Page 31 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

“Damien,” she whispers. “Damien?”

“Ugh,” I manage to grunt out.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly and pulls out her phone, her eyes filled with worry as she examines my blood-soaked torso with the beam from her phone light. I can see the fear etched on her face, but there’s a determination there, too—a strength that surprises me.

“I’ve had worse,” I lie, gasping for breath as the pain intensifies. She doesn’t need to know how much it hurts; she has enough to worry about. “We need to get out of here before they find us.”

“You’re right,” she says without skipping a beat. “But you’re in no shape to lead us out of here. Now, I’m going to take over. One more word from your mouth, and I swear I’ll tape it shut if I must,” she says, leaving no room for argument. She places her hand on my shoulder to keep me in check and has her other hand on my lips to keep me quiet before slowly peeking out from the corner of the unlit corridor toward the scene of chaos.

Chapter 12 - Genevieve

Blood stains my once pristine white blouse as I hold Damien back and peek out from the narrow hallway. Right outside, people are scrambling around with cops at their heels.

When I woke up this morning, I had not imagined that this was how my day would end. Yet, here I am, trying to get my husband and myself out of an illegal fighting ring that’s just been busted.

I have so many questions and so many concerns. I’m angry that Damien’s put himself in such danger, especially now that he has responsibilities toward a wife. But all that can wait. In this very moment, he’s in no position to lead us out of here, and I’m all he’s got.

Despite my anger, I won’t jeopardize his safety. Worry gnaws at me when I pull my head back and look at him. His entire torso is marred in blood, and his face is badly bruised. His left eye is swollen shut, turning a deep, ugly purple. I gently trace the outline of his eye without thinking. He winces and pulls his head back. I feel sad in my chest as a thought crosses my mind: I barely recognize my handsome husband.

“Listen,” I whisper. “There’s cops outside, making some arrests to our right. Their backs are on us right now. You put your arm over my shoulder, and we’re going to go to the right and hide out in another similar hallway, which looks empty from what I can see. When we get to the next clearing, we will go out from the emergency escape close to that hallway. You hear? If someone calls out to us, just run.” The adrenaline fills my senses, every word a direct order.

“Lead the way, Milaya,” Damien grunts through gritted teeth. I feel his trust in me despite our tumultuous relationship. It’s unexpected and inspires me even further to get him out of here safely.

I pull him along, making sure not to jostle his wounds. The scent of sweat and blood is overwhelming, but I push it aside. I scan the room for any police coming at us from the front, knowing that there’s backup outside. My heart races as I catch sight of their uniforms in the distance from a window, closing in.

“Damien, we need to move faster,” I say, more urgently now.

“Doing my best, Gen,” he grumbles, his breaths coming out in short pants.

We finally make it to the dark hallway and push him into it before I follow. Just as I inch myself against the wall, I see the doors to the emergency exit break open, the cops rushing in.

We stand together, shoulder to shoulder, pressing ourselves back against the shadows of the hall with bated breath, waiting for the cops to pass. They do, and Damien begins to breathe louder. “That was a close call,” he whispers.

“Shh,” I say, putting my fingers to my lips. More cops in here isn’t a good thing, but, on the plus side, they left the emergency door open, making it easier for us to leave quietly without the risk of a creaking door.

I peek out from the corner of the hallway and see that some of the cops have gone into the stadium. I overhear one telling another group to go check the offices and put the arrested men there until everyone’s been found. I duck my head out again and find the coast is clear.

I guide Damien out through the emergency exit. We go out of the side door, slipping into the darkness of an abandoned alleyway outside. “There,” I whisper, gesturing toward the far end of the dark alley. “That’s where we need to go.”

Damien nods; his current state of exhaustion and pain evident in the way he limps. I take his arm and assist him as we navigate our way through the shadows, careful not to attract any more attention from the still-active law enforcement officers nearby.

We reach the end of the alleyway, and I notice a door. I open it gently, very quietly, and find myself looking into an abandoned store that’s been stripped to the walls. “We stay here,” I whisper, helping Damien in.

I close the door slightly behind me, and the tension in my muscles eases just a bit. But I know we’re not safe yet. I help Damien lean against the cold brick wall, and he sits on the floor, his body trembling with pain.

“I’m going to get us help,” I say in a hushed tone.

“What are you going to do?” he whispers.

“I’ll call Lev first. If he’s got a car and is still around, he could come back for us.”

Damien nods in approval but winces at that slight movement. I begin to worry. A simple nod shouldn’t hurt this bad.

The phone rings. Lev picks up. “Lev,” I say, still in a hushed tone, in case someone outside hears me. “Can you come get us from the alley to the east of the emergency exit?”

“Can’t,” he yells back. “We’re being chased by the cops. Need to throw them off.”

I hear the sirens in the background. “Stay safe,” I whisper, my hands trembling for Anoushka and his safety. I end the call, update Damien, and think hard.

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