Page 86 of Baby for the Bratva

It feels reckless, but I’m not sure if I have any other choice. I just pray Stella isn’t in the way.

40

Stella

Even with my hands bound and my mouth gagged, I know I’m not helpless. My captors are distracted by whoever is following us. Since I don’t hear any sirens, I have to assume it’s the men Yuri sent to watch over me.

They weren’t able to prevent my kidnapping, but that’s partially my fault. I ran fast after my falling out with Molly, and I doubt they expected me to disappear into a shop so quickly after.

But they have served a purpose in all this. They’ve distracted the man who had a knife on me. Now, he’s clambering into the front seat, fishing around for a gun and shouting things in Spanish to his driver.

They’re woefully unprepared for my next move.

My purse, still hanging over my shoulder with a weight that feels more like guilt than opportunity, holds both pieces of my future.

A positive pregnancy test…

And a gun.

I tilt my body to the side, pretending to roll my neck as we go over another vicious bump in the road. Every sensation is amplified by the cold metal beneath me, but I ignore the literal pain in my ass as I unhook the clasp on my purse.

Even with my hands tied together, I’m able to feel around and retrieve the gun inside.

I hope there’s a bullet in the chamber. I really, really hope there is, or I’m screwed. I won’t be able to pull the slide back with my hands bound so tightly.

One chance. That’s all I have to do this correctly, or my throat will be slit and I’ll have ruined my own life and the baby growing inside me.

I should be shaking from the brutal realization that these could be my last moments, rumbling along in a van in Colombia, but I’m not. I’m oddly still and calm as I raise the gun and aim it at the driver first.

Crash the fucking car. I don’t give a damn as long as I stop this madness.

My finger finds the trigger, and I hold my breath as I begin to squeeze.

A metallic pop breaks my concentration, and blood splatters across the front windshield. I look at the gun in my hands in surprise. I didn’t even feel it going off. How is he already dead?

The driver falls forward as I look around for some other sign of what could’ve happened, and that’s when I realize I need to duck down immediately, or my head could be the next thing getting blown off. There’s a bullet hole in the back door of the van, right above where I was hunkered down.

They’re shooting at us.

The van swerves as the man with the knife jumps to take over steering it. Now’s my chance to get a shot off, but I wait a few seconds before trying. I don’t want to be in the way if another bullet comes through the back door.

Time has little meaning to me as I bounce along in the back of the van, but using my heartbeats to count, I wait for a few thundering pumps of blood to pass before aiming the gun at my captor.

He doesn’t even notice me, which causes a hint of guilt in the back of my mind. It’s an odd feeling, shooting someone who isn’t even attacking you, but I’ve already sentenced one person to death. I’m ready to do it to another.

I squeeze the trigger, shutting my eyes because I can’t stand to witness the depravity of my own sin. It feels like I have to squeeze much harder than I expect to, but the gun eventually jumps in my hand, sending out a pop that echoes so loud in the metallic confines of the van that it feels like my head will explode with it.

My knees hit hard against the floor as I crumple down, praying I actually hit my target as the car swerves. The gun falls from my hands, sliding across the sleek metal and hitting the wall as our serve turns into a spin.

Centrifugal force pushes me over, and I roll in the back as the van loses control entirely, exiting the road and tumbling over into the grass. The smell of fresh soil and cut grass fills my nose, but it’s far better than brick and steel.

We managed to make a soft landing, but I don’t trust the way my body is telling me I’m fine. It’s a numb feeling, utterly realistic for what I’ve been through. I’ve heard of people getting into car accidents and walking away from them, only to collapse a few feet away from the wreckage and never get up again.

As I open my eyes, I’m met with an eerie stillness in the van. There are two bodies slumped over in the front, and the broken glass windshield is splattered with crimson blood.

How close was I to a similar fate? I don’t even dare consider it as I throw a foot toward the back door to free myself. All I know is that I made it. I’m alive, and they’re not.

I hear deep voices as I slam my foot against the door, forcing it open after a few tries. Hot sunlight floods into the van, blinding me and obscuring the identity of those approaching the vehicle.

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