Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Well, fuck that.
“Where the hell am I?” I repeated through clenched teeth.
“You are exactly where I want you to be. Somewhere safe. Somewhere your men will never find you—and no one will ever hear you scream.”
My heart slammed against my ribs, but I refused to let him see the panic slowly creeping over my body.
He would never see my fear. He would never see my weaknesses.
One quick look around told me we were in a cabin somewhere.
The décor was nice—really nice.
The quietly luxurious kind of nice, but still rustic.
It reminded me of an updated version of an old-world hunting lodge. Everything was wood and leather, in deep earth tones. A roaring fire in the fireplace giving off hints of sweet wood smoke, like from cherry or applewood.
We were in a family cabin that was outfitted with cozy furnishings by someone who cared.
Heavy drapes covered the windows and there was no hint of light around them, so I had no idea what time of day it was.
I could just make out the sounds of crickets from outside.
Okay, so we were no longer near the city but I couldn’t have been knocked out more than an hour or so, so we must be somewhere in Virginia.
Probably at the infamous Ivanov compound. Fuck.
One more look at him told me he was waiting for me to realize how fucked I was and start the show again. Well, mission accomplished. I’d guessed how fucked I was, the trick now was not to show it.
The sick fucker probably got off on my fear.
Well, it would suck to be him.
It didn’t matter what I felt. He would never see fear in my eyes.
Instead, I leaned back, tilting my chin up and stared him down like he was nothing more than an annoying inconvenience.
“So you kidnapped me,” I said.
It wasn’t a question.
“It appears so.” He smiled, setting his glass back down and pouring another finger of the amber liquid. The bottle was beautiful, glass with a crystal stopper. I thought it was whiskey, but it didn’t smell right for whiskey.
It was dark, but with a spicy aroma that whiskey lacked. It had a sweetness that was different.
Rum?
What kind of Russian man drank rum?
The bratva all drank vodka. Stereotypical but true.
Actually, all the mafia men drank whiskey too. It was the universal language they all spoke.
But rum? No.
My head pounded, and it was hard to focus my thoughts. It was like trying to think through a cloud of confusion and distraction.
Shaking my head, I refocused on the situation at hand. What he drank was none of my concern…even if it was odd.
I needed to get the upper hand here, chained to a chair while a man that was three times my size and stronger than an ox looked at me like I was the best source of entertainment he had ever run across.
It was fine; I had gotten out of worse dilemmas than this. I just needed to figure out how to control the situation to get the upper hand.
“What now?” I asked. “Are you going to put me in a cage, feed me scraps? Are you going to break me and make me beg?”
I batted my eyes.
Maybe if he wanted to fuck me, he would unchain me and turn his back long enough for me to kill him and make my escape. He wouldn’t have been the first man with his dick in his hand I killed.
“No,” he said with a sinister laugh.
God, I hated how that laugh was so smooth and made my heart skip a beat.
I hated how I could almost feel that laugh traveling over my skin, leaving trails of electricity and fire.
When he didn’t expand, I waited.
Staring him down, making him fill the silence.
“Although the idea of you underneath me, begging for me, is incredibly enticing, I don’t think you beg for anything. It’s not how you were made. Begging is beneath you. You don’t beg, you demand. Why beg for something when you can fight and take it?”
Again, I said nothing.
Though I liked the way he saw me. He saw the woman I was trying so hard to be.
I fought the urge to preen under the compliment. Reminding myself that it was not a good thing.
If he saw me as strong, capable, and determined, he was less likely to underestimate me.
I had always relied on men underestimating me.
“Am I wrong?” he asked. Before I could answer, he continued. “No, I’m not wrong. You are the type of woman who claws and bites and pushes until you break the hand that feeds you.”
He drained his glass and sat it down and leaned forward, leveling me with a look.
“Tell me, Zoya—why the fuck did you throw in with Los Infideles?”
Ah. There it was. That was the real reason he took me.
He didn’t want me.
He wanted what I knew.