Chapter 3
CINDY
Two days in my gilded cage, and I'm still waiting for the axe to fall.
I’ve mapped out most of the compound during my supervised wanderings. The guard—a mountain of a man named Viktor—follows me everywhere but doesn’t seem to care where I go as long as I stay within the gates.
The housekeeper has stocked my room with everything from designer toiletries to my own personal American snacks, as she calls them.
But no one is talking to me.
I’m still being treated like a pariah. None of them look me in the eye. If I ask a question, they pretend they don’t understand.
And that is bullshit because I hear them speaking in English all the time.
But no one is actively trying to kill me or insult me. I haven’t been forced to scrub the floors or the toilets.
So all in all, pretty civilized for a kidnapping. How crazy is it that I had to be kidnapped to escape my life as Cinderella?
I still don’t have my dog. Or my phone. No purse. No ID.
And Luka has vanished. No sign of him since that first dinner. Part of me wonders if he even lives here.
I need to find him and ask about Mac.
That's how I find myself sneaking away from Viktor during his afternoon smoke break. I told Luka I wouldn’t run—if my demands were met.
Yes, yes, I’m the kidnappee making demands from my kidnapper. I held up my end of the agreement. I didn’t try to escape.
But if he wasn’t going to get my dog, then I was going to try to escape.
I’m pretty sure I know where the exit is. And the garage. It takes me a few wrong turns in this labyrinth, but when I push open a door, my breath catches.
Polished concrete floors gleam under LED lighting. Tool chests that cost more than most people's cars line the walls. And in the center, like a dark altar, sits the Boss 429.
"Fuck me," I whisper in awe.
I approach slowly, like she might spook if I move too fast. The restoration work was flawless. Every line, every curve, exactly as Ford had intended in 1969. The black paint is flawless. Not a single scratch.
My fingers trace along the hood, following the subtle bulge that houses all that beautiful fury underneath. The chrome is perfect. Not a single pit or scratch. Even the Magnum 500 wheels are pristine, like they just rolled off the factory floor.
"You gorgeous bitch," I murmur, running my palm along the driver's side fender.
The car is like its owner—dark, powerful, and completely out of my league. Both have the same dangerous elegance. A sense of barely controlled violence wrapped in stunning beauty.
At least I’ve been kidnapped by someone with taste. And a face that belongs in magazines. It could have been so much worse. Some sweaty middle-aged creeps in a windowless van. Instead, I got the Russian mob prince with his perfect car and his perfect house and his mysterious disappearing act.
My luck is finally looking up.
I pop the hood, unable to resist. I groan at the sight of the sparkly clean engine. But there was a barely perceptible hiss I heard when we drove here.
Before I know it, I’m inspecting every inch of the magnificent beast.
“You are absolutely stunning, aren’t you?” I coo.
I examine hoses and belts.
“I always dreamed of being bent over the hood of a car like this. I’m pretty sure driving this beast would be better than sex. Fucking in this bad boy would be the experience of a lifetime.”
I hear footsteps on the polished floor. Shit. Viktor found me. Time to get dragged back to my gilded cage.
"Don't stop," Luka's voice is low. "Tell me more."
My stomach drops. How long has he been there?
Deflect. I am not about to admit I was sweet-talking a car.
I spin around, all fire and anger.
“Where’s my dog?” I snap.
“Tell me more about my car and how you want to be fucked in it.”
I roll my eyes. “Dog.”
“The mangy beast has been delivered to your room.”
I grin. “Really?”
“What were you saying about getting bent over my car?”
My face burns.
He stalks closer, those hazel eyes never leaving mine. The air thickens between us, charged with something that makes my pulse skip against my throat. I should run. Every instinct screams it. But my feet stay rooted to the concrete floor.
"My dog better be okay," I manage to say, but my voice comes out breathier than I intended.
"He's fine." Luka's gaze drops to my lips. "You're not answering me."
Before I can smart-mouth him again, his hands are on my waist, lifting me onto the hood of the Mustang.
"You’re going to dent—" I start to protest.
"I don't care." His voice is rough, almost feral. Then his mouth crashes against mine.
His mouth crashes into mine with zero finesse, all demand and possession.
His tongue invades, claiming territory I didn't know I was surrendering.
The taste of him—coffee and something darker—floods my senses.
This is wrong. He took me, caged me. But my hands fist in his shirt anyway, pulling him closer.
This is insane.
Instead of being sensible, I grab fistfuls of his black shirt and pull him closer.
He pins me back against the car, his body caging me in. I can feel just how hard and broad his chest is. Every rational thought evaporates as his hands slide up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through the cotton of my tank top.
"Luka," I gasp against his mouth.
"Say it again." His lips trail down my throat, teeth scraping sensitive skin.
“Luka."
The virgin thing hovers at the edge of my consciousness, something I should probably mention.
But his mouth is doing things to my throat that short-circuit speech, and gentle isn't what I want anyway.
I want him wild. I want him to lose control because of me.
His palms brand paths along my skin, rough fingertips tracing the curve of my waist, the hollow of my collarbone.
