Page 16 of Bratva Stalker Kidnaps His Bride

He doesn’t say anything, but he steps closer to me, my head leaning back to keep eye contact.

“You are not a prisoner,” he murmurs lowly, striking eyes pinning me into place.

“No?” My laugh is fake. “What else would you call locking me up and refusing to let me go out on my own?”

“Keeping you alive,” he snaps.

Prick.

“You do realize,” I say, “that your inability to differentiate protection and control is deeply concerning?”

His jaw tightens.

“Just like how exhausting your inability to differentiate recklessness from courage is.”

Gritting my teeth, I close the little distance left between us, his minty breath clouding around me.

Dangerous decision, but I make it anyway.

“You are impossible.”

Those heady dark eyes trace a sudden path from my eyes to my lips. It happens in the blink of an eye, but I see it.

That is the fucking problem.

From then on, our arguments become charged with a certain kind of energy—the same one present when he kissed me in front of everyone.

Silence between our quips hums like electricity in exposed wiring.I’m just overthinking, I lie to myself each time like a dumbass,it’s anger and nothing more.

I obviously stand close to challenge him and to hold ground so he knows that I’m not intimidated.

He obviously steps closer to dominate space and re-assert control.

That’s all.

The kiss at the wedding changednothing, like I told him so.

Rummaging through a drawer in his office, I snap out of my reverie when my hand fits around a familiar shape. When I take my hand out, my reflection in my phone’s dark screen looks back at me. Victory tastes sweet for approximately twelve seconds.

“You look far too pleased with yourself for someone holding stolen property.”

My entire body goes rigid. Slowly, my neck turns to face him, fingers white around the device.

Hair messy as he runs a hand through the strands, he stands in the doorway of his office. The bags under his eyes are slightly darker than usual. Even then, his presence demands obedience.

“It belongs to me,” I croak, my throat bobbing.

“Does it? It is now in my custody.”

I scoff. “You sound insane.”

“I don’t care what it sounds like.”

He moves inside, letting the door shut behind him. I jerk backward, instinctively defensive.

“You are not taking it,” I state firmly.

He stalks toward me with measured and sure steps, like a predator that knows its prey has nowhere to run.