Chapter Five
Elena
The heavy heat of the shower has turned the bathroom into a private, humid sanctuary. Thick white steam curls toward the ceiling and softens the hard edges of the tiles, clinging to my skin.
But the warmth does nothing to stop the sudden, icy spike of tension in my chest.
On the other side of the glass, the mirror is completely fogged over, but I can still catch a glimpse of Leonid’s steel gray eyes in it, watching me.
When he left the room minutes ago, I thought he was gone for good. But a few minutes later, he returned with a towel, toothbrush, and other bathroom supplies he thought I might need.
The man must know nothing about privacy because he insisted I leave the bathroom door open, just so he’s certain I’m not doing something stupid, like trying to escape.
I roll my eyes.
I’m weak to my bones from being sick and hungry as fuck. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, since it’s impossible to keep track of time without a clock. I’m not stupid enough to try to run when I know I’m barely strong enough to outrun a tortoise.
My gaze flickers to the window. It’s small, barricaded by metal rods. It’s not as if I’m tiny enough to slip between them. My head wouldn’t even make it through.
I try to ignore him, but his unblinking gaze traces every move I make. I can feel the weight of his eyes like a physical touch. It’s intense, suffocating…and impossible to ignore.
My body is tense under his scrutiny, and I’m oddly self-aware, but not in the way a woman should be when a dangerous man is peering at her naked reflection in the mirror.
But in a way that makes my stomach flutter with butterflies as my chest heaves. My nipples harden and tighten, tingling with the need to feel his hands on me.
Good Lord.
I stop the thoughts before they go any further. I can’t possibly be attracted to my captor. I’m certain I haven’t been here more than a day or two, so there’s no way I have Stockholm syndrome already.
But it’s impossible to ignore the way his steel gray eyes darken each time they meet mine.
When I turn off the shower, he moves toward the towel neatly folded on the counter.
Through the fogged mirror, I trace the hard line of his jaw, making a mental note of the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders as he reaches for the towel. The man is all muscle.
His sleeves are rolled up just enough to expose his strong forearms, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead like he’s posing for a magazine cover. He’s the kind of attractive that feels like standing too close to the edge of a cliff—a terrible judgement disguised as temptation.
I should stay away from him, but there’s something dangerously restrained about him that pulls me in every time I try to push him from my mind. My pulse stumbles every time he looks at me. I hate that my body reacts to him when my mind is screaming at me to stay guarded.
Our fingers brush as he hands me the towel, and the contact sends a sharp pulse into my chest that makes me nearly drop the thick fabric.
His hand lingers for the barest second too long, heat curling beneath my skin. Then the realization hits that I’m bare and he can see me—all of me. The awareness draws a gasp from my lips, and snatching the towel from him, I quickly wrap it around myself before stepping out of the shower.
He was right. The hot water eased some of the ache from my muscles, and the heaviness in my head isn’t nearly as painful as before.
I feel a lot better.
My fingers curl around the hem of the towel.
“Feel any better?” he asks, his voice rough around the edges.
If I had to guess, I’d stay he’s fighting to not wrap his hands around my neck and strangle me to death.
Men like him can take a life without batting an eye.
It’s deeply concerning that he’s pretending to care whether or not I feel better.
I nod. “Thank you.”
He ignores my thank-you and nods toward the black pajamas folded on the counter. “They’re mine. You can wear them for the night.”
With that, he turns his back on me and starts to leave.
What does he mean I can wear his clothes for the night? Does that mean he’s going to let me go tomorrow? Given his actions so far, I doubt Leonid is the type of man who would just hand me my freedom on a silver platter.
But the words rip from my throat before I can stop them. “Are you letting me go?”
He halts by the door, then slowly turns around like he’s filming a commercial for a makeup or shampoo brand. No one should look this handsome, especially not some crazy Russian who kidnaps women.
“No, ptichka.”
“No.” A flare of rage sparks in my chest. I draw in a breath, reminding myself not to act rashly. One wrong move and this man will kill me. “You have to let me go. You can’t keep me locked away forever. People will notice that I’m gone, and soon the police will start to look for me.”
