Page 53 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

My grip tightens and loosens on the steering wheel as I drive, my mind all over the place. Did I just make things worse for myself?

I mean, she is my wife—

The shrieking sound of tires against the road snaps my attention to the left. A car screams across two lanes straight towards us. I try to maneuver out of the way, but I've been so lost in thought that I’m too late to react properly. This car is purposefully targeting us. There is no question about it.

I pull the steering wheel, but the car still hits us, just in the front near the hood, and immediately we are tossed into the air.

My car spins and rolls, and my only instinct in the chaos is to reach out and wrap my arm across Sasha to try and keep her safe as our bodies are slammed around.

Our car grinds loudly against the road, the metal scraping the tar until it comes to a stop on its side. I kick my door open, climb out, and reach in to lift Sasha out of my side as well. We have to get moving. Whoever just crashed into us will be coming after us, and I don’t want Sasha in the middle of a shootout.

Her eyes are wild with fright and fear when I get her out of the car. She is holding my hand tightly. Her body is shaking.

“They came out of nowhere,” she stammers. “Is everyone okay?”

“That wasn’t an accident. We need to move. Now.” I turn to run, pulling her with me as I scout around for somewhere to disappear, but there are three men surrounding us.

I take a sharp breath in. This is not good. This is the worst possible thing that could be happening right now.

One of them I know.

I instantly recognize him as one of Danil Balakin’s goons. All three men are armed, and my gun is under the seat inside my car. There is no way I’ll have time to reach it.

Fuck. This is so bad.

The head goon chuckles and raises his gun towards me. The other two follow his lead, and soon all three of them have their barrels pointed at me and their fingers on the triggers.

“Dubrov. We don’t need to take you alive. We just need the girl.”

My hand tightens around Sasha’s waist, pulling her closer, pushing her slightly behind me.

Suddenly she screams loudly and steps right in front of me.

My entire body goes tense. What the fuck is she doing?

“Don’t shoot. He has a knife,” she yells at the men. “Please, he’ll kill me,” she starts begging desperately. They hesitate. Clearly, their instructions are to take her alive. But now her body is blocking the person they’re allowed to kill. Me.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I whisper harshly.

“Please, I don’t want to die,” she says loudly, ignoring me.

The men look unsure about what to do. Her plan is working. But I don’t understand why she is doing this. She could have let them take her home. She could easily have escaped me.

I start walking backwards, away from the goons, keeping her close to me and keeping my arm behind her back as though I really do have her trapped at knifepoint.

The men stare helplessly as we move further and further away.

I pull her behind a corner and then shout, “Run.”

She bolts after me, my hand locked in hers, pulling her to ensure she keeps up.

I run straight into the road, amidst the traffic.

At an intersection, I grab the door of a car close to me open it. The driver turns towards me in horror. “What the—"

I grab him by the shirt and pull him out of the driver’s side. He lands on the pavement with a squeal of fright.

“I’ll leave your car somewhere you can find it,” I say as I push Sasha into his car and then climb in after her.

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