7. Sienna #2
“Volkov?” I question. Is that his last name? Nikolai glares at her, and the atmosphere in the room goes colder.
I'm quick to speak so the woman isn't so frightened. “And we love a selection,” I say as I grab her hand and pull her along with me. She seems unsure as to whether she should leave her post, but I practically drag her over to the racks, ignoring Nikolai and his insufferable, intimidating glare. I don’t want this woman getting into trouble because of me, so I throw in as much enthusiasm as possible.
“Where should we begin?” I ask excitedly, but it’s only half feigned.
The truth is, clothes have always been my happy place.
They offer a great retail therapy. I love experimenting and expressing myself, and it’s the only way I've ever known how. So it’s easy for me to get caught up in this, instead of focusing on my fucked-up situation.
I gasp the moment I spot a beautiful, gold silk dress. “Oh, this is a must.” It's classy, and will accentuate my curves and long legs in all the right places. I let myself fall into that happy place. “Please tell me you have heels to match this.”
The woman swallows hard and turns a shade paler. “I'm sorry, miss. I was told you aren’t to have any heels.”
I pin Nikolai with an unimpressed look. “Petty much?”
He takes a seat on the couch in the center of the room. “I thought most women would say thank you for having access to this room.”
“Not that I'm not charmed by it, but we have very few…” I consider my words carefully.
“Events to go to.” Nikolai made it very clear that no one will help me, even if they know I'm a prisoner. And the way the woman treats me would suggest that she has an inclination to please. To her, do I simply look like Nikolai’s … woman?
Do men like him have just one woman? For some reason, I imagine they have a selection of women at their disposal. But if what Nikolai tells me is true, it means my friends’ men are wholly obsessed with them. So, perhaps it’s in their capacity to have good taste and… settle down?
“There are plenty of breakfasts and dinners to be had,” Nikolai says simply as he slides his sunglasses off and hooks them in the neck of his shirt .
I scoff as I hand the lady the dress. “We didn't agree to anything past breakfast.”
“Your tone suggests you’re being ungrateful to the man who's purchasing all these items for you,” he says.
“ You’re paying for this?” I ask, then offer a bright smile. “Well, why didn't you say so, dear?” I turn to the woman. “This should be fun.”
The fear in her gaze slowly diminishes as she offers me a small, genuine smile and squeezes my hand. “I have a few suggestions.”
I clap my hands together. “I love a woman who reads my mind.”
I have every intention of making this as painful as possible for Nikolai.
I try every outfit on, excruciatingly slowly.
Walking out and admiring them in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and in every instance, I take my time, purposely acting as if I'm unsure as to whether I like it or not, knowing before I even try it on how perfect it is for my body.
If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it’s that there are two types of men.
The first is a man who wants to go shopping with you so he can dictate what you should and shouldn't wear.
The second is a man who hands you his card because he doesn't want to be put through what he considers a waste of his time but enjoys the benefits as you hang off their arm at social events.
That internal smile slips as I’m yet again reminded of my ex, and how I stupidly became his accessory instead of his equal. How I stalled my own success because I thought I was doing the right thing for us .
It flattens my mood as I look over the baby-pink dress I’m putting on in the changing room. I once loved colors like this, and I still do, but right now, the cheerfulness doesn't feel like me.
“ Mishka , you've been in there for a while now. Is everything okay?”
My heart slams in my chest at the sound of his voice on the other side of the curtain, bringing me back into the room.
It's ridiculous that I still think of my ex, even when I've been kidnapped.
And I hate the fact that he has such a hold over my heart.
Not out of love, but with a rage that resurfaces at how he could do that to me.
And how I was so blinded to the fact that he was a cheater.
“Oh… I'll be a moment. I'm just having issues undoing the zipper,” I say as I wipe away angry tears. I never know what to do with these overwhelming emotions I try my hardest to shove down.
The curtain draws back, and I try to hide my face as Nikolai steps in behind me.
“Where is?—”
“She's gone to get you an iced tea,” he interrupts. “Why are you crying? Does this displease you?” I can feel his gaze, looking me up and down, and my shoulders bunch. It’s not the frustrated tears that fill me with the need to hide this time.
It’s the way I can feel his gaze drinking me in that unnerves me.
That subtle pound between my legs stirs once again, relishing in the fact of being desired.
I'm suddenly aware that I’m trapped in this tiny space with a man I shouldn’t be attracted to yet somehow am.
“No, the dress doesn’t displease me,” I reply, looking over my shoulder with a smile and angling my chin higher, reminding myself who I am and the confidence I carry.
A feigned confidence harboring my most insecure thoughts and secrets.
“But if you think this shopping spree will impress me, you’re wrong. ”
I find it strangely easy to use a clipped tone with Nikolai, and that makes me feel like I’m stepping back into my power. Defiant and fierce, though possibly in all the wrong places.
“I'm under no illusion that you don’t have men fawning over you for attention and buying you anything you could ever wish for. I don’t care about these things.
But as it stands right now, I own you, mishka .
” He gently places the cool touch of what appears to be a diamond necklace in the shape of a snake around my throat.
It covers my mother’s vintage Van Cleef necklace, and I touch the smooth edge of it, reassurance that it's still there. Out of all the things I own, this is the most important. But I can't help admiring the necklace that drapes over it.
I look at him through the mirror, assuming he’s most likely realized I’ve been putting him through this hell intentionally by taking more time than necessary .
“I think perhaps something fiercer will suit you.” His knuckles graze along my collarbone, leaving the snake necklace as his hand goes to my back, and he slowly unzips the dress. My breath hitches as I stare at his reflection, the dress opening as I barely hold it up.
“I will find something that impresses you, mishka .” He leans in, his hot breath brushing against my ear. “Be careful what you wish for, though, because I will bring out a part of you that you've never met before.”
The throbbing between my legs grows heavier, and I can't look away from his striking forest-green eyes.
Without conscious thought, I lean into him, and the moment we hear the door open, I step away, suddenly aware of the magnetizing pull we were under.
Nikolai, however, seems unshaken, as he simply slips out through the curtain.
I'm quick to poke my head out behind him, where I notice the woman approaching with an iced tea.
He takes it from her and then turns to me as he takes a sip.
“Who said I wanted your germs?” I say sharply, trying to replace whatever the fuck just came over me. He’s an enemy. A bad person. No, he’s the worst person. And I, under no circumstances, can become infatuated with him.
There's a difference between being attracted to a bad boy and an actual ruthless killer who’s part of the bratva.
“I'm sure you’d prefer my germs over being poisoned,” he says, handing it to me. “Though, your preference for black tea might as well be exactly that.”
My eyebrows dip. Is he really insinuating that he's tasting my drink to ensure that nobody is trying to kill me? Who would try to kill me?
“It would appear that today is not the day you die. At least not yet,” he says as he casually slips his hands into his pockets. And I’m not sure if that’s relief or disappointment in his tone.