Claimed

Chapter 3

ALEXIA GREEN.

Kidnappers aren’t supposed to give you and your daughter a nice room.

They aren’t supposed to leave you in the middle of freaking Chicago with a nice maid, a big mansion and everything a woman like me can only see in movies.

I’ve spent two days roaming around the halls of the Volkov mansion and so far, I’ve come to two conclusions.

The boss ‘Christian Vitello Volkov’ or as Juana likes to call him ‘Vicious’ is not an ordinary loan shark.

Hell, I’m a hundred percent sure he’s not a loan shark but a very bad man who has guns and every rifle you can think of in the basement.

Oh yeah, I checked and I would be kidding if I said I’m not scared of the type of shit I got myself into.

The second conclusion, the one that the maid, Juana avoids every time I bring it up is that; a woman lived here.

A lover?

The love of his life?

A sibling?

I can’t tell.

My baby, Millie, likes it here but I’m on high alert trying to grab every chance I can get to escape.

Which is why on a Friday night, the last thing I expect is to see is Vicious angry and about to incinerate little ole me.

“I said…freaking strip”, he snaps, his eyes like red lasers cutting away every inch of my skin.

I will myself to say anything, anything but then the rifles I saw downstairs hog my mind.

I want to blame my cowardice on the rifles if it weren’t for the icy golden browns he has for eyes all up in my face about to drown me in a vat of his anger.

“Alexia”, he warns, my breath gets caught in the back of my throat as I struggle to speak up for myself.

“I’m not that kind of woman.”

My voice sounds liquid as I hold my nose high with that bold statement.

Vicious coolly ignores me and before my mind completely registers what’s happening, frissons run all the way down to my spine as adrenaline kicks up a notch in my blood.

His touch is cold, like his eyes.

His touch is lethal, suffusing all of me with unwanted heat.

His calloused fingers casually takes one of the thin spaghetti straps of the dress Juana lent me and it only takes a minute for the sound of fabric tearing to fling across the darkness like a ping-pong ball.

Another minute for him to completely annihilate the dress as I scream the words, “You bottomhole!”

The dress falls past my shoulders, past my aching very uncovered chests, past my cotton undies and bottomumes the shape of a tiny heap around my ankles.

Confusion, anger and a whole bucket of fear wash over me the minute I cover my heavy chests with my palms.

Cold night air bottomaults my skin as the tears I didn’t know I had, prickle my eyes burning my throat in the process.

“S—see anything you like? Should I bend over so you can get it over with?”

I know what type of man he is. Believe me, I just didn’t think he would…do it so soon.

True to my thoughts, Vicious takes a step back, removes his coat and one by one unbuttons his shirt, his stormy eyes never leaving mine.

Never missing to show me just what’s in it for me as long as I live here.

All I know right now is that if push comes to shove, I’ll give him anything he wants because my baby is in his house, under his mercy, if something were to happen to me, they would kill…

The six foot three bastard goes ahead and does something I hadn’t expected.

Something that would be considered a plot twist in one of those movies where the villain’s been the hero all along.

Every ridge of his muscles comes into sight, his tanned skin all hard and gleaning with scars as he steps forward towards me covering my shoulders with his shirt.

I stay still acutely aware that what I think he is doing is not what he’s actually doing.

When his shirt is all snag across my shoulders, draping my five feet height in his scent of sage and some sort of mulled wine, does he reach for the dress on the ground turn towards his heel and walk away as if he’s done nothing bizarre.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

Freezing, creeped out to the point of my knees buckling, I whisper to no one, “I have to get away from this freakshow”