Claiming His Captured, Broken And Sinful Bride

chapter 3

Naomi

One Day Earlier

I schooled my emotions from those in the car as it wound up the steep driveway high above the city. I knew that they expected a scared Russian girl who had no idea what was going on, and it was hard to maintain that persona.

Okay, maybe not that hard.

I was scared, terrified at what might happen in the event that the man who took me found out that I wasn’t who he thought I was.

He didn’t look like the type that would laugh at a joke or even c***k a true smile. And whatever evil thing he had planned for Sveta? He was definitely expecting it to go his way.

I looked out of the window, down at the twinkling lights below us. I had briefly thought about putting up a fight with the guard that had come to get me, noting that it wasn’t the one who had taken me to his boss earlier.

He had gotten a face full of raked nails, trying to get me to go back to that prison of a room. He had glared at me immediately after, and for a moment I thought he was about to do something terrible.

Instead, the guard had pushed me into the car and climbed in, either afraid that I would shout out or bound by some instructions to make sure I was not to be harmed.

Either way, I wasn’t getting out of this, not by myself.

The car pulled up to a large mansion that dwarfed all the houses I had visited in my lifetime, and the door was opened for me.

“Come,” the guard said in gruff Russian, motioning for me to get out of the car.

I climbed out into the balmy night, staring up at the mansion with some trepidation. This was probably my new prison—rather, Sveta’s new prison with her soon-to-be new husband.

It was all just crazy to think about what was going on and what the poor girl would have had to deal with if she was still alive. I wanted to say that I was made of stronger stuff than her, having lived through some s**t in my life.

But Sveta? She was just a child! No more than seventeen when she was ripped from everything she knew. If she were in my place, she’d be terrified out of her mind.

Maybe it was good that she had died so that she wouldn’t have to live with a monster who clearly had only one thing on his mind for her.

“Sveta Stanislavovna.”

The formal patronymic greeting almost caught me off guard. I turned, remembering that was supposed to be my formal name, and saw a man standing on the steps to the mansion. He was dressed in a severe gray suit, his hair neatly combed back off his forehead. “Good evening. I’m Ivan Popov,” he announced, nodding in my direction. “I’m Mr. Kirilenko’s personal driver. Welcome to the mansion.”

I lifted my chin but kept my mouth shut, knowing that I needed to be careful with how and to whom I responded.

Ivan didn’t seem surprised at my lack of response, gesturing toward the door. “Please, if you will follow me,” he answered in beautiful Russian that I could only wish came out of my mouth.

I glanced back at the car, thinking about running back in. But the guards would only drag me back out. But at the same time, I knew that once I walked into that mansion, it would be all over.

My life, my identity, everything.

It would be easier right now for me to walk off the nearest cliff.

Instead, I walked up the stairs and through the door, the smells of lavender and roses filling my senses.

A wiry older woman was standing in the foyer, her pepper-colored hair pulled back into a severe bun at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a black dress with no adornment, reminding me somewhat of a nun without her scarf.

“Good evening, Sveta Stanislavovna,” she said, her voice grating, and her mouth pursed as if she had tasted something sour. “Welcome to your home. I am Vera Pushkin, the maid and caretaker of this property. I hope you will find it to your liking.”

Her voice was hollow, letting me know that she didn’t approve of me being here and could not care less if I liked the place or not. I wondered just how much they had been privy to the plan. “I want to go home,” I said softly, my voice breaking.

No emotion flickered over her face. “You are home now, devushka.” Girl.

That was what I was reduced to.

“Come,” Vera said. “I will show you your room.”

Vera turned and started up the beautiful staircase that led to the second landing, the wrought-iron railing scrolled with flowers and vines. A large chandelier hung suspended from the vaulted ceiling above my head and the floor was white marble, spotless enough that I could see my reflection in it.

Still, there was something sterile about the mansion, something that made me wonder if the walls had ever heard laughter or happiness.

Swallowing, I started up the stairs, my hand shaking as it gripped the railing.