“The police?” He repeats the two words like a mockery as he turns around, but I’m more concerned about why he keeps calling me that word. I have zero ability to understand Russian, but I wish I had my phone to check what it means. “Read the room, darling.”
My rage burns even hotter. I tilt my head and look into his eyes, refusing to back down even as adrenaline seeps into my veins. “First off, I’m not your darling. Secondly, this is kidnapping. You’re keeping me here against my will and messing up my life. This can’t last forever,” I spit out.
I’m surprised I’m not jumping on him and scratching out his eyes like a feral cat. Turns out all my mother’s lectures on anger management worked, after all. She’d be real proud if she were here.
Leonid prowls toward me, his slow strides resembling those of a predator inching closer to its prey before it attacks. His over six-foot frame towers over mine, and his lips twitch with a dangerous smile that makes my heart race.
I take a step back, and then another, until I’m pressed against the counter.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you go, ptichka.”
“Why?” My voices comes out strangled.
“Because you saw something you shouldn’t have.” He presses his palms to the wall above me, leaning in so close I can smell the scent of his cedar cologne mixed with cigar smoke and whiskey.
It’s intoxicating.
He’s intoxicating.
I’m suddenly wondering what his lips would taste like and how his hands would feel wrapped around my waist. I’ve officially lost it.
“I saw nothing,” I say sharply. “I don’t care what you and those minions of yours do, but don’t expect me to sit around like a piece of furniture while you keep me here against my will.”
He lifts a brow. “Or?”
“Or…” I trail off and think. Surely I’ll try to escape at some point, but he thinks there’s no way I could get out of this room, so that’s not a good threat. “Or I’ll kill you.”
He chuckles sardonically. The sound is deep and throaty. “And how do you plan to do that?”
“I don’t know.” I let out a loud exhale, rasping for breath. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m angry or because my body suddenly feels too sensitive in front of him. “Maybe you’ll keep your gun where I can grab it someday.”
He watches me intently, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Ever shot a gun before, ptichka?”
I shake my head. “For you, I’m willing to try.”
He presses two rough, warm fingers to my chin and tilts my head up. His eyes meet mine, and I fight the urge to look away. “I’d love to see that happen.”
The calmness in his voice only agitates me even more. “Oh, trust me, it will. Loser. I hope you die in your sleep tonight.”
His brushes my lips with his thumb. “I won’t die that easily. And if I die, you’re coming with me.”
“In your dreams,” I snarl.
I expect him to get angry and punch the wall or something, but he remains calm, as if my words barely mean anything to him. I mean, I prefer it that way, but misery loves company, and since I’m upset, I don’t want his arrogant ass walking away like he owns the world.
Maybe he does. I don’t give a shit.
“Tell me, ptichka. Do you talk to everyone the way you talk to me?”
“Well, it’s not every day some crazy dude kidnaps me and locks me up in his basement. If you don’t let me go, I’ll escape, call the cops, and make sure you’re arrested.”
He smiles.
It’s not a smirk or wicked grin. His lips actually curl into a full smile and his eyes are filled with glee, as if he genuinely finds me funny.
“You can’t escape me, ptichka,” he says quietly, like it’s the clearest truth in the world. “You’re mine, and no one can save you from me.”
The possessiveness in his voice should make me run screaming. Instead, it sends a restless shiver through my chest, something dark and thrilling tightening under my ribs at the thought of being wanted with that kind of ruthless intensity, especially by a man who everyone fears.
A man like Leonid.
But as heat unfurls in my stomach, I remind myself that he’s not attracted to me. He sees me as nothing more than a prisoner—a rat trapped in a rusty cage that he can dispose of whenever he wants.
Still, he doesn’t terrify me.
Finally, he removes his fingers from my face and pulls away. “Get dressed and go to bed. Don’t try anything stupid,” he says, and then he turns around to leave.
This conversation isn’t finished. I can’t let him walk away without giving me the answer I need. I can’t let him think I’m happy to remain his prisoner for as long as he wants to keep me.
“I had a life before all of this,” I yell after him, desperate for him to hear me out. “Keeping me here means stealing me from my life. My friends. My family.”
“We’re done talking,” he says over his shoulder. He doesn’t look back.
