12. Emma
EMMA
My pulse quickens as we move through corridors I haven’t seen before, deeper into the private section of the estate.
Eduard walks beside me while Artur follows behind, their presence a silent reminder that escape isn’t an option right now.
The hallway narrows slightly, the lighting softer here, more intimate.
This is their territory. Their home within the fortress.
Rurik stops at a set of double doors and pushes them open without ceremony.
The bedroom beyond steals my breath.
It’s massive, easily three times the size of the room I’ve been staying in. But what catches my attention isn’t the expensive furniture or the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the grounds. It’s the bed.
The thing is enormous, dominating the center of the space like some kind of statement.
It has to be custom-made because I’ve never seen anything that size in my life.
The frame is dark wood, solid and imposing, with a headboard that reaches nearly to the ceiling.
The mattress looks thick and comfortable, covered in dark gray linens.
It’s clearly designed for multiple people.
A hide-a-bed couch sits along one wall, its leather surface worn in a way that suggests frequent use. Near the window, a deep leather recliner faces outward, positioned to catch the morning light. The room is lived in, comfortable in a way that speaks to years of shared routine.
“You’ll stay here tonight,” Rurik says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Since you can’t be trusted to remain where you’re told, you’ll remain where we can keep an eye on you.”
I turn to face him, my jaw tight. “You can’t be serious.”
“Completely serious.” His pale blue eyes hold mine without wavering. “You proved tonight that locked doors and posted guards aren’t enough. So we adapt.”
“By making me sleep in your bedroom?” The words come out sharper than I intend, edged with disbelief and something that might be panic.
“By making sure you don’t disappear again,” Eduard says quietly from behind me. His voice is calm, reasonable, like this is a perfectly logical solution to a simple problem.
Artur moves past us and drops into the recliner with casual ease, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Could be worse, sweetheart. At least the accommodations are comfortable.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap automatically, but my heart isn’t in it. I’m too busy trying to process what’s happening.
They’re going to sleep. Here. With me in the room. All night.
The implications crash over me like a wave. No privacy. No opportunity to plan. No chance to search for weaknesses or test security measures. Just hours of forced proximity with three men who already make me salivate whenever they’re near. Who I already spend way too much time thinking about.
Rurik moves to the far side of the massive bed and begins unbuttoning his shirt with methodical precision.
The fabric slides off his shoulders, revealing the broad, muscled chest I remember too well from our encounter against the wall.
Scars mark his skin, pale lines that tell stories of violence and survival.
I force myself to look away, but my gaze lands on Eduard instead. He’s pulling off his own shirt, his movements relaxed and unhurried. His body is leaner than Rurik’s but no less powerful, all controlled strength and easy confidence.
Heat crawls up my neck. This is insane. This entire situation is completely insane.
“Where exactly am I supposed to sleep?” I ask, hating how my voice wavers slightly.
“Wherever you’re comfortable,” Rurik says, settling onto the right side of the bed. He lies on his back, one arm behind his head, completely at ease. “The bed is large enough for all of us. Or you can take the couch.”
Eduard claims the left side, leaving a significant space between them. The unspoken invitation is clear. They’re offering me the middle. The thought sends something hot and dangerous through my chest.
“I’ll take the couch,” I say quickly.
Artur laughs from the recliner. “Suit yourself. But that thing’s not as comfortable as it looks.”
I ignore him and move to the hide-a-bed, testing the cushions with one hand. He’s right. The leather is worn, and the padding beneath feels thin. It’ll be like sleeping on a slightly padded board. But it’s better than the alternative.
Better than lying between them in that massive bed, feeling the heat of their bodies, breathing in their scent, and knowing that one wrong move could lead to much more than sleep. My pulse quickens at the thought and my core clenches with anticipation.
Damn it, I can’t afford this crazy attraction to my captors. It would be bad enough if I were only attracted to one of them, but all three? I’m sick, that’s all there is to it.
I sit on the edge of the couch and pull off my boots, setting them carefully on the floor. My hands are shaking slightly, and I curl them into fists to hide it. The room feels too warm, too small despite its size. The air is thick with tension and…yep, and lust.
The lights dim as Eduard reaches for a control panel near the bed. Soft illumination remains, just enough to see by, casting shadows across the walls. Outside the windows, the estate grounds are dark except for the regular sweep of security lights.
I lie down on the couch and stare at the ceiling, my body rigid. Every sound seems amplified in the quiet. The rustle of sheets as Rurik shifts position. Eduard’s steady breathing as he settles in. Artur adjusting in the recliner, the leather creaking softly under his weight.
Minutes pass. Then an hour. Maybe more. I don’t sleep. Can’t sleep. My mind races through everything that’s happened, everything I’ve learned, and everything I still need to figure out.
Someone inside the FBI betrayed me. The thought circles endlessly, sharp and painful. Someone I trusted, someone I worked with, sold me out to the very criminals I was investigating. They knew where I’d be. They knew when. They cut my communications and made sure backup never arrived.