Run, my conscience screamed at me, trying to get me to turn around.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Soon, I found myself on the second landing, looking down at Ivan, who was watching my every step. Did he see something that would make me worry that I was faking everything? I knew I was surrounded by people that were going to do nothing but judge me, even hate me because of who my supposed father was. They were going to do everything that they could to follow Kirilenko’s plans, no matter at what cost.

I had no friends in this place.

The second landing’s floor was carpeted, so plush that my beat-up Converse shoes sank into it with each step I took. This was opulence beyond measure, a statement to something. Most people did it because they were compensating for something they couldn’t have or didn’t have.

I doubted that Kirilenko was that sort of man. He didn’t look like someone who was missing anything in his life.

I was marched down a long hall to the end, where a door stood open with light spilling out from inside.

Vera pushed open the door wider. “This is your room.”

I stepped inside, and the sight took my breath away. A massive four-post bed dominated the center of the room, covered in an ice-blue comforter that made it look like it was a cloud. There was a sitting area off to the right, near the open balcony doors, and another door to the left, which likely was an in-suite bathroom or a walk-in closet.

The room was painted white, the carpet white, and the furniture a heavy dark oak. It was a mix of elegance and masculinity.

“This is your washroom,” Vera continued, crossing over the room to the door to the left and throwing it open. “Everything, you will see, has been stocked in anticipation of your arrival. The wardrobe is full of clothing that is your size, and the dresser is where you will find your underthings and lingerie.”

I was vaguely listening to her, noting that the dresser was covered with makeup and other feminine things that every woman would find in their own room.

Holy s**t…How long had Kirilenko been planning this?

“This.” Vera pointed to a button on the wall near the bed. “Is to summon me. I have staff around the clock to see to your needs. Your meals will be delivered unless the master wants you to dine with him. I will give you the schedule of meals tomorrow.”

Master?

My head was reeling from what was happening. I thought the mansion was going to be my prison. No, it would appear that I wasn’t even going to get that. This bedroom was going to be everything in my life.

“Get some rest,” Vera said as she walked to the door. “He will be home soon.”

I waited until she closed the door before crossing the room and trying the handle.

It was exactly what I figured was going to happen.

I was locked in from the outside.

Panic started to rise in my throat, but I tamped it down, turning away from the door. This wasn’t the time to panic. I needed to find a way out.

My feet took me to the balcony, and I stepped out into the night, gasping as I looked out over the twinkling lights of LA below. It was a significant drop. The balcony didn’t just hang over the grounds like I thought it would, but over a sheer cliff.

Below, the inky darkness beckoned me to try.

To my right and left were the grounds, and even in the darkness, I could see the guards patrolling the lawn. There was no sound coming from anywhere.

But that wasn’t the most startling thing. It was the barbed wire fence that graced the property in the distance, the sharp edges peeking up over the hills along the edge of the territory.

From the outside, the mansion probably looked just like the others: a high stone wall encircling the property and hiding the interior from prying eyes.

But from the inside, it looked like a fortress capable of withstanding a siege.

Drawing in a breath, I clenched the stone railing between my hands, wishing I had the balls to just jump off the balcony and pray I would go quickly. It would be so easy to do.

Did Kirilenko plan this?Did he put me in this room so that I’d be tempted to try? What would Kirilenko think if I did just that?

Would he even care?

No, I thought. He would care.

I would ruin his plans. And I was certain he had other plans lined up in case I did something as foolish as this. Hell, maybe he even had another woman to kidnap.

But then I thought about Ilsa, the child that she carried in her belly, thought of my parents, and knew that I couldn’t give up.

I couldn’t jump. I had my true family to live for, and I knew that they would be devastated if I was gone. Even more so, Ilsa would want to find out who had made me jump, and I couldn’t ruin the happiness she had found.

I couldn’t. I would die ten times over rather than be the cause of other people’s sorrow.

Turning away from the cliff, I went back inside, systematically opening the wardrobe and drawers. As Vera had said, they were full of clothing. The labels in the wardrobe alone must’ve been an eye-watering expense. To say nothing about the designer shoes that were lined up just right at the bottom: Louboutins, Louis Vuitton, and even some Stuart Weitzmans.

