The Bratva#8217;s Hostage Bride (VARKOV BRATVA #7)

Prologue - Ava

With a long stare at the dimly flickering yellow light bulb above the rusty prison cell, I threw my head back on one of the cold steel bars and rubbed my arms. Julianna’s thick vintage fleece sweater was useless against the cold; it seeped through the fabric, and I knew the chill was more than just the temperature.

The intensity of his gaze grazed my skin, and a stinging heat seared the side of my face. I didnt need to look at him, I could make out his silhouette from the darkness in which he blended perfectly. I could feel him watching me. He was leaning against the wall with his broad shoulders and his legs crossed as if he were a perfect gentleman admiring his freaking trophy in a gilded cage.

Tap. Tap.

He watched my every move as I tilted my head to stare at the light bulb, moved my foot to squash a miserable cockroach, or simply stared through the steel bars and imagined my freedom.

He caught everything—every single thing.

The temperature in the room rose from second to second, from cold to hot and then scorching hot, and soon I wanted nothing more than to rip the vintage sweater off my body to breathe. Or better still, survive.

His not-so-secret gaze was stern and unreadable, I tried to look away.

But it did not help. Nothing helped. Not my feigned ignorance that he wasn’t in the room, or the low humming I tried to distract myself with ... nothing. He was playing a game—a fucking mind game, but I saw through it.

His intention danced in the room like a red neon sign “Read me”. It couldn’t be more obvious. He wanted to see me break down, and crack under the pressure. Begging, screaming, crawling. Go insane probably—and the thought wasnt far-fetched. But he—whoever he was—be damned!

His dark eyes, almost black, held mine with a firm intensity, and I could still see his huge, tall frame against the wall, with one hand crossed over the other and one finger tap, tap, tappingaway on his arms. His very noticeable arms. Dressed in dark pants and a white-collar shirt, I couldnt look away.

The first time he visited my cage, he was wearing a dull gray short-sleeved cotton shirt that clung tightly to his biceps. It should have been crazy for a captive to stare at her captor’s biceps as if they were one of the wonders of the world, but that didn’t register at the time.

I gaped.

Black ink tattooed all over like a whole sleeve—symbols, signs, images, and nothing I could understand. I should have been repulsed by the sight of pale skin marred with excess color, but strangely, I felt something. Something like intrigue.

Plus, he had just the right amount of muscle and hands big enough to crush an esophagus. I chewed on the inside of my cheek. What was I doing, thinking about his biceps? This man wanted to kill me and feed my body parts to the beasts of the field.

I closed my eyes.

The dry throat, the slight throbbing of my head, and the parched tongue did nothing to help the heaviness that weighed on my mind, and when I remembered that I hadnt seen the sun in days, the salty tears at the back of my eyes burned even more.

I sniffled. He scoffed. The tension in the air thickened the moment his long legs stepped out from the shadows and came closer.

My breath hitched.

As I saw his full frame in the dim light, tremors ran down my spine and I got stuck on the spot as if I had glue under the soles of my shoes.

I tilted my head back again. The light bulb was beyond my center of focus. I had always considered myself to be taller than average. My height of five feet ten proved that. But this man towered over me; his shadow cast over mine and enveloped me in his icy presence without remorse.

I tried to stay calm and unbothered. Then, my eyes met his, and I hiccupped, literally.

The ghost of a smile flitted across his lips and lit up the hollowness in his eyes. He crooked his head to one side, like a predator watching its prey.

“Don’t tell me you want to cry?”

He was handsome. Dangerously handsome if there is such a thing. And it didn’t help when he showed even the smallest bare of straight white teeth. It made him look so damn ... attractive. Aside from his dark, well-trimmed beard and overly tense jaw, he had the sharpest, yet most gorgeous masculine features I’d ever seen. Except for his eyes. Dark and eerily soulless, as he stared at me.

I sniffled again and tried to put on a poker face. “Im not going to give you that pleasure. Its cold in here.”

“And that is why you have tears in your eyes?”

His voice. It was deep, dark—just like his eyes—and had a warm rumble of Russian accent that wrapped itself around my body like fine silk. It was crazy, but I liked it. And that annoyed me.

I gritted my teeth. “Don’t you have anything better to do, other than watching me?”

A hint of amusement glittered in the depths of his irises, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. He took a step closer, and his silhouette vanished and reappeared as the light bulb flickered.

“Watching you is my job.” He snarled.

I snorted, and the first thought that passed my mind left my lips. “You should resign then. It’s clear your boss lacks creativity.”

Any normal person would have taken the insult as a rough jab, but this man was far from anything normal. The corner of his lips curved upwards as he leaned against the bars, one hand gripping the steel, and the other tucked in his pocket.

“You have a smart mouth.” An evil tone ran through his next words. “But I’m not sure how smart it would be if I cut out your tongue. What do you think? Does my boss still lack creativity? I can show you ten different ways to carve it. He taught me.”

