He leans into me, bringing his lips close to my ear. “That won’t get you anywhere,kroshka.”
Crumb.He just called me a fucking crumb.
“What do you want?” I grit, turning back around.
He shakes his head slowly with a small grin. Then he lifts the dress over my head.
I try to focus on my breathing as he places my dress down on the bed. I feel vulnerable. This man is disgusting.
He walks over to the dresser and pulls out a crewneck and a pair of shorts.
My shorts.
My eyes can’t focus on a single thing as I try my hardest to process what’s happening. Nothing around me feels real. It’s like a fever dream.
“Who are you?” I finally ask.
“Don’t ask questions if you already know the answer.”
“Not your name.Whoare you?”Is he in charge now?
“You really want to know?” He comes back over to me and kneels on the floor. By the look on his face, I can tell he wants me to listen. When he speaks, my chest tightens in an attempt to prepare myself for his cruel words, but not even an iron shield could protect me from his deep, grim voice. He taps my leg to lift it up.
Thinking this was going in a different direction, I grab onto his shoulder to steady myself as I put my feet through the shorts. While he may be an asshole, at least he has the decency not to demand my body as his.
He pulls the shorts up past my waist, his large hands grabbing onto my hips to move me closer to him.
“I do.”
“How oblivious are you?”
His words hit me like a dull knife, but I guess that’s something I’ll just have to get used to.
He doesn’t seem to understand the meaning behind my question, and that doesn’t surprise me.
“Guess your father doesn’t fill you in on as much as I thought.”
His words make me question myself. My father tells me everything I need to know. Which is why this isn’t making sense.
“Up.” He jerks his head in an upward motion.
I do as he says, and he puts the crewneck on me. It’s much larger than anything I own, so it has to be his. It even smells like him. Aftershave and vanilla. He gathers my hair and lifts it out from under the shirt then moves it to the side of my face.
“Go back to sleep. Someone will be here to wake you up in the morning.” His hands trail down the length of my arm before he steps away from me.
Glancing to the bed that has four ropes attached to its corners, I wonder why they’re there in the first place. If I’m in the middle of the ocean—which I probably am—there is no way I’ll be able to leave this ship. There’s no telling how far offshore we are. Even if we’re only a mile away from land, I won’t be able to leave because I can’t swim.
I’ve spent my entire life in a house. I never thought I’d need to know how to swim.
I’m standing in the center of the room with my arms folded across my chest when I feel a cold breeze pass by my bare feet. Turning around to face the door, I see Mikhail’s head lower between his shoulders. Just as he’s about to leave, I ask hesitantly, “Can you ... um, can you leave the door open?”
I know I just revealed one of my weaknesses, but I’d rather him know I hate locked doors than suffer the feeling of being trapped.
This might be a mistake. I’m not sure why I even bothered. I’m his captive; a locked door is almost a given. Men like him grab onto every weak point they can find. I have no idea what his intentions are, and that doesn’t help my situation.
The cruel smile that seems to be a common occurrence tugs at his lips once again as he takes slow steps toward me. Seeing a man with dreadful eyes and a calculating smile makes you wonder if there’s even a soul in his body.
“I’m curious,” he says as he pulls down on one of my curls. “Is the child of the Bratva scared of being alone?”