“You can’t do this. Please, Leonid.” I pause for a moment to catch my breath. “I swear I didn’t see anything. I don’t know anything, either. It’s unfair to keep me locked away when I’m innocent.”
“I’ll decide whether you’re innocent or not.”
I grab the back of his shirt, forcing him to stop walking. “You don’t have the right to do that. It’s my life, and I refuse to spend any minute longer locked in here.”
His eyes meet mine. They’re dark, soulless, and there isn’t even glint of sympathy in them. “I have the right to. And my word is final. Take your hands off my clothes.”
“No.”
He doesn’t react for a moment, but then he jerks his shirt out of my hold and continues to walk away, faster this time. I run after him in a bid to escape the surge of emotions rippling inside me.
I’m mad as fuck that I don’t get a say in regaining my freedom. But that rage is nothing compared to how I feel about remaining Leonid’s prisoner. I fucking hate myself because I should hate this, but I don’t.
No sane person thinks of their captor kissing them. I’m fucked in the head, and I’m afraid my sanity will only go more off the rails if I don’t leave this place.
I need to get out of here.
Reeling with emotions, I rush after him, hoping to get his attention. But I’m careless. My foot slips, and before I know it, I’m falling backward.
A scream tears out of me, my hands flailing.
I don’t make it to the ground. Warm, strong arms lock around my waist and haul me firmly against his body.
When I open my eyes, Leonid’s face is only inches away from mine, and it’s etched with concern as he holds me up. I instinctively clutch his shoulders, my heart hammering against my ribcage as he steadies me, and for a few breathless seconds, neither of us move.
We’re both trapped in the heat and shock of how suddenly close we are to each other. I wonder if his heart is beating as fast as mine.
I’m still clinging to him when I feel cold air against my damp skin. Leonid’s warmth burns directly into my skin. Confused, I glance down, and the air drains from my lungs when I see the towel lying on the floor.
Fuck.
My naked boobs are pressed directly against Leonid’s chest. Given the position of his hand on my waist, he could touch my ass if he moves even slightly. A pool of heat forms between my legs at the thought of him actually lowering his hand to squeeze my ass.
My breath stutters and liquid fire coats my veins as I press myself into him. I’m not sure if I’m doing this to hide my body or just to feel the hardness of him against me. I’m completely shameless.
God, I’m a mess.
I snap my eyes back up to find him watching me. Heat rushes to my face, but his grip on my waist only tightens. His gaze is fixed on me with an intensity that sends another wave of awareness crashing through my already unsteady body.
My stomach flips and heat rushes up my spine when I feel his fingers press harder into my skin.
This shouldn’t be happening. It’s wrong.
I should be afraid of this man and despise him for kidnapping me, and instead I’m naked in his arms and melting into his touch.
It’s insanity.
I pull away, snatch my towel off the floor, and wrap it tightly around myself. “I’m sorry.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Are you okay?”
He starts to reach for me, but stops himself abruptly, his fingers curling into a fist like he’s physically forcing himself not to touch me.
“No, I’m not,” I snap, hating the way my voice trembles with something other than fear. “You need to let me go. You disgust me, and I don’t want to be anywhere near you.”
I mean the opposite of what I say, but he doesn’t have to know that. All he has to do is let me go before this turns into something neither of us can take back.
“No,” he says gruffly, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
He turns away, his shoulders rigid beneath the pale fabric of his shirt as he walks out of the bedroom. His steps are slow and controlled, but I still catch the tension in the way his hand drags once over his jaw, like he needs the space as badly as I do.
Maybe even more.
When he closes the door behind him and I hear his footsteps fade down the hallway, I storm back to the bathroom, swipe my hand over the fogged mirror, and stare at my own reflection.
I can barely recognize myself.
Just a couple of days ago I had my life in order, and now I’m the prisoner of the scariest man I’ve ever met. As if that isn’t enough shit to deal with already, my thoughts are a mess, too.
The truth settles heavily in my chest, impossible to ignore.
Resisting Leonid is getting harder, and little by little, I’m losing whatever fight I thought I had left when I woke up in this room two days ago.
I’m falling for Leonid.