Page 18 of Bleed with Me

Why the fuck did you give her a pet name, idiot? The demon, who had accompanied me since I was eight, reared his groggy head. She kidnapped you!

The woman didn’t move, just pointed the gun at my chest, her arm steady but her posture tense. My vision was still slightly muddy, but the excitement of this situation woke me up fast. It gave me a chance to observe, and while I didn’t see all the details, it helped me understand some major things.

First, she wasn’t an alien to guns and probably knew how to shoot. People who had no idea how to use them were scared and nervous. She wasn’t.

Second, she trained. No one would get a body like that from God, which led to the third thing.

This wasn’t a misunderstanding. It was as real as it could be because the woman standing before me could easily be a professional who specialized in abducting people.

My cock twitched again, the blood rushing to my lower parts rapidly.

This was going to be so much fun!

-12-

Nina

Pointing a gun at the man I admired with all my heart was never part of my plan. Yet the moment Dorian woke up, I understood he didn’t take any of this seriously. No sane person flirted with their kidnapper and chuckled at the sight of a gun. He was either still under the influence of alcohol mixed with sedatives or just as unhinged as his brothers.

Grandpa had always warned me about Zyon and Malin, calling them unpredictable psychos, but he never mentioned Dorian in the same breath. Judging by the amused smile on his face, maybe he should have. The thought sent a chill down my spine. Perhaps I kidnapped the wrong brother.

Watching him study me with infuriating curiosity, I forced myself to bury the ridiculous attraction threatening my common sense. I needed his help, willingly if possible, but I wasn’t naïve.

He was a mafia prince, and forcing him into anything could end with me in a casket. This had to be handled like an important business deal: velvet gloves, but no compromises. My way. That was all that mattered.

However, when I glanced at his secretive smile, which made my insides churn with nervousness and inappropriate excitement, I knew it would be a tough task. His plump lips were like an invitation to the forbidden adventure. I could barely tear my gaze from it and force my mind to stop imagining things.

Oh, God. This is going to be torture!

“Why am I here?” Dorian interrupted my inner battle with his deep, raspy voice, making my stomach quiver as love-sick butterflies attacked. “Because if you fantasized about tying me to the bed, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t need to drug me.”

Yeah, because you would surely go willingly with Giovanni Valentino’s granddaughter, I thought, rolling my eyes at his words.

He raised a brow at me, clearly not liking my expressed annoyance with his cocky attitude, yet it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

“No answer?” he chirped, flashing me another million-dollar grin that would force any woman to her knees. “I need to know what you want in exchange for freeing me from these tight cuffs, ma vilaine.” He tugged on the restraints, waking me from my dazed state. “Talk, please.”

I gripped the gun tighter in my hand, as if it were my lifeline, because I was moments from melting into a puddle. The man of my secret dreams pleaded with me. He wished to cut a deal. It was exactly what I wanted, and I smiled behind the mask.

But then, reality hit me. My fantasies were becoming my biggest enemy. I imagined us together so many times I almost forgot Dorian Zhumagulov wasn’t on my side.

Jesus Christ! Grandpa would kick my ass if he saw me now. Brain first. Heart later.

“Your French is terrible, Mr. Zhumagulov,” I said, ignoring Dorian’s request. “You literally called me my ugly.”

“Did I?” His handsome face twisted into visible offense, thick brows pulling together when I nodded. “Well, the mask prevents me from verifying how pretty you are. And you are the villain here.” He flashed me a pointed look. “So I’m keeping it until you show me your face.”

“Won’t happen.” I shook my head, fighting a smile. He shrugged, amusement dancing in his slightly bloodshot eyes.

“Then you stay ugly.” He grinned. I sighed theatrically, pretending to be highly offended.

“You shouldn’t say that to an armed woman, Dorian,” I lectured.

“You shouldn’t have kidnapped me,” he countered. “Yet here we are. So, what do you want, ma vilaine?”

His question hit me like a truck. The little flirtatious game pulled me away from my goal, but Dorian quickly brought me back to reality.

“I need your help, Mr. Zhumagulov,” I replied in a steady voice, praising myself for sounding confident and firm.