Page 59 of Forced Bratva Wife

“It’ll take you two point five seconds if you can get your head out of your ass. I’d set a timer, but…”

Cocking him a hard glance from under my brows, I sighed, my head dropping. I didn’t do relationships. I didn’t do any of this fucking touchy-feely nonsense that any “normal” girl wanted. I was too fucking busy and too damned tainted to believe in any of that.

But…

Even thinking about Parker tied up in some abandoned warehouse made my blood boil so hot I thought it would eat through my skin. I was enraged more than I’d ever been at her kidnapping, and yeah, I needed to examine why that was. Because you couldn’t prepare for a weakness if you wouldn’t accept you had one.

And Parker was my biggest damn weakness.

“Tick, tick, tick. Clock’s a moving, asshole.” Pietor raised his brows at me, chewing on his tongue as he played with that damned ring.

“I care about her deeply. Okay?”

He just stared at me, and I sighed, pushing up from the table and heading toward the door. As I reached the frame, very aware that Pietor was still planted by the wall, I paused. When I opened my mouth to speak, it was just a whisper.

“I love her.”

I walked through the door, and the sound of Pietor’s footsteps quickly followed me toward the car.

Chapter 26 - Parker

I was left alone in that damn chair to rot, and I still needed to think of a way out of this stupid warehouse. I knew that the crew would be lying in wait to get their hands on Lev, and I couldn’t let him just walk in here and get shot up. There’d be no saving him after that.

Come on, Parker. Think. Think of something to get out of this.

My ass bones were sore from sitting in the metal for too long, and as I looked down at myself. I did a sad inventory of all the evidence of my situation pinned to me.

The lovely low-heeled boots Lev had gotten me with that ridiculous setup of clothes were dirty as hell. There’d be no saving the suede from the water damage and grime.

Several bruises covered my bare legs, and I shivered as a beat of cold threatened to break through my concentration. I shrugged it off. I didn’t have time to be cold. I was still wearing that damn tank, though, so fighting against the freezing air took some doing.

Ugh, and it’s covered in blood from your spit. Great.

I run my tongue over the sore spot on the inside of my lip, and I can still taste the metallic tang of blood. But thankfully, it has almost stopped bleeding now. There had been no good way to wipe my mouth, however, and bloody saliva had dripped down my chin and spread across the next of the tanktop as I sat here.

Cataloguing injuries. How very doctor-y of me. And you know, familiar past time and all when I was living with my dad.

The pinch in my wrists was getting worse, and I wiggled them to try and keep blood flowing through the constricted veins. As I shrugged my shoulders, the plastic of the zip tie on my left wrist squeaked against the metal, snagging on a rough spot.

Wait.

If I could keep rubbing the thing against that area, it might work like a nail file to wear down the plastic. I knew eyes were likely still on me in the dark, this single light over my head creating a stage-like effect where I could see myself but nothing beyond the glow.

The audience, made up of a group of thugs, could definitely see me too. So, I needed to be careful with how much I moved. If I was obviously struggling and making headway on my escape, they’d come barreling over before I got the chance to do anything with my short-lived freedom.

“Think, Parker,” I whispered to myself.

I brought my elbows closer together behind my back, the position making me arch slightly as my shoulders ached. I was familiar with a little discomfort for a greater payoff, however. Thank you, Lev. So, I held the position so that I could rub my wrist across the jagged flaw in the chair leg without moving my shoulders too much.

It was working from what I could tell, and after several minutes, I felt the snap of the zip tie, doing my best to catch myself before my hand flung out too far away from the chair and revealed me.

Still keeping my voice low, I celebrated the win. “Fuck yes.”

There was no such luck with a rough patch on the other side of the chair, however, and I needed to think of a way to get the other arm free.

“We got moved down the road. Incoming car. ETA five minutes.”

Fuck. He’s almost here!

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