Chapter 10 – Freya
He’d called me by my name.
It had been three weeks and counting since the day I walked into that interrogation room and met the arrogant prick seated on that chair with hard eyes and a set jaw. Three weeks and counting, and not once had I heard him say my name.
Until one week ago.
Soon, Freya. Very soon, you’ll be begging me to touch you.
I sighed, stared at the scented candles and soap in the bathroom, and lowered myself into the tub. The water was warm against my skin, and I sunk deeper, struggling to relax despite the turbulent thoughts plaguing my mind. The pool of water almost toppled over the edge, but I didn’t care. I was stuck in the nightmare that there was a possibility of never leaving this glorified prison.
The idea was not impossible, but it wasn’t realistic either. He was right when he said the Bratva wasn’t dumb or ignorant. I’d read a lot about them, studied the extent of their powers and influence, and my research led me to unravel disturbing things about their modes of operation. These people were dangerous, and if they possessed so much control back in LA, I didn’t need to imagine how revered they were here in Moscow, their land.
It was no secret; they owned the people, ruled the society, and did so with iron fists. Nowhere was safe. I didn’t stand a chance, not with the Yezhovs or any of their allies on the loose.
Shutting my eyes, I inclined my head backward, resting my neck on the rim of the warm tub. My only option now was to pretend to adjust to this new arrangement—be a nice little captive and take orders from him. Just visualizing it made me sick to the stomach.
Argh.
I still couldn’t believe he sent my mother an AI-generated recording and got me fired. He deserved more than a punch to the face or a kick to his groin. The man needed to be thrown behind bars, locked away for good. I just had to put up with the submissive act till I found a less dangerous means of escaping from his clutches. It didn’t matter how hard he claimed to be on the outside; every man loved a submissive woman. Unknown to him, his ego would be the source of his downfall.
When he was distracted and convinced, I’d strike, and he would never see me again.
However....
My mind was in order, knowing what needed to be done and the importance of getting away from a man like Egor Yezhov. But I was having a hard time convincing my body to stay in tune.
Even now, in this tub, immersed in water, the feeling of his fingers between my thighs, journeying up my legs, was as vivid as the night he’d touched me.
I swear I didn’t want to think about it. I really didn’t. But I couldn’t stop. The details flashed, and my nipples stretched hard in reaction to the sound of his deep, bass voice in my ears, the heat of his body pressed against my side, his large hand on my back. And the not-so-secret bulge between his legs that dug into my thigh. It blew my mind to believe that I’d aroused him. I almost thought I’d imagined it.
And that might have been possible if it didn’t affect me, too.
The experience had been a first. It was new, foreign, and frightening.
Back in college, I had friends who ranked guys according to how hot they looked, their charisma, and their intelligence, among other things. A lot of them were a solid ten. But men like Egor hit above the bar— way above the bar—like a hundred over ten.
He was undeniably attractive and had everything any rational woman would swoon for. Almost everything, except a heart. It didn’t matter which way I looked at him; I didn’t think it was possible to unsee him from that night with that gun pointed at his old uncle’s head. It was irrelevant that the ex-mob boss probably deserved it as a consequence for all the terrible things he’d done to many families. It still marked Egor as a murderer. And fantasizing about a murderer was a solid taboo.
I cupped a handful of water, splashed some on my face, and combed my fingers through my hair.
Another puzzling piece was figuring out why he kept me alive.
Gathering from the research I’d made on them, his clan was brutal. They didn’t accommodate threats, and I had adequate information on how they treated those who lived long enough to be captured by them. The end result was almost always the same: They didn’t live longer than two to five days. I’d lived longer, and that was a sudden cause for concern.
Whatever the case, I would make sure all the cards played in my favor.
I reached for the nearest robe and lifted myself from the tub. Warily, I watched the droplets of water soak into the bathroom rug under my feet and walked up to the round mirror on the wall. It had pretty golden lights underneath and illuminated the bathroom in a fancy way.
Beside it, on a rack, I’d neatly hung my lace underwear. It was a matching black pair: a sheer bralette and a thong. The bathroom was genuinely the only place that offered privacy. The room had a security camera, and I was very much aware that he had full access and used it to spy whenever he wanted.