The drawers were full of expensive silk lingerie, from racy thongs that were no more than dental floss to delicate gowns that slid through my fingers as I touched them.

And designer bags—each one easily tens of thousands of dollars—in every shape and size to complement the different outfits.

This was every woman’s dream wardrobe.

I shut the drawer and yanked open the rest, finally finding normal clothes in the very bottom. Even here, the casual athletic clothing was luxury brands like Lululemon.

I pulled out a set and walked into the bathroom, marveling over the stone walk-in shower with multiple showerheads and a sunken tub that was big enough for two. The image of a naked Kirilenko pushing me against the shower walls as his rough hands forced apart my legs crossed my mind, and I turned away.

My cheeks heated. I knew there would come a time that he would want to consummate our marriage, to stake his claim on Sveta.

What would I do then?

I wasn’t a virgin, hadn’t been for a number of years, but given the conversations I’d had with Sveta right before her death, I imagined she was pretty green in the nature of passion and s*x.

Which meant I would have to find some means to explain it or tell the truth. My stomach knotted at the thought, and I removed my clothing quickly, ignoring the full-length mirror on the wall as I did so. I didn’t want to see myself, to see the woman who was living a lie.

After pulling my hair up and brushing my teeth, I climbed underneath the fluffy comforter and lay in the dark, hot tears leaking out of the sides of my eyes. I didn’t sob aloud, afraid that there might be bugs in the room, listening to my every movement. It hurt to know that I might be looking at my death at some point in the next few weeks.

Maybe the cliff didn’t seem so ominous after all.

** *

Morning came all too quickly. I barely opened my eyes as the door opened and Vera marched in, carrying a tray of food. The smells made my stomach rumble in agreement.

“Up,” she snapped, setting the tray on the bed. “The master wants to see you downstairs within the hour.”

“I’m not a child,” I replied in Russian, barely remembering to do so at the last minute.

“If you were,” she answered, “Then I would have a bigger problem with his plans. I will come back for you in thirty minutes. Wear something pleasing.”

She was gone before I could respond and I cautiously lifted up the silver dome from the plate, finding steaming eggs and two slices of bacon along with some fruit. There also was one slice of toast, perfectly browned, and a small pot of coffee, with various creamers and sugars to put in it.

Heaven on a silver tray. God, I hadn’t eaten since I’d been taken.

Heedless of the time, I devoured the food and drank all the coffee before finally rising from the bed and digging through the wardrobe to find something that wasn’t going to show a lot of skin. I finally settled on a romper that showed off my legs and bared one shoulder before crossing over my breasts to gather at the other shoulder. With my hair down, I looked like the woman he expected me to be:

A young, innocent Sveta, frightened and unsure of who this man was.

When Vera knocked on the door again, I slid on a pair of flats. “You look like an American,” she sneered, motioning for me to hurry. “I suppose it will have to do.”

I mean, I was. What did she expect me to wear? Stiletto heels?

Numbly, I followed her down the stairs and through the foyer, to a room that was flooded with light. It would be a wonderful place to spend idle days reading, but today there was only one thing that caught my attention.

Gavril Kirilenko stood in the center of the room, dressed in a suit with the dress shirt opened at the neck. His hair was slicked back off his forehead again, and I idly wondered if anyone had ever mussed him up before or what he would look like waking in the morning. I spotted a tattoo of a church spire peeking out from the V of his dress shirt, and for a moment I wondered what other tattoos dotted his body.

A flush moved through me at the thought, and I looked away, my cheeks red.

“There is no need to be embarrassed, Sveta,” Kirilenko said softly. “I will know everything about you, every inch of your skin until you are marked as mine. And you will do the same with me.”

My stomach clenched at the thought, the breakfast I had nearly coming back to make an abrupt appearance. It wasn’t a horrible thought. Gavril was a gorgeous man and, in another time, I would have been very interested in having him in my bed.

But not like this.

As I turned my eyes back to him, I noted the racks behind him, and Vera hovering in the distance. “What is going on?” I asked in Russian.

His expression didn’t change. “You are here to pick out your wedding dress.”