Each touch sparks nerve endings I didn't know existed.
Heat pools low in my belly, a molten ache that makes me arch into him.
Fuck it.
I arch into his touch as he works the tank top over my head.
The cool air hits my bare skin, but his mouth is there instantly.
The black satin against my skin suddenly feels deliberate, chosen.
Every piece of clothing he'd had delivered was black.
Did he imagine this moment when he selected them?
Did he picture his hands sliding beneath this exact bra, these specific lace panties?
The thought sends liquid heat through my veins.
He pushes the black satin bra up, exposing my full breasts.
His mouth closes over one nipple. His teeth tug and nip, sending delicious pain through me.
He quickly soothes the sting with a lick and kiss.
The snap of my jeans opening echoes through the garage.
Panic flutters in my chest, not fear of him, but fear of how much I want this.
'Luka.' His name comes out breathless, not a protest but a plea.
He pauses, hazel eyes searching mine, waiting for permission I'm desperate to give.
His fingers slide beneath the waistband of my jeans, and I grab his wrist.
"Wait."
“You want me,” he says.
I do.
I do want him.
I want to fuck the man who kidnapped me.
"I..." The words stick in my throat.
His thumb maps the line of my jaw with unexpected tenderness. “Dikaya.” The foreign word rolls off his tongue like a caress, all dark velvet and promise. I don't understand Russian, but I understand the hunger in his voice, the way it makes my skin pebble with goosebumps. I’m ready.
He kisses me again, slower this time, but no less consuming. His tongue explores my mouth. His hands massage my breasts.
“Lift,” he orders.
I know what he’s asking.
And like a damn fool, I do it. He jerks my jeans down, pulling off my shoes before removing them. His eyes go to the black thong.
I lift again, but he simply jerks once, then a second time, and shreds the lace.
“Your car,” I murmur with my bare ass against the hood.
He says nothing as he quickly undoes his pants. His erection springs free.
Oh hell no.
This is not going to work. I want to get laid—not impaled.
I push against his chest. “Luka, that’s not happening.”
His lips quirk, almost a smile. And then his hand is between my legs. He steps closer, forcing my knees to part. His fingers slide into me.
I can’t breathe.
“Please,” I gasp.
Please stop? Please more?
He’s messing with my mind. It’s all pleasure and heat.
His other hand strokes the length of his dick, slick with precum. He groans against my skin.
“Please, what?” His other hand presses against my core. “You want to come? Beg for it.”
“Please... please.” My voice is mewling. He continues to torment me with his fingers rubbing with just enough pressure. I can feel myself getting close, but he waits until the last second before pulling away from me completely.
I scream in frustration, pushing him away savagely. “Asshole!”
Luka chuckles low, his eyes dark and knowing. “Fucking with you is going to be fun.”
I feel vulnerable as fuck—and incredibly turned on.
He steps closer, pulling my body to the edge of the hood. His hand wraps around his cock and brushes the tip against my entrance.
My body is singing. Desperate. He presses forward, and pain slices through the pleasure, sharp and unexpected. My gasp echoes off the concrete walls. Luka goes statue-still, his face transforming as understanding hits.
'Bozhe moy.' The Russian falls from his lips like a prayer or a curse. “You've never...”
“Don't.” I dig my nails into his shoulders. “Don't you dare stop now.”
Something predatory flashes in his eyes, darker than desire. 'You should have told me.'
“Would it have mattered?”
His smile is all sharp edges. “No. But I would have taken my time ruining you.”
He moves slowly at first, carefully, until the pain fades and something else builds in its place.
His body pumps into mine. The car rocks slightly beneath us. I don't care if we leave marks on the perfect paint job. Nothing has ever felt this right.
He bends forward and whispers something in my ear. It’s in Russian. I have no idea what he said, but hot damn, it felt amazing. It felt like a silky caress.
And then he pulls back, his hands on my hips as he glares down at me. He suddenly looks angry. And then he’s pounding into me.
I cry out. The pleasure and pain are warring inside me. It all feels too good.
I reach out, grabbing his biceps. He’s still wearing his t-shirt. I dig my nails in through the soft fabric and cry out when the world shatters in front of my eyes. He follows me over the edge with a low groan that I feel in my bones.
He collapses against me, his weight pressing me into the warm metal. The Mustang's hood creaks beneath us, a sound that should matter but doesn't. Not when his forehead rests against mine and his breath mingles with mine in the space between us.
Reality returns in pieces. The ache between my thighs, the scent of motor oil and sex, the knowledge that everything just changed.
When he pulls back, his eyes hold something I can't read. Possession, maybe. Or regret."
He pulls away and zips himself up, those hazel eyes studying my face with an intensity that makes me want to hide. I slide off the car and scramble for my clothes.
I’m naked, and he’s fully clothed.
"Don't pretend you didn't want that," he says quietly. "I felt how wet you were for me."
Heat floods my cheeks, but I manage to roll my eyes. "Are you done? Get what you wanted?"
A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. He leans down until his lips brush my ear.
"You think I'm done with you? That was just the beginning."