Hence, my decision to take my underwear alongside me.
While dabbing my hair, I appreciated the prison bathroom, which seemed to have everything built in. I couldn’t lie; it was better than being thrown into a basement.
If the circumstances were different, basking in the beauty of the place would have been an option. But that wasn’t the case. Constantly, I was reminded that I was nothing but a captive with as many rights as women had before anyone gave a thought to suffrage.
If I allowed myself, I might just get too comfortable.
After quickly brushing my teeth, I dropped the towel, cinched the robe around my waist, and teased the strands of my hair. Twisting to the side, I inspected the brown tips brushing just below my hip line. Gosh. I needed a hair trim.
I made sure the bathroom was in order—because I didn’t want the housekeeper to have stories about me being a brat and unorganized—and stepped out.
My heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach at the sight of him seated at the edge of my bed, unbothered, with focused green eyes and one leg crossed over the other. I clutched my chest and fought the urge to swat him with one hard swipe of my hand.
“ God . You scared me.” I slowed down to catch my breath. “What is wrong with you? Do you go around sneaking up on people like that?”
Snap.
I guessed bridling my tongue and maintaining a temper check had to be the first step to take to make sure I aced the pretense strategy of being okay with his arrogance and social awkwardness.
Also, I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but seeing his mouth curve in a wry smile was at the bottom of the list.
Egor brushed a hand down the front of his jacket and tapped on the spot beside him. Laying there was a beautiful long silver satin dress. It was sleeveless with a plunging neckline and draped over the edge of the bed to the rug.
“Number one: This is my house. I don’t think ‘sneaking up on people’ is appropriate to be used in a context involving the owner of the residence in which you stay.”
I sucked in a deep breath. He just had to go there, didn’t he?
“I didn’t ask to be here.”
“No, you didn’t.” Surprise, surprise. He agreed. “But you’re here now, and we both know the ultimate rule: You obey my instructions. There’s no way around that.”
What could I say that sort of thing? Was there anything to say?
He had only reiterated what I already knew—that I was stuck here. With him. So, it was more in my interest if I kept mute and complied.
I exhaled.
Egor nudged his head toward the dress on the bed. “Now that we’ve finally agreed, take this and get dressed.”
He’d been gone for a full week. Anna said he moved around a lot for work, and now he just appeared like a lightning bolt in the sky and demanded I put on a dress? This man truly was crazy. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t ready to go anywhere but decided not to bother. It was pointless and would certainly lead to another baseless argument where he’d exercise his power and prove who was in charge.
I took cautious steps, side-stepping away from him to lift the dress. It smelled new and was as expensive as it appeared. When I caught a glimpse of the price tag attached to it, I gulped down my protest and backed away under his watchful eyes.
I frowned at him and motioned toward the door. Why was he still inside? “Uh, you’re going to have to give me some space, you know that, right?”
The smile fell from his face, and he raised a thick brow at me, issuing a silent query or otherwise insinuating that I was somehow mad for even daring to suggest it.
“You’re changing in front of me, Freya.”
He’d called my name. Again . And a stupid flutter started in my chest.
I bit down on my tongue, holding back a curse. If I let it loose, he wouldn’t give a second thought to having my mouth sealed with duct tape. The more I tried to see the gentleman in him, the more intensely he projected the no-nonsense rogue that always had things done his way.
My fingers went down to the rope, keeping the robe on my body, and I summoned all the courage I’d managed to build up over the years to finally convince myself that it didn’t matter if the crazy man in front of me was on a mission to strip me of my dignity. I was going to keep my head held high no matter what.
I looked at him, and he stared back at me, his motive clear. Lust. This man clearly lusted after me. And as much as the idea strangely gave me butterflies, I would use it to my advantage.
With his intent gaze trained on me, I untied the knot, shimmied the fluffy robe off my shoulders, and let it go. It dropped to my feet with a soft plop, and I stood before him in nothing but my sheer underwear.
