Page 36 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

Sandrine

Something vibrates the steel bars. The elevated trains must run near here. I don’t remember riding the L, but years at Norridge and then Lakeshore, I learned about them.

I sit on the floor, working through the anxiety that’s making it hard to breathe. I worked my brain to the point of exhaustion, trying to figure out why I’m here. Hopefully no one will hurt me before this gets cleared up. Ares wouldn’t like it very much if someone laid a hand on me.

And what happened to Elodie? Is she all right?

Heavy footsteps closing in on the cell drown out all other sounds outside, as well as these thoughts squeezing my brain. I look up. Something about the gait is already familiar. I’m just not sure why. I don’t know anyone here.

The silhouette of the man from earlier stands in front of the cell. Without a face, I recognize the outline of square shoulders, a broad chest, and a jaw that can cut glass.

My pulse betrays me instantly. A slow, dangerous heat unfurls low in my stomach. This arousal has no place in this situation while I’m locked in his cell.

Kirill. His name is Kirill. Damn, that’s sexy.

“Go have a smoke.” He dismisses the guard with a flick of his wrist.

The guard obeys instantly. How easily men with guns listen to him tightens every nerve in my body. This man’s power is attractive to me. No, I’m not supposed to think that.

When we’re alone, everything suddenly feels electric.

Kirill moves, and a corridor light shines down on his face. Our gazes lock and my heart pounds. A minute stretches by and he doesn’t say anything. He breaks the stare by shaking his head. He hits a panel next to the cell and the click of the lock slices through the silence.

My breath catches in my lungs as the cell door swings open.

Kirill steps inside, surprising me. I flinch, thinking I was wrong about being hurt. By the other ways a man can hurt a woman.

“Come,” he says, his voice softer than the edge it had earlier.

“Where?” I don’t trust anything that sounds like kindness coming from a man who put a gun to my head not long ago.

“You’re not staying down here.” I fold my arms, goosebumps forming on my skin.

“Is it warm where you’re putting me?”

He stares down at me. “You were cold?”

I nod.

“You should have said—” He stops and curses under his breath in another language that sounds like Russian. “Yes, I’m bringing you somewhere warm.”

He holds out his hand to help me stand. Our bodies collide when I get unsteady. He looks at me, those eyes searching. Doing something to me. He steps back and gives me room to leave the cell. I nervously stride forward. With my sanity a little more intact, I look around. At everything.

The hallway stretches out on one side in a curve of stone, but ends in a shadow. The other way is lit by low-powered sconces that cast yellow gold against the haze of smoky gray.

“Go ahead.” Kirill gestures for me to walk toward the light.

Smart, not keeping his back to me. I can run, or hit him. With what, I don’t know. My wrists are free now. I rub at my bruised skin without thinking as I climb back up the winding staircase. I have no idea where this goes, but each step pulls me further from the person I was this morning.

Light shines from an open door at the top, and when I reach the upper level, the warmth he promised envelops me. A few more turns on this level and the world changes.

This is a home. Beautiful and vintage, with tall windows and cathedral ceilings.

Looking down, I see the wooden floors are smoothly polished, reflecting the glow of chandeliers overhead.

“Make a right and then a left,” Kirill says behind me.

I catch a whiff of his cologne, and images flash behind my eyes when I close them to take in the nice smell. My brain tickles with a recognition.