinical and sharp, to examine the jagged, bleeding wound scoring my ribs.

I want to push him away, to cover myself, but there is absolutely nothing sexual or leery about his gaze as he looks at me. Instead, there is something akin to genuine concern buried in those icy eyes, and it makes me still under his hands.

Without a word, he pulls me into the adjacent bathroom, lifting me easily to sit on the marble counter.

I freeze, incredibly self-conscious because I am now sitting here in just my underwear and bra. My skin flushes, but he isn't paying my state of undress any mind. He lowers his tall frame and pulls out a medical first aid box from beneath the sink, snapping it open with ease.

He wets a piece of gauze with antiseptic and presses it to the cut. A sharp, burning sting makes me hiss.

"You are a barbarian, you know that?" I get out through gritted teeth, desperately trying not to react to the heat of his hands against my bare skin.