His eyes went dark—hungry and dangerous—and he raked my form from head to toe, drinking in all of me. His look was so intense that my heart skipped a beat, and tingles ran down my spine. My skin sizzled and rose in gooseflesh. Whatever was happening wasn’t normal. The room felt ten times smaller, and heat climbed up my neck.
I flexed my legs and ran my fingers through my hair. I’d seen videos on the gram and other social media platforms. I knew it triggered men when they were shown the detailed lengths of a woman’s body. I readjusted my thong, placed one hand on my hip, and then looked back at the dress.
Without a second thought, I shook my head. “It’s not going to fit. The neckline is too low for the bralette.”
His growl-like answer came in a heartbeat. “Then take it off.”
That shook me, stirring something warm between my legs. Like the heat of a tiny flame, slowly but quickly spreading throughout the rest of my body.
My eyes met his, and the furnace in them would have scorched me if I hadn’t braced myself. He was dead serious. I was going to strip fully before him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Slowly, my fingers hovered over the bralette strap on my back. I inhaled, and with a flick, the strap came off. I eased off the sheer fabric and let it pool at my feet, and my nipples hardened under very watchful eyes.
I tried to convince myself I was just changing. This wasn’t meant to be erotic.
But watching his muscles tense, his nostrils flare, and his jaw tick set me on fire.
My breath was coming out in small, shaky puffs, and he didn’t even touch me. Just sat there, feasting on me with his eyes, curled fingers, and a clamped jaw. His carnal reaction should have been fairly ridiculous if my body wasn’t tingling all over.
I walked over to the wardrobe to snatch an adhesive bra and grabbed a hair dryer to work on my hair.
The fix on my hair took under ten minutes, and it was time to wear the dress. I was nervous. I’d never had a man literally watch me get ready for anything.
I slipped on the dress and let the fabric glide over my body, but the zipper got stuck halfway. Muttering something colorful under my breath, I walked over to the full-length mirror beside the dresser to try and reach for it. I almost gaped at my reflection. I had to admit I looked gorgeous with minimal effort, and it struck me that the man behind me had gotten the exact fit.
He rose from the bed and came up closer—until there was scarcely an inch separating us.
“Stand still,” he whispered into my ear, and my eyelids fluttered when he moved my hair to the side, revealing my bare skin.
Short brown hair tickled my cheek, and he pressed his body into me, skimmed his fingers down the length of my spine to the low point slightly above my waist where the zipper was stuck, and dragged it up. The dry sound only heightened the brewing tension, and I struggled not to meet his eyes through the mirror.
Hot breath fanned my neck, and expensive male cologne clouded my senses.
My heart pounded against my chest in anticipation, and I fought the strange desire to lean into his body heat and press my ass up between his legs. The proximity was possibly making me go mad. I gripped the dresser's edge to restrain myself from doing something I would surely regret.
When the zipper reached its end point, his hands lingered before he moved my hair back to my shoulders, and...the door behind us creaked open.
We both looked through the mirror.
Anna stood like a deer caught in headlights while my relief battled with disappointment.
He whispered in my ear, “ Prekrasnaya,” and turned around to walk away.
His absence left a cold feeling behind, but I could finally breathe.
To Anna, he said, “Get her ready,” before the door closed behind him.
Anna scurried up to me with a guarded expression, like she hadn’t just witnessed whatever it was that had happened between her boss and me.
While she promenaded the room, my mind was stuck on trying to decipher what Egor had said. I understood a bit of Russian but hadn’t been able to understand its meaning. The suspense was killing me, so I decided to ask Anna.
“Anna?”
She stopped moving with the makeup kit. “Yes, miss?”
“What does prekrasnaya mean?”
The blonde woman with friendly blue eyes blushed on my behalf. “ Stunning and beautiful ,” she said with the best of her rusty English. “Both at the same time.”
She went back to work, and I assessed my reflection through the mirror.
My cheeks flushed with a soft pink hue, warmth spread through my chest, and there was a skip in my pulse. I wanted to deny the bubbling feeling inside, but it didn’t matter how much I tried; it rose to the top.
I hated that I suddenly felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.