My Kidnapper

— So you’re the princess of “Neonprom”? — Maksim Gradov looks at me with a predatory squint, as if he knows everything about me. As if I specifically fell in front of him, exposing myself down to my underwear. Out of the invited guests, the one I hate most is his father’s pick—because he’s the youngest and the most dangerous.
— So you’re the IT guy? — I say with contempt and pull the skirt back over my knees. My twisted leg hurts. But inside it hurts even more. I don’t want to be a thing!
Gradov smiles and leans toward me. He whispers into my ear:
— Be careful with your words, Lera. I might think you want to hurt me. I keep enemies closer than friends, and bad girls—only in my bed.
I clench my teeth. I grip the pattern of the lattice with my fingers. I could make a hook—knock that self-confidence out with one fist. But I hold back.
And Gradov presses a chuckle and suddenly lifts me sharply and throws me over his shoulder.