Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Other than my head, I seem okay.
The events of the night before come in a rush, and I stifle a sob.
Timur.
I was taken from my fiancé. Kidnapped. They’re going to kill him.
What are they planning on doing with me?
I sit up with a start in bed and note that even though I’m covered with a blanket, I’m only dressed in my bra and panties.
“Shhh,” someone says nearby. I blink into serious dark-brown eyes. I recognize him immediately as the man who attacked last night and choke back a scream. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says gently, shaking his head. “I promise.”
Why would someone take me, attack me, and then promise not to hurt me?
Why is he so familiar? I wish I could piece everything together. I open my eyes and blink, trying to clear my blurred vision.
“Who are you?” I ask through thick lips, my words slurred.
He takes a bottle of water from the bedside table and twists the top off. “My name is Viktor Romanov.” His voice is deep and gravelly, tinged with the faintest touch of a Russian accent.
Viktor Romanov.
Romanov… Vera married Nikko Romanov. I vaguely remember something last night about my sister, but my thoughts are muddied.
Still, I don’t care. I’ve had no confirmation yet from anyone I trust, and so far, these men have done nothing to convince me to believe them.
I turn away from the water and shake my head. I won’t take anything from a man who kidnapped me.
“Drink,” he orders. “If you don’t drink the water this time, I will be forced to call a doctor to come and give you an IV. You are dehydrated.” He speaks with that slight Russian accent, slowly and with patience, almost as if he’s talking to a child. His eyes, cold and calculating, watch me intently as if he’s waiting to be obeyed.
I gasp and pull the covers up, a scream trapped in my throat when I realize we’re not alone. The largest dog I’ve ever seen is curled up in the bed a few feet away from me. When she lifts her eyes to look at me, she seems intelligent but powerful, muscle rippling beneath a glossy black coat of fur. She lies on the other side of the fully made bed.
Phew. No one else joined me in this bed last night. A crazy thought, but it’s been a crazy series of events.
“Relax,” he says. “This is just Nikita. She’s here because she wanted to protect you.”
He snaps his fingers, and the dark form of his dog, huge and muscular… not unlike him… obediently jumps off the bed and walks over to him.
“Go,” he says, snapping his fingers again and opening the door. The dog walks out submissively. He closes the door and turns back to me. “Now drink, Lydia.”
I hesitate, my gaze shifting from the bottle of water to his unwavering stare. There’s no kindness in his expression, only a stern resolve that makes it clear he’s not making an idle threat. My throat is dry, and I know I need the water, but the thought of doing what he says grates against my pride. And how am I supposed to know it isn’t drugged to keep me in a state of compliance?
“No. I can’t trust you,” I whisper. “I don’t know who you are.”
“It’s water.”
I clamp my lips together. I expect him to lose his temper, but he doesn’t.
“I will tell you who I am, though I’ll be surprised if you believe me at first. But first, water, or I call the doctor.”
I stare at the bottle. I feel like I’m dying of thirst. So finally, with a sigh of resignation, I reach for the bottle, my hand trembling slightly.
“Fine,” I say with a frown because I’ve just realized my wrists are bound. I have a vague notion he wasn’t happy when I was drugged, but he could’ve taken these restraints off. He wants me tied.
I take the smallest sip of water. It hits my parched lips and tastes so good, so I keep gulping. His eyes flicker with a hint of satisfaction as I lift the bottle to my lips. The water is cool and soothing as it slides down my throat, but the victory is his, not mine.
I set the bottle down and meet his gaze, defiance burning in my eyes. “There,” I say, my voice hoarse but steady. “Happy now?”
“There,” he says, his voice warm with approval. “What a very good girl.” He reaches a hand to me and then pulls it back as if stung.
I wonder what makes him scowl like that.
My heart does a somersault in my chest.
I blame the drugs.
His phone rings. Looking down at the screen, he presses a button, and it stops. I watch him slide it into his pocket.
“What happened?” My voice is hard. Reserved. I don’t trust him, and it scares me that I don’t know where I am or why I’m here.