Misha has been furious lately, after some of his best guys got caught up in a Fed sting operation. But I don’t know anything more than that. I don’t doubt that Dmitri does, but I do my best to keep my nose out of all things Bratva. If I had my way, I’d have nothing to do with that world.
I call for Andriani a third time. There’s still no sound beyond the closed, locked door. My paranoia kicks in. What if he left me here? What if he has no intention of coming back for me?
I escaped once. I can do it a second time, can’t I?
I tug at my cuffs again, but they’re solid. And so is this damn bed. It’s made of wood, and nothing is loose. I got lucky with the last bed frame.
At some point, he’ll have to remember I’m here and come back for me. Won’t he?
Calm down, Katya, I tell myself. He’s here somewhere. Maybe he’s just gone down the driveway again like he did last night. Taking the air. Smoking a cigarette. Doing whatever it is that soulless Mafia men do in their spare time when they have a hostage cuffed to the bed in another room.
I try calling out again, and I finally hear the by-now-familiar slam of the front door. He’s still here. Relief washes over me. Thank God. I never thought I’d be this happy to see a six-foot-plus wall of Mafia muscle, but that was before one took me hostage.
The door to my prison flies open, and he’s standing there, glaring at me, looking as unfairly hot this morning as he did the night before, Glock pointed at me and all. Stockholm syndrome, is that you?
He’s wearing a suit and tie without the jacket, and he looks completely out of place in this decrepit cabin.
“What’s wrong?” he demands coolly.
LikeI’mthe one annoyinghim.
“I’m handcuffed to this bed,zasranets.”
He repeats the word I used, frowning as he mispronounces it. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a Russian term of endearment,” I lie, running out of patience and the ability to keep holding on. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to pee.”
He mutters something to himself that sounds a lot likemore trouble than you’re worthbefore disappearing. I’m about to holler his name again when he returns, Glock in one hand and a key in the other.
I glare at him. “You’re not accompanying me to the bathroom.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not. There’s this thing called privacy. Maybe you’ve never heard of it.”
“There’s this thing called I’m the one with the fucking gun, and you do what I say,” he retorts, reaching my side.
The scent of his cologne hits me, and I have no idea what the notes are, but all I know is that it makes me want to inhale nothing but him for days. Even if he is an asshole.
I bite my tongue to keep from insulting him again because I really, really need to use the bathroom, and at the same time, I also really, really don’t want to embarrass myself.
“Should have worried about your privacy before you tried to run away last night,” he adds. “If you try anything, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”
His voice is hard and cold. I know he’s not lying. It’s actually a miracle he didn’t shoot me last night when he had the chance, and I’m pretty sure it’s only the value I have in being returned to Misha unharmed that saved me. Whatever leverage Scorpion needs, it must be big.
“Fine,” I agree, holding my breath as he leans in and unlocks my cuffs.
I don’t want to become hypnotized by whatever sex pheromone it is that’s clearly a part of his cologne. That’s the only explanation for the way he makes me feel, all hot and achy, like I need to be touched. Like I’ll die if I don’t have his tattooed hands traveling over my bare skin.
Which is also complete insanity.
When he clicks open the cuffs and blood rushes back into my hands, pain shoots through me. I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out. It feels so good and so bad at the same time. I move my arms into their normal position, my shoulders aching.
“Out of the bed,” he says harshly, gesturing with the barrel of his gun.
He’s moved out of reach now, but I didn’t notice, caught up as I was in the regaining of blood to my extremities. I glare at him, flexing my fingers and rubbing my wrists.
“I’m coming.”