Page 48 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

“What the fuck is going on?” I ask, but Anya doesn’t answer my question. She just grabs my arm, tugging me up and pulling me to my feet, begging me over and over again to move my legs and run.

Chapter 21 - Boris

I’ve run through every part of the club, looking for Anya and Fiona, but there’s been no sight of them. I’m sick with worry, and I have to push the feeling away so I can focus. I keep checking the security footage on my phone, but there’s still nothing.

Every single staff member in this place knows to look out for them and alert me the second they’re spotted, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I don’t understand how they could have left the building without someone seeing them or a security camera picking them up.

I think of Anya and how she was present the entire time this building was constructed. If anyone knows how to get out of here without being seen, it’s her. And it’s giving me a heart attack.

Turning on my heel, I head for the bar, preparing to tell them to turn the house lights on and forfeit the rest of the night’s profits so I can be sure my girl is okay. I stop when my pocket starts to vibrate, and I pull the phone out, hoping it’s news that Fiona and Anya have been located.

“Brother,” Anton says the moment I pick up the phone. “Allard guys spotted in the area between Noch and Alors. The same guy who tried to attack Fiona at the club.”

At the mention of it, my side twinges as though reminding me that I still owe that guy a couple of stab wounds of his own. That familiar rage courses through my body, and I take a deep breath to tame it. I need to think clearly right now. If it comes down to getting my revenge or getting my girls out of there safety, it’s an obvious choice.

“Fuck,” I say, grabbing a gun from under the bar and pushing out into the night. The air is warm and balmy, even this late into autumn. A few stragglers are drinking and talking at the end of the alleyway, and I give them a look that sends them scattering.

Roman comes to my side, glancing up and down the alleyway. It’s clear to him that my top priority right now is finding our girls. Through his tough, no-nonsense exterior, I can see that he’s worried about Anya, too.

“Any sign of Anya or Fiona?” I say into the phone, realizing I’m still holding it to my ear and Anton is waiting for my next directive.

“No,” Anton says, “but I’m working through the security footage around the whole block. I’ll let you know when I catch sight of them.”

Roman and I move up and down the alleyways, checking for any suspicious movement. Every black car feels like a threat. All the locked doors feel like they might have Anya and Fiona behind them.

“Call the other guys from Noch,” I say, “tell them to come help us cover the area.”

“But that will—” Roman starts to say, as though I don’t already know that pulling the guys from Noch will weaken the security there. I’m aware of that, but we’ll just have to take the risk if we want to find Fiona and Anya before Allards guys do.

If they haven’t already.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I say, “I gave you an order.”

Roman raises an eyebrow at me but does as I ask, grabbing his phone and placing the call. We’re turning the corner into an alleyway when I hear a familiar voice echoing along the bricks and dumpsters.

“Come on, Fiona,” Anya says, clearly in tears. Please, I can’t carry you. Please run. Move your feet.”

“So…sorry,” I hear Fiona slur. “They aren’t…working. Right now.”

They’re a few paces down the alleyway, and Anya and one of her friends are holding Fiona up, their arms under her armpits.

“Oh, thank god,” Anya says when she sees Roman and I running toward her. She looks like she could collapse with relief.

“Thought you didn’t…like them,” Fiona giggles, and I don’t waste time questioning that or poking fun at Anya. If she was asking them to run, it was for a reason.

“Call a car,” I say to Roman, moving quickly down a different alleyway, keeping my eyes peeled for Allard's men.

“They were in the club,” Anya says as she races along with us, her friend trailing along, looking somewhat confused. “It might take them a second to get out of the bathroom. We pulled Fiona through the window.”

“You pulled her through the window?” Roman asks, looking impressed.

“It was the guy who stabbed you,” Anya breathes, glancing at me. “I thought—well, it must have been adrenaline. That we could pull her out.”

“Not me,” her friend says, “I did soccer.”

We all stop when we get to the car, and I shoot a look at her friend, who still looks confused as to what’s going on but game.

“What’s your name?”

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