Page 47 of Innocently Imprisoned By the Bratva

They hit us again, harder this time. My grip is white-knuckled as I fight to maintain control. We can't take much more of this.

I spot an upcoming intersection and make a hard right, tires screeching in protest. Horns blare as I cut across three lanes, but it provides us some distance and buys us some time.

In the rearview mirror, I see the sedan closing fast once more. I floor the gas pedal, coaxing every last ounce of speed from the straining engine.

We approach a narrow alley and I aim straight for it. Behind me, the sedan follows recklessly. They won't be able to fit two abreast. This is my chance.

But as I reach closer, I notice it’s too narrow for my car too. “Fuck,” I groan, and take a sharp right to keep going straight. But up ahead, I see a few too many cars to swerve through at the speed I’m at. This could cause an accident.

I look at Pippa, wondering if I should maintain the speed and just take the risk to keep her safe.

Just as I feel cornered and fear I’m going to crash into another car in the front, a mysterious sleek vehicle emerges from the same alley I’d been eyeing and positions itself horizontally across the road, effectively blocking the rival group's path. The sedan following us slams the brakes, but it’s too late. It plows into the sleeker car with a deafening crunch of metal and shatter of glass. I watch as our chasers bust a tire, and our mysterious benefactor drives off into the night.

I catch a glimpse of the car in my rearview mirror, but I don’t recognize it.

"Who the hell was that?" Pippa whispers, her voice a mixture of confusion and relief.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I admit, taking advantage of the distraction to speed away. But at the back of my mind, I simply can’t understand who would step in like that to save us. It was not a car I recognized, and I never saw the driver’s face.

“I guess we got lucky,” Pippa says, her face ashen-white.

“We did,” I repeat, my mind fumbling for answers but finding none.

I know we’re not yet out of danger, and I fear that the rivals might have reinforcements,

I weave through side streets and back alleys, wanting to put as much distance between us and our pursuers as possible. My mind races, trying to think where we can go to regroup and ensure Pippa's safety.

I know a place, an old warehouse I sometimes use as a hideout. It's isolated and secure with supplies and weapons stashed inside. We can hole up there while I figure out our next move.

Pippa is quiet beside me, her breathing finally starting to steady after the chaos of the chase. I glance over, taking in her wide eyes and trembling hands. Anger burns through me at the thought of her being hurt because of my enemies.

"Hey," I say gently, reaching for her hand again. "We're gonna be okay. I won't let anyone touch you."

She nods, mustering a small smile. "I know. I trust you."

Her faith in me, even now, makes my chest swell. I don't deserve it, but I vow to live up to it.

At the warehouse, I lead Pippa inside, securing the door behind us. It's not glamorous, but it's secluded and safe.

I make her comfortable, then begin preparing for whatever comes next. Our enemies could find a way to trace my vehicle.

I glance over at Pippa again as I'm checking the weapons cache. She's curled up on the ratty old couch, knees pulled to her chest. My lioness looks fragile now, her usual spark dimmed by residual fear.

Guilt twists my gut. She wouldn't be caught up in any of this if not for me. The violence I displayed earlier, while necessary, was the last thing I wanted her to see.

I move to crouch before her, taking her hands in mine. "Pippa, I'm so sorry you had to witness that side of me tonight. The brutality… I understand if you're horrified."

Her chocolate eyes widen in surprise. "Horrified? Lev, no. I was only afraid they would hurt you. I know you did what was needed to protect us."

Her absolution soothes me. This woman—this beautifully brave and compassionate soul—was worried about me, even amidst the chaos. It's humbling and heart-wrenching all at once.

She tenderly inspects me for injuries, her soft touch igniting sparks along my skin.

"I'm grateful for your protection," she whispers. "No one has ever cared so fiercely for me before."

“Oh, Pippa,” I whisper, kissing her forehead.

She pulls away and personally takes it upon herself to tend to my wounds—a few scrapes and bruises from the fight. Her gentle touch sends warmth through my body, grounding me in a way I didn't know I needed.

---