Stolen by the Mob Boss : A Russian Mafia Romance (Bratva Hitman) by Nicole Fox (classic fiction TXT) 📗

“Are you sure? There’s a lot of room,” she offers.

Sharing a bed with her is too dangerous. If one brush of her fingertips could tempt me into letting down my guard, what would having her little frame beside me do? I don’t even want to think about it.

“I’m sure. But I have to tie your feet to the bed.”

She looks at me in shock. “What?”

“You heard me. You could still run, and if you do that, I’m going to have to break my rule about hurting women. If you’re tied to the bed, you can’t run, and I won’t have to hurt you.”

“Roman, please ...”

The softness in her voice is like a mousetrap. “No. Either you sleep tied to the bed or tied to the bathroom sink. Take your pick.”

Like a bratty child, she crosses her arms over her chest and looks at the bathroom. Deciding it’s in her best efforts not to fight with me, she turns off the television. “Fine,” she grunts. “I’ll sleep on the bed.”

I pull the blankets aside and grab a long piece of rope, waiting for her to get settled down before I wrap it around her ankle. She doesn’t fight me. Instead, she watches silently. I consider tying it tight, but decide against that. Maybe it’s the sadness on her face. Maybe I’m just feeling generous. Either way, I give her a bit of wiggle room this time. After I’m done, Lucy pulls the covers over herself and lies back.

I grab a pillow from the other side of the bed and lie on the floor beside her. When I pull the hood of my jacket over my eyes, the world goes dark.

***

Trying to fall asleep is easier said than done. Between the horns honking outside, the sound of our neighbors fucking, and Lucy’s soft breathing, it’s impossible. I try to ignore it all, but it’s incessant. She’s not asleep. I’m not asleep.

“Go to sleep.”

The bed squeaks as she rolls over. “I can’t.”

“Try harder.”

“It’s kind of been a hard day for me,” she says snippily. “I don’t normally get kidnapped and tied to beds before I sleep.”

Frustrated, I pull the hoodie over my face and look up at her. Her nose is scrunched and her eyebrows are turned down, unhappy. The fact that she looks cute even like this pisses me off. I want to tell her to stop. Stop looking like that. Stop confusing me.

“You shouldn’t have been walking through the alleys then,” I reply.

Anger flashes on her face. “Says the murderer!”

She’s impossible. I try to sleep again, but I can’t. In the bathroom, I fill up my bottle of water and take a long drink, trying to clear my head. I’ll just have to wait her out. I’m clearly not going to be able to sleep before her, so there’s no point in trying now. When I return to the bathroom, I start to lie down again. Then I notice my knife sitting on the nightstand.

It wouldn’t be a problem if it were facedown. I always keep it that way. Some dumb, superstitious shit my dad told me years ago. When I left the hotel room, it was facedown. Now the brand name is visible, flipped the other way.

She must have touched it when I stepped out to take Mr. X’s call.

Instantly, I’m livid. Here I was, thinking she was a good girl. That she didn’t run away because she was pure, because there was something between us. What a crock of shit. All this time, she had my knife. Was she going to use it on me? Did she think she could overtake me?

“You touched my knife,” I say in a low voice. It takes everything not to yell at her.

“What?”

“Don’t play stupid. You touched my knife when I was outside in the hall. Were you going to kill me, Lucy?”

She rolls over again, turning those eyes towards me. The same as before, I can see her lie as it leaves her lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Roman—”

I’m on top of her in a flash. I grab her throat and push her into the mattress. Her eyes bulge, practically out of her head. I’ve had enough of her lies for one night. I thought that I could trust her, but all along, she was feeding me nothing but bullshit. Her grandmother probably doesn’t even exist. That must’ve been some kind of lie, too. A way to get me to let down my guard. Make me trust her. Not any fucking more.

I squeeze her throat harder than I should. “Don’t fucking lie to me again,” I warn her. “You lie again and I’ll have to break my own rules, and when I do, I won’t feel bad about it. Do you understand me?”

Her nod is quick and panicked. “Yes,” she forces out. My grip loosens just enough to let her speak easier.

I take a moment to calm down before I ask my next question. “Did you touch my knife?”

“Yes.”

“Were you going to use it on me?”

There’s a moment of hesitation before she nods. “Yes.”

My stomach sinks. I trusted her, after everything. She didn’t scream. She didn’t fight. It wasn’t because she was cooperating. She was waiting for me to let my guard down so she could stab me. I’m a fucking idiot for thinking that she wouldn’t. I’ve been trained to expect the worst from people. To never turn my back on someone. At any moment, they could strike. And Lucy’s proved that point completely.

It takes all my strength not to squeeze her neck and punish her for her plans. But I can’t just yet. I have to know why she would do this. When I ask, she swallows hard.

“I ... I overheard you on the phone out in the hall,” she confesses. “I grabbed the knife and listened in on your call. I couldn’t hear much, but I heard you mention a man.