Chapter 5
MELANI
My whole body is one giant bruise of discomfort.
My shoulders ache from the way my hands are angled behind my back for the entire car ride.
My wrists throb beneath the cold bite of metal handcuffs.
My jaw screams from being forced open around the tie stuffed in my mouth, saliva trickling down my chin no matter how hard I swallow.
But the worst part—the most shameful, mortifying part—is the soaked panties clinging to my private parts.
How could I possibly be aroused by that criminal’s touch and filthy words, his proximity, hell, his scent—I squeeze my eyes shut.
Even now, I have to breathe through my mouth, so I’m not drowning in him, so I can fucking think straight.
Except with the tie gagging me, breathing through my mouth is nearly impossible.
The motherfucker threatened to rip out my tongue if I spit it out. Would he actually do it? I don’t know. But I’m not ready to find out.
How the hell did my simple snooping session go so spectacularly wrong?
I’ve been kidnapped. Kidnapped. The word sounds absurd in my head, but that’s exactly what’s happened. I’m a captive of the Bratva’s enforcer, being driven to God knows where.
Maybe I should be grateful he didn’t kill me the way he so easily executed that poor man who begged for help.
I squeeze my eyes tighter, trying to block out the image.
How could I get aroused after witnessing that?
The dead bodies were literally feet away from us, and I was moaning, pushing my pussy into his hand like some desperate slut.
This is a problem. I didn’t anticipate being so affected by him that I’d lose my bearings.
I haven’t exactly been around many handsome, powerful men like Ivan Petrov, but I’ve been surrounded by men all my life nonetheless, and I was never attracted to any of them. Not even Gennaro, my ex—the one and only man I’ve ever been with.
So why him? Is it just inexperience? Because he’s clearly an expert at working a woman's body, and I don’t know how to defend myself against it.
The car slows, and I open my eyes. My first time in a supercar, and I can’t even enjoy it properly. The irony would be funny if I weren’t terrified.
We’re approaching the underground parking lot of a tall, glittering skyscraper I recognize as his hotel.
Korona. I sit up as much as I can manage with my arms stretched so far behind me and the seatbelt digging into my chest. Painful as hell, but without it, I would have face-planted into the dashboard over a dozen times during our ride.
A small security station comes into view with three intimidating men inside, but the long metal barrier lifts before we even reach it, then drops back down behind us with a hollow clang. The sound makes me swallow. It’s so final. A reminder of what I am now.
A prisoner.
I’m jolted out of my dark thoughts when Vanya stretches his arm behind my headrest the way confident men do, and my heart leaps into my throat.
He has such a calm look on his face as he glances over his shoulder and expertly maneuvers the car into a parallel park in one smooth, practiced motion.
My pussy clenches traitorously. Why was that so hot? What is wrong with me?
The engine cuts off, and his arm finally leaves my headrest—thank God.
He gets out without a word, unhurried as he moves around to my side.
When he opens my door and helps me out, I wince as I straighten, rolling my head and shoulders experimentally.
At this point, the pins-and-needles sensation shooting up and down my arms has mostly numbed into a dull, constant ache.
He starts walking away, and I suppose that’s my cue to follow. I glance longingly towards the exit ramp, towards freedom, but I’m smart enough to know I wouldn’t make it even halfway before being caught. For some reason, he’s decided to keep me alive. And I’m eager to make sure it stays that way.
He leads me towards an elevator in the corner of the garage, past several exotic cars I just know are his, and my lips thin at the obscene display of wealth.
A quick swipe of a card, a soft beep, and the doors glide open instantly.
Of course—no waiting for the hotel owner.
As we step inside, the doors shut and the elevator starts to go up.
He didn’t press any buttons. I look for a floor display, but there’s no panel.
No indication of where we’re going. A private elevator.
From the corner of my eye, I see Vanya stalking towards me, and I only have a second to brace myself before I’m being crowded against the glass wall. He scowls down at me as he tugs his saliva-dampened tie out of my mouth and pockets it. “Now, who the hell sent you to spy on me?”
“I swear, nobody sent me, I just—” I gasp when he presses the full length of his body against mine, his hard cock digging into my hip, and every clever thing I meant to say evaporates.
He’s so big. My throat works as I swallow, my pussy already leaking wetness in preparation for taking that monster cock inside me. How would he feel stretching me open?
“Don’t fucking lie to me.”
I blink up at him, dazed. What were we talking about?
Oh, right. “I—I’m not lying—” I trail off helplessly, scrambling for the right words to explain that nobody sent me, that this is all my own stupid idea.
But he has this maddening way of making me forget the English language when he’s this close—as if I haven’t been speaking it fluently for years.
He grates out something in Russian that doesn’t exactly sound like a compliment as his piercing blue eyes blaze down at me.
And God help me, it only makes me cream my panties more.
It’s like there’s an invincible thread connecting his mouth to my clit.
Every time he speaks, it tugs on that pleasure point, dissolving me into pure, mindless lust. This is dangerous.
Thankfully, the elevator doors slide open, and he steps away, breaking the spell. Beyond them stretches a long, empty hallway lined with several closed doors. Numbered doors.
We’re inside the hotel. I lunge into the hallway and scream, “Help! Help me!” Maybe one of the other guests could call the police. The thought stops me cold. Shit. I can’t get the police involved. They’ll—
Sharp pain explodes across my scalp, bringing tears to my eyes. He grabbed my hair and used it to yank me back towards him. I stay still, barely breathing, as he wraps the strands around his fist.
“Only my men are stationed on this floor,” he whispers into my ear, making me shiver. “So scream all you want, myshka. No one here will save you.”
He releases my hair only to grab my arm and drag me towards one of the numbered doors.
Yet another sleek card appears in his hand.
He taps it against the panel beside the frame, lighting it up, and when he presses his palm to it, a soft beep and a click signal the door opening. This place is secure as hell.
As he ushers me inside and the door shuts behind us, several realizations hit me all at once. One: I’m not getting out of here without him letting me go.
Two: This fortress of his might actually be the safest place for me right now. I would be safe from the Cosa Nostra, safe from everyone else… except him.
For some insane reason, my pussy clenches again, my nipples hardening into tight peaks. I’ve lost my damn mind. I force myself to breathe, to think past my body.
Three—perhaps most importantly: This could be my best shot at finding out what happened to Luciano.
I doubt I would’ve found anything useful in his office at the club anyway.
It’s too public—too many eyes. But here, in his private residence?
There could be files, computers, and information no one else is meant to see.
Maybe being kidnapped is a blessing in disguise…
I’m so lost in this revelation that the interior of the hotel suite becomes nothing but a blur around me as I’m led through the space towards another door. He opens it and shoves me inside what appears to be a bedroom.
Just as he starts to close the door, he pauses with a strange look on his face. “What the hell do you have to be smiling about?”
I am smiling. I hadn’t even realized I was.
I quickly school my features back to neutral. “Nothing. How long do you plan to hold me prisoner here?” What I really want to know is: How long do I have to find out what happened to my brother?
His lips thin into a hard line, and he slams the door shut without answering. A second later, the unmistakable click of a lock follows.