Was it Hayes? He opposed the operation from the start, arguing it was too risky. But opposition doesn’t equal betrayal. He could have been genuinely concerned for my safety.
Marcus Cole had access to all the digital surveillance and communications. He’s brilliant with tech but nervous under pressure. Could someone have gotten to him? Threatened him? Paid him enough to compromise everything?
Or was it someone higher up? Someone with enough authority to coordinate the entire setup without raising immediate alarms?
The questions spiral, unanswerable in the dark.
And then there’s Krystal. The underground bride auction was my best lead, my only real connection to what happened to her that night.
Is she still alive? The question haunts me. Did someone buy her the way these men bought me? Is she trapped somewhere, scared and alone, wondering why I haven’t found her yet?
The guilt is crushing. I promised myself I’d bring her home. Instead, I’m locked in a bedroom with three Bratva bosses, my own escape seeming more impossible by the hour.
I shift on the couch, trying to find a more comfortable position. The movement is small, but Artur’s voice cuts through the darkness immediately.
“Can’t sleep?”
I freeze. “I’m fine.”
“Liar.” There’s amusement in his tone. “You’ve been staring at the ceiling for two hours.”
Two hours. Has it only been that long?
“Go to sleep, Artur,” I mutter.
“Can’t. Not when you’re over there plotting your next escape attempt.”
“I’m not plotting anything.”
“Sure you’re not.” The recliner creaks as he shifts. “For what it’s worth, you won’t make it past the first checkpoint. We’ve already increased security after tonight.”
I force myself to stay still, to breathe evenly, and to give the appearance of someone settling in for the night.
But my mind continues racing, cataloging every detail of the room.
The distance to the door. The lock mechanism.
The windows and their reinforced glass. The security panel near the entrance.
This estate was designed by people who understand how to keep things locked down. Every entrance, every exit, every corridor is monitored and controlled. The guards rotate on schedules I haven’t fully mapped yet. The cameras cover angles I’m still discovering.
For the first time since arriving, I begin to understand just how carefully this place was built. It’s not just a mansion. It’s a fortress designed to keep threats out and valuable things in.
And right now, I’m one of those valuable things.
The thought should terrify me. Should make me more desperate to escape. But lying here in the dark, listening to the steady breathing of three men who’ve already crossed lines with me I never expected, I feel something more complicated than fear.
I feel trapped, yes. But I also feel something dangerously close to curiosity.
These men aren’t what I expected. They’re criminals, killers, everything I’ve been trained to oppose. But they’re also more complex than the files suggested. The way they move together, the unspoken communication between them, the careful balance of power and respect.
And the way they look at me. A shiver runs down my spine. Their eyes roam my body as if they could eat me alive—and I’d love every minute of it, judging from my experience already.
I shake my head, forcing the thoughts away. This is survival. Strategy. Nothing more. I can’t afford to let attraction or curiosity cloud my judgment.
Hours pass in silence. The estate remains quiet except for the distant hum of climate control and the occasional crackle of a radio from somewhere in the corridors beyond. I watch the shadows shift across the ceiling as moonlight moves through the windows.
My body aches from tension, from lying rigid on the uncomfortable couch, from the adrenaline that’s been flooding my system since the alarm went off. But I can’t relax. I’m too aware of them.
I turn my head slightly and let my gaze drift toward the bed. Rurik sleeps on his back, one arm thrown across his chest. Even in sleep, he looks powerful, controlled. His face is softer now, the hard edges smoothed by sleep. His chest rises and falls with steady, deep breaths.
Eduard lies on his side, facing away from me, but I can see the strong line of his shoulders, the way his body curves naturally into the mattress. There’s something peaceful about him in sleep, something that makes the constant vigilance he shows when awake seem even more deliberate.
Artur has finally gone still in the recliner, his head tilted back, his breathing even. His face is relaxed, the usual sharp humor and intensity replaced by something younger, almost vulnerable.
They’re beautiful. All three of them. The thought surfaces unbidden, and I can’t push it away.
I’ve already crossed lines with them. Lines I never should have crossed. The memory of Rurik against the wall, of Eduard’s hands on my skin, of Artur’s mouth claiming mine—all of it burns through me with uncomfortable clarity.
This isn’t supposed to happen. I’m an FBI agent. They’re criminals. Everything about this situation is wrong.
But lying here in the dark, watching them sleep, I can’t deny the pull I feel. The dangerous attraction that’s been building and growing out of control.
The first hint of dawn begins to creep through the windows, pale gray light that slowly pushes back the darkness. I watch it spread across the ceiling, marking the passage of another sleepless night.
My eyes burn with exhaustion, but my mind won’t shut down. Won’t stop analyzing, planning, searching for the weakness that will let me escape.
Except I’m starting to realize there might not be one.
Movement catches my attention. Rurik shifts first, his breathing changing as consciousness returns. Then Eduard stirs, rolling onto his back with a quiet sound. Artur’s eyes open, immediately alert despite having just woken.
Suddenly I’m very aware that I’m still sitting here, caught between their gazes as morning light fills the room.