Page 8 of The Bratva's Hostage Bride

He leads me down some stairs. I trip slightly, still woozy from the alcohol. We’re followed by bodyguards who have guns, and I give a little squeak of fear. He stops and pulls me to him. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. Just trust me.”

I nod, tears freely leaking out of my eyes now.

He sweeps me into his arms, and I wrap my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. He lifts me as though I’m lighter than a feather. I rest my head against his chest, listening to his heart thump. It’s relaxing and rhythmic, and the warmth from his body washes over me. We go straight to a car with tinted windows, and he helps me in before getting in himself.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says.

He turns to me as I burst into tears. “Are you kidnapping me?”

“No, Hannah. I’m saving you.” He reaches out and strokes my face. “As soon as it’s safe, we’ll take you back to your cousin. I couldn’t let you get hurt out there.”

“There were gunshots, people were shooting in the casino. What if one of my cousins got hit? Oh God, Meryl! What if Meryl got hit? She’s about to get married.” I’m rambling loudly in panic, and he leans down and kisses my lips softly.

“Hush,” he whispers against the tender flesh. “You’re safe now, and I’m not going to let anyone harm you.”

He strokes my face gently, and I can feel the exhaustion taking over me. I’m malleable. He shifts me so I’m resting against him, my head on his chest.

That’s the last thing I notice before I fall asleep.

The bed I wake up in is far too comfortable to be my own. I sleep on a hard bed, which is still new from when I bought it when I moved in. A poor choice, if I do say so myself, because a bed like the one I’m currently in is far better.

I roll over sleepily and hug the pillow. It smells delicious of berries and musk and everything tasty about a man.

My eyes open, and I groan. My head is spinning, so I close my eyes again. I take a few deep breaths, just lying there and trying to calm myself.

I feel like I might throw up, but I don’t want to do it in this bed. But on the other hand, I don’t know where the bathroom is.

Am I passed out in Meryl’s hotel room? That would be embarrassing. Devon would never let me…

Slowly, the events of the night before come back to me: getting ready with all my cousins, going to the casino, winning on the slot machine, and having guys flirt with us. I was so uncomfortable, and I was grateful when the owner of the casino invited us to the VIP dance floor and bar section.

Devon was proud of that. She felt she had organized that, but when we’d been there, I knew his eyes had been laser-focused on me.

There had been many shots, and I had started to feel sick. Yes, I remember Meryl saying something about going outside for proper fresh air to make me feel better.

I open my eyes slowly and look around the dark room.

Gunshots. There had been gunshots and people stampeding through the club. Meryl had lost me and the owner… the owner had saved me. Then he had carried me to the car.

I sit up slowly and look around.

I’m not at Meryl’s hotel room. I’m at some stranger's house in some stranger's bed.

I flip the covers off, but I’m still dressed sans my shoes. Okay, so he didn’t take advantage of me, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t a problem.

I look around and find my clutch purse on a chair nearby. I stumble to the chair and take my phone out.

Dead.

Dammit.

I’m going to have to find a charger or get back home and call Meryl. She’s probably sick with worry.

But both of those things mean leaving this room and facing that handsome man who carried me to the car last night. Who said he would keep me safe?

And I had felt safe, hadn’t I? Unless that was just the alcohol. I had never been that drunk before, so I’m not sure if it’s a normal response.

Dammit.

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