Chapter 1 #2
So far, I’ve managed to regain enough strength to make it to the bathroom to pee. Andriani wasn’t wrong about the handle, but that’s the only thing I’ll ever give him credit for.
I’ve tried everything I can think of to break this damn chain on my ankle, but nothing has worked. I’m on my knees on the subflooring, too desperate to care about the splinters going into my skin through my jeans, trying to make as little noise as possible.
I’ve switched tactics.
My first instinct was to be loud. To shout, to scream, to threaten. To scratch and claw and hiss like the feral cat he accused me of being. But that still ended up with me here, chained to a bed in the middle of nowhere, at the mercy of Andriani.
So now it’s time for Plan B, which is get the chain off the bed.
Not an easy feat so far. The chain is heavy and thick.
The bed frame is wrought iron, and it’s bolted to the floor.
I’m not going to allow that to stop me. I’m slowly wearing down the floor with the chain, dragging it quietly across the same spot repeatedly.
My goal is to loosen up the connection between the bed frame and the floor just enough so that I can slip the chain off the leg of the bed.
“As much as I like you on your knees, you may as well give up.”
At the low, disembodied sound of Andriani’s voice, I flinch and look up. The door is still closed. Which means there’s a camera somewhere in this room. One I didn’t notice or that isn’t readily visible.
The sick fuck has been watching me all this time.
Watching me and letting me get splinters in my knees. I hate him.
A roar of frustration bubbles up from inside me, and I let it free as I grab the chain and whip it against the floor.
“Didn’t your parents teach you that smashing things doesn’t solve any problems?”
I glare in the direction of his voice, the corner of the room diagonal to me, but I still can’t see a camera. There must be a hole in the drop-down ceiling that I can’t make out from here.
“Didn’t yours teach you not to abduct innocent women and chain them to beds?” I demand.
“Nope.”
He’s way too happy, this fucker. I’ve never killed a man.
I’ve never wanted to be a part of the Bratva, to be like my family, to trade in blood and greed and death.
But right now, I’m imagining what I’d do to Andriani.
Bludgeoning might work, but it would ruin his pretty face.
Shooting him would be messy, and carving up all that taut, muscled skin would be a sin.
“Poison,” I decide aloud.
“What about it?” He still sounds amused.
“Seems a fitting end.”
“Still angry, I see.”
“A butter knife is too good for you,” I decide, referring to the threat I lobbed at him when he took me to his family’s safe house, which was before he drugged me and brought me to this shithole. “I’ll use a dull, rusty steak knife to saw off your balls.”
“I applaud your creativity,” he drawls through the hidden camera, “but I would watch that mouth if I were you, Sidorova.”
There’s no misunderstanding the silken threat in his voice and his words. But I’m beyond caring.
“What are you going to do, kill me?” I demand, standing and facing the direction of his voice with more defiance than I know is wise.
He just laughs darkly, like this is funny. Maybe I’m entertaining him. But the thought of dying now, before I’ve been able to attain my goals, before I’ve even been able to debut as a soloist, let alone make it to principal, makes my chest seize up.
“Answer me, you bastard,” I spit.
But Andriani doesn’t say anything else.
There’s nothing but silence and the sound of an owl hooting somewhere into the night.
You know what?
Fuck. This. Shit.
I’m furious. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been through hell.
I fought with everything I had to stay out of the dangerous criminal underworld my brothers inhabit, but then Misha came back from exile and became the new Pakhan, and the fragile life I’d built for myself imploded.
My eldest brother made it clear that now that he’s back, my existence comes with strings attached.
My life is no longer mine to live. He’s already threatened to make sure I’m fired from the ballet company.
That was bad enough, but then Misha must have started making trouble with the Andrianis and they came after the softest target.
Me.
Never mind that I didn’t do anything. That I’ve always been on the periphery of my family’s business.
That I’m more than a pawn to be used for revenge or whatever leverage Andriani thinks he can get by holding me hostage.
I have a life, a career I’ve worked my ass off for, and I’m going to fight for it.
Starting now.
I begin by tearing all the bedding off the bed.
Pillow, comforter, sheets. Gone. I rip at the mattress, hauling it off the bed frame.
It’s heavy and I’m small, but I’ve been dancing all my life and I’m strong.
I haul the mattress to the side and start in on the box spring. With a growl, I rip it from the frame.
“Cazzo, what the hell are you doing in here?”
I’m breathing heavily, and I probably resemble the feral cat he accused me of being as I meet his gaze. He’s standing in the doorway, blue eyes sweeping over the damage I’ve managed to inflict so far.
“Redecorating,” I tell him, and then I shove the box spring across the floor in his direction.
He catches it like it weighs nothing and sets it aside.
His face is completely devoid of expression, and I can’t tell if he’s furious or annoyed or something else.
He just stares at me, that unnerving gaze traveling over my body as the silence settles between us, heavy and potent and somehow intimate all at once.
Finally, he rubs a tatted hand along his jaw like he’s considering something. “This is going to end badly if you can’t behave.”
Maybe the something he’s considering is my murder.
“So, end it now,” I dare him, my chest heaving from the exertion it took to rip the bed apart.
He smirks. And fuck Scorpion Andriani because he’s even hot when he’s smirking, while I want to kill him with a dull piece of metal and then watch him bleed out. Zasranets.
“You really are insane, aren’t you?” he asks, just a hint of warning edging into his voice.
I stare back at him, giving him nothing. “I’m a Sidorov.”
A muscle works in his jaw. “I’m aware.”
“What is the point of all this?” I demand. “I had nothing to do with anything that’s happened.”
“That’s not the way this works, and you know it.”
I do know it. He came after me because Misha went after them. An eye for an eye.
My chin goes up. “So, are you planning to starve me to death?”
The corners of his lips twitch. “You hungry, kitty cat?”
If I had anything close to me that I could launch far enough, I’d throw it at this bastard’s head. “Don’t call me that.”
Andriani shakes his head slowly. “You don’t get to decide what I call you.”
“Let me out of here, you bastard.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, and I notice the piece tucked into his waistband and the way his muscles flex under his fitted shirt. “Talking to me that way isn’t going to make me any more inclined to feed you.”
“I’ll be worth more to Misha alive than dead,” I point out.
And I hope that’s true. When it comes to my eldest brother, I’m never quite sure. He lives by one motto, and I suspect one day he’ll die by it—Mikhail Sidorov only does what’s best for himself.
Andriani flashes me an evil grin. “Guess we’ll have to find out about that. In the meantime, stop tearing my room apart, hellcat.”
He turns around, and I have a brief glimpse of his perfect ass in those designer slacks before he slams the door behind him. Then I’m alone again with nothing but the dismantled bed and my grumbling stomach for company.