That shut me up instantly. Nothing in his eyes said he was bluffing. I glared at him, as intensely as I could, but didn’t say a word. It could be cowardice, or not. I treasured my tongue.

He pushed himself off the bars and rounded the cell; his eyes going up and down as if he was inspecting something ... me!

“Did you sleep well?” His voice bounced off the walls in a loud echo and I heard the faint dripping of water in the corner. To add to the damp smell, this part of the house had a leaking roof.

It was my turn to scoff. I mimicked his movement around the cell and flashed the sweetest pretentious smile I could. “Like a dog.”

“Don’t you mean log?”

“I’ve said what I’ve said.” I did a little spin and raised my hands in the air. Then I grabbed one of the poles and stuck out part of my face. “You cant compare a five-star hotel to this … Pigsty. It’s perfect.”

He stopped in front of me, and all the humor flew out of the only window in the room.

As he stood so close, I caught his scent. Masculine, earthy, and something else that could easily be compared to an intoxicating perfume. Every time I inhaled, I felt lightheaded.

“Good.”

The smile melted off my face.

“Glad to know you’re adjusting well to your new home.” He paused and his stare burned into me. He waited for me to blink away the tears that stood in my eyes. But I didn’t. “What, you’re not scared?”

I knew what he meant. That hollowness in his eyes? I mirrored it. I couldn’t give him what he wanted. Seeing me vulnerable would only make him stronger and more controlling. Besides, I knew something he didn’t. There was hope. My father would come for me, being the man he was, there was no way he would let me rot here.

“No.”

“Hm.”

I might have imagined it—maybe it was the reflection of the light bulb dangling from the ceiling on a thin chain—but tiny flickers of red, fiery flames danced in his eyes. “I wonder why. Your eyes hold secrets.”

I straightened my spine and arched a brow. “So do yours.” I fake smiled. “There’s no way chatting with the prisoner is part of your job description.”

I didn’t expect what happened next. One minute, he had the tiniest smile lingering on his luscious lips and, the next, I had my sweater snatched and dragged in a violent fistful bunch through the rusty steel bars.

I didn’t know what was scarier: his big, callous hand around my neck or how ridiculously close our faces were. Our lips were only a hairs breadth apart, but I could smell his cherry breath.

A scream worked its way up my throat, but his fingers curled around it and squeezed just tight enough to keep me quiet. I looked up at him with wide eyes, and he stared at me like a tasteless breakfast.

“Watching, chatting, and even fucking torturing you is part of my job description.” His thumb stroked my chin roughly, and he eyed the spot like he’d rather puncture a nail through it. “You are at my mercy, milaya.” [Sweetie]

I wanted to ask him what milaya meant but his hands on my throat told me he was in no mood to answer questions. I hiccupped, again.

“I’m guessing... you get off on that line.” I choked out and an amused twinkle settled in his eyes. “I know power-hungry men like you. This... This is what you live for. Grabbing innocent girls by the neck and threatening the hope out of them. But it won’t work on me, you hear me? Not... not me! I’m getting out... out of here!”

His grip loosened and he brought his face even closer, and when his eyes fell to my lips, my skin tingled in sudden awareness.

“What if I like you like this, milaya?” The cherry breath grew stronger when he opened his mouth, I could almost taste it. “What if I like seeing you all caged up, like a pretty dove, or pigeon? I think I like doves ...” he added, sounding partially absent. But his concentration on my lips didn’t falter.

My chest heaved and I found myself eyeing his too. I wasn’t sure why I suggested another bird, but something about this proximity scrambled with my senses.

I swiped my tongue over my lips. “Parrots?” I breathed.

He made a sound between a snort and a scoff. “I fucking hate parrots.”

That snapped me out of whatever trance I’d been thrown in. I caught the innuendo loud and clear. He thought I talked too much.

I lifted my eyes and held his gaze. “Either way, you’re insane. Only a sicko would enjoy seeing another person locked up and in pain.”

That stupid smile reappeared on his face. “Don’t you mean sadist?”

“You’re both!”

He pulled my sweater closer, rougher. “I will never let you go, milaya. You’re stuck with me.”

“Never!” I glared as fiercely as I could. I would not let him get inside my head. I had to hold my ground—even if his grip practically pulled me onto my toes. “I’ll leave this smelly place and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

After I was done, I realized I’d made a big mistake. A terrible one. I’d evoked something in him. I had awoken a deeper darkness I had never seen before. I’d threatened the devil, dared him to do his worst. And I wasn’t prepared to take his wrath.

His fingers curled until the tips of his blunt nail scratched the fabric, grazing the bare skin on my chest.

Dark brown hair fell onto his forehead as he looked down at me, and the strands were as dark as the intentions lurking behind his expression.

“I fucking hate parrots, but I love a good challenge.” The corners of his lips twisted into a mischievous smile. “Trust me, it doesn’t matter how far you run. I promise you; Ill always find my way to you.”