Stolen by the Mob Boss : A Russian Mafia Romance (Bratva Hitman) Nicole Fox (unputdownable books TXT) 📖

plate in cursive, and I spin the plate around so it’s on the inside of my wrist and use it to bang against the metal door. The sound echoes off the walls and makes my ears ring, but it’s better than screaming. I’d rather scratch my bracelet than lose my voice.

Almost immediately, I hear pounding footsteps growing louder, but I keep banging.

Maybe the person coming is a rescuer. Someone who will be horrified to see a woman being kept in a room.

“I’m in here,” I say, a dry cough breaking up the words.

When I stretch on my tiptoes to look through the small opening in the door, brown eyes are already looking back at me. I rasp out a scream and stumble backwards, tripping over my feet and falling on my ass.

The door opens slowly, and I scramble back against the far wall, tucking my legs in front of me to try and make myself as small as possible. Whoever is on the other side of the door, I know they aren’t here to help me.

Bright white light fills the room, and I realize the overhead light has been turned on. I blink against the burning in my eyes, and the figure in front of me begins to take shape. Blue jeans, muscular legs, white T-shirt with a fitted brown leather jacket over top, and then a square jaw. The square jaw. It seems silly to remember a feature like that, but I’d know it anywhere. Give me a line-up, and I’d pick him out of it based solely on that jaw.

It clenches, and I look up and realize the man is smiling. It sends a shiver down my spine.

“If you don’t want to be tied up and gagged, I suggest you be a good little hostage and keep it down.” His voice is as deep as I remember, and I swear I can feel it rumbling through the floor.

“Hostage?” I croak. I sound like a frog, and I know I shouldn’t care what this man thinks of me, but I do.

He steps backwards through the open door—if my legs didn’t feel like jelly, I might try for an escape—grabs something off the floor, and returns with a bottle of water and a gas station sandwich wrapped in plastic. He tosses both at me. Instead of catching them, I deflect them and then have to crawl across the floor like an animal to grab greedily at the water. After downing half the bottle, I wipe my mouth and lean back against the cold concrete wall.

The man crosses his arms, the collar of his shirt shifting enough for me to catch a bite of black ink sneaking over his shoulder and towards his neck. Tattoos. “Yes, hostage. If you haven’t noticed, this isn’t a five-star resort. No cabanas, no towels folded into different animals, and no open bar.”

“There’s room service,” I say, holding up the bottle. Joking during times of extreme stress have always been my coping mechanism, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them.

The square jaw hardens.

In one bound, the man crosses the room towards me and bends down close enough so I can feel his hot breath on my face. I turn my head and flatten against the wall, but I can’t help but look at him. He’s beautiful.

I’m reminded of a church sermon I heard as a kid. The pastor explained that the devil was once one of the highest angels. He was beautiful, but evil existed inside of him, and he was cast out of heaven. This man might as well be the devil. The beautiful, sinful devil.

I’m already looking at him, but he grabs my chin and turns my face to his. When he leans forward, I think he might kiss me, but he stops an inch away. His fingers squeeze my face until I worry my bones will shatter.

“You will be here until your father pays your ransom,” he says slowly, his brown eyes scanning my face robotically, looking for any signs of weakness. “If you want to enjoy your stay, I suggest you obey commands and keep it down. You won’t like it if I have to force you.”

My entire body shivers, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile. He enjoys my fear.

After another second, he turns my face away, stands up, and stalks out of the room. The door slams shut, and I hear a thick bolt slide into place.

And then I’m alone again.

Chapter Two

Yuri

Despite my threats, the girl starts banging against the door an hour later. The sound ricochets through the vents. Every bang of her hand against the door is a blow to my control, my power. My father’s men glance at one another and wonder what I will do to control her. It is my job, after all.

I move calmly down the stairs and unlock her door. This time, she doesn’t stumble away and cower. She stands in the middle of the room, feet planted firmly beneath sensuous hips. The food and water seem to have bolstered her courage.

I can take care of that.

The door slams behind me, and I cross the distance between us in a single stride. Her blue eyes widen, but she doesn’t move. “Why do you have me here? I deserve to know why I’m being—”

I grab her arm and fling her back against the wall. She hits the concrete with a whoosh, the air in her lungs being forced out. Her head tips forward, long black hair falling over her heart-shaped face. I’m in front of her before she can catch her breath.

“You don’t deserve anything,” I growl. “Least of all from me.”

“But I—” The words are no more than a whisper, but if I was properly terrifying her, she wouldn’t even be able to manage that. If she isn’t scared enough to stay quiet, then I’ve failed in my duty.

“You have been warned to stay quiet,” I say, clawing a hand down