Page 14 of Forced By the Bratva

The car stopped at the front steps, and Ilya got out first, coming around to open my door himself instead of letting anyone else near me. His hand closed around my arm as he pulled me out, firm, not gentle, not cruel either. Just efficient.

Why was he being careful with me? Why did he choose to open the door for me himself? Whatever the reason, I was smart enough to know that that wasn’t an act of kindness.

Men like him didn’t have what it took to be kind.

I stepped out into the rain, and soon my hair was damp, strands sticking to my face. My semi-transparent nightgown was soaked, clinging to me like a second skin.

My twin peaks were exposed, as were the curves of my breasts. Instinctively, I clasped my hands over my chest, concealing what the drenched dress had revealed.

I rushed beside him, my bare feet tapping against the pavement as he led me up the long steps at the entrance.

Shaking like a wet duck, I followed him inside, my eyes immediately squinting, adjusting to the bright light.

The foyer alone was bigger than my entire apartment. Marble floors, polished to a shine that reflected the light from a chandelier hanging somewhere above us, the kind of fixture that probably cost more than I made in a year.

The air smelled faintly of cedar and something older.

I expected him to hand me off to one of the men by the door. He didn’t.

He led me through the foyer into what looked like a living room. High ceilings. State-of-the-art furniture. A fireplace. And a crystal chandelier.

The walls were lined with paintings in heavy, gilded frames, mostly portraits. Glass cabinets held antiques I couldn’t even guess the age of: old firearms, carved wooden boxes, and a set of chess pieces that looked like they belonged in a museum rather than someone’s home.

A staircase curved up from the far end of the room, wide and sweeping. More chandeliers hung above it, smaller than the one in the foyer but no less expensive-looking.

He led me up the stairs without slowing down, past hallway after hallway I didn’t get the chance to memorize, until we reached a door near the end of one corridor.

He unlocked it and pushed it open, guiding me inside without a single word.

The room he brought me to was large. Clean. A bed with sheets that looked untouched, a window overlooking the grounds, a small reading chair in the corner, and a fifty-inch flat-screen TV mounted on a wall.

Whoa…okay. What’s going on here?

At first, I thought it was his bedroom. But judging by the simplicity of the space, I concluded that it had to be a guest room.

But why did he bring me here?

He guided me to the chair by the window. “Sit.”

“Oh, he still speaks. I was afraid you’d lost the ability,” I said, masking my unease with dry humor.

I settled into the chair.

He crouched in front of me and reached for the restraints. I pulled back on instinct, my wrists jerking away from him before my brain caught up with what I was doing.

“Hold still,” he said. Quiet. Not a request.

I held still, mostly because I didn’t see another option.

His fingers worked the ropes loose, brushing my skin for only a second, barely anything at all.

My pulse jumped anyway, hard and sudden, and I hated the feeling that coursed through me. His touch was electric, stealing my breath. Literally.

The scent of his cologne was intoxicating so close, and I found myself watching him closely as he loosened the ropes that bound me.

I flinched at the sudden thunderclap outside, my breath hitching in my throat. He, on the other hand, didn’t move at all. He just kept at what he was doing.

Each time his fingers grazed my skin, something strange swelled within. I didn’t have a name for it yet. And honestly, maybe it was best to keep the feeling nameless.