“Just think about how much easier your life would be right now if you didn’t have to deal with me,” I point out, forcing a smile.
Since I’ve been a prisoner for an entire day and I’ve been wearing the same clothing for over twenty-four hours, I probably look like a rabid squirrel about to go to battle over an acorn. But never mind that. I’ve told myself to try to reason with him. To try to be as nice as possible.
In other words, no more threatening to cut off his dick with dull blades, and maybe he’ll be more inclined to let me go.
He stops by the bed, looking down at me as he runs a hand along his jaw. “You’re right. Maybe I should just kill you now, rather than later.”
My blood goes cold, even though I think he’s bluffing.
That’s the worst part of this. Andriani could be capable of anything. And when it comes down to a war between the Bratva and the Mafia, I have no doubt he wouldn’t hesitate to make me a casualty if it were in his family’s best interests.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” I protest.
He leans over me, so close that I can see the flecks of gray in his irises. “Then shut the fuck up.”
Absurdly, that stings. I don’t know why. Heismy kidnapper after all. But I don’t want him to see that.
“Am I annoying you, Andriani? Good. Because you know what? I don’t like being kidnapped off the street and taken into the woods at gunpoint or handcuffed to a bed. I don’t like?—”
His hand flattens over my mouth, muffling the rest of my rant.
“I don’t care what you don’t like,” he growls. “Now, if you don’t want to spend the rest of the day with duct tape on this pretty mouth of yours, you’ll stop annoying the fuck out of me.”
I try to bite him, but the way he’s cupped his hand makes it impossible for me to catch any flesh between my teeth. So I lick him instead. Which is a mistake. Because Ilikelicking him. And it makes me want to lick him other places.
Wrong. So wrong, Katya.
He doesn’t remove his hand.
“You know what?” he growls. “Keep it up, and the first body part I send to your piece-of-shit brother when he asks for more proof of life will be your tongue.”
I swallow hard. Because that seems like a very real and very frightening threat. His expression is harsh and hard. There’s notan ounce of pity in this man, and I think I may have pushed him too far.
Threats didn’t work. Trying to escape didn’t. And now, annoying him is proving another misstep in my arsenal of defense.
Where the hell are you, Misha?
“Do we have an understanding?” Andriani asks coldly.
“Mmmhmm,” I manage.
“Good. It’s time for a bathroom break, and then you can have your shower. If you try anything stupid, I’ll put a bullet in you before you can even blink an eye.”
I swallow again. Noted.
He takes his hand away and wipes it on my bare stomach, just above the waistband of my jeans. It’s not an intimate touch. He’s slicking my spit over me. But the touch of his hand on my skin sends a ridiculous wave of heat through me.
“Don’t do that again,” he warns.
Then he starts to unlock my cuffs, keeping his Glock on me all the while. Because I am desperate to pee, I hold my tongue and dutifully go to the bathroom. As before, he waits by the door as I do my business, this time allowing me to go without cuffs. It’s a welcome reprieve. But when I’m finished washing my hands, he’s blocking the doorway with his big body.
“Take off your clothes.”
My stomach drops.
“What?”
“You want a shower, fine. You can have one. But you’re going to have to do it my way.”
