Page 16 of Forced Pregnant Bride

Glaring at me through the glass, with a crazy Rafayel-signature look in those siren eyes, he cocked his head. “And you’re really willing to let her go?”

I ground my teeth deeper into my gum.

“If you’re so fucking interested, go find her yourself.” I pointed at the cards and then at them. “I’m done playing. In other words, you two, get out.”

Chapter 7 – Serena

“And you’re sure this is a good idea?” I asked for the hundredth time. And, again, earned a tired, frustrated growl-slash-sigh from Jayden.

Upfront, he stopped walking and turned around with his flashlight pointed directly at me. I squinted, raising my arms to shield my eyes from the bright rays. We were in an abandoned dry canal—one I didn’t know how Jayden had managed to find. Dressed in a black hoodie with a backpack slung over his shoulder, standing at the center with that annoying flashlight, he looked like a villain—a teenage ninja villain.

But it was just Jayden.

“Take that thing out of my face, please.”

I couldn’t see his face, but I knew my brother well enough to feel his vexed eye roll. He dropped the flashlight and turned his back to me, continuing his trek down the canal. Quietly, I shifted the knapsack on my backpack, following the sharp outline of his broad back as he trudged deeper into the swallowing darkness.

“No, it’s not a good idea,” his voice echoed around us, accompanied by the crunch of tiny stones under our boots. “It’s not good or great or the best. But, for the hundredth time, Serena, it’s the only option we have.”

“What if the Russians find us?”

“Oh, my fucking—”

“Jayden!” I hissed. “Language!”

We never swore at each other, or swore at all, for the matter. Growing up, he might not remember, but I did…the swear jar Daddy fixed up in the kitchen. We—rather, Jayden—lost a dollar from his allowance or gift money for every curse word he spoke, and the bulk of it was donated to charity.

He stopped walking, his voice a notch louder now. “Well, you’re not making it any easier. The plan is to get to Matteo first and make it out of the country, and then we’ll worry about hiding our identities later. Let’s just get out of here first, okay? Your incessant questions and anxiety are not what we need now.”

Begrudgingly, I held back a response, and he took my silence as an agreement, resuming his walk. How could he blame me for asking questions and being anxious when we were literally embarking on an unknown trip? I couldn’t even remember the last time we had to travel out of the state. The last family field trip was years ago and a complete disaster. It had started with Jayden whining about not wanting to spend the weekend in the woods. Then, later that night, Jay and I barely caught a wink of sleep. Mom and Dad were up, arguing from dusk till after midnight. It was heated. Hurtful words were exchanged, hearts were broken, tears were shed, and by dawn, it was no surprise when our father drove us back to the house without Mom. She’d left and never bothered to come back.

Now, my little brother, who was really not so little anymore, expected me to run away from everything—from the life we’d managed to build, my career, his education—just like that? With no questions asked?

Hours earlier, back at the house, we’d stuffed our knapsacks with everything we thought we needed to start a new, temporary life: a few clothes, snacks, IDs, money, and flashlights. I’d had tears in my eyes when we snuck out of the house after Jayden confirmed that the watchman was asleep. We were turning our backs on everything, which was ripping my heart to shreds.

“Why is he even helping us?” I voiced when we exited the canal, finally stepping into the bright white streetlights and soft noises of civilization. Around us was the vastness of rusty construction equipment on deserted land, and southward was aglimpse of buildings. We went south, tiptoeing through the back of old abandoned brick buildings, heading for a slim alley.

“It’s what friends do.”

“Jayden.” I glared at his back. “Please be serious. If this ‘friend’ of yours is helping us, then it means he knows why. Why would he risk his neck for something he’s not a part of?”

I’d done a bit of research, gathering sufficient information to better understand our adversary—the Russians. Jay hadn’t been bluffing when he described them as ruthless. Anyone willing to go up against them had to have a valid reason and be fully, one hundred percent, equipped for battle. So, it didn’t make sense that the Italian Don’s youngest son, Matteo Colombo, would be willing to stick his neck on the slaughter board, friend or not.

Jay waved a hand dismissively. “To piss them off.”

I scoffed but didn’t bother saying anything. Trust a bunch of seventeen-year-olds to embark on a dangerous mission just to “piss off” their opponent.

Shaking my head, I tried to soothe my aching heart.

This generation.

“There…!” The sound of excitement in Jay’s voice made me look ahead to what he pointed at. It was a car. Specifically, a black-tinted luxury vehicle, sitting pretty by the pavement, with its roof gleaming under one of the streetlights. “He told me to take the car by the fifth building.”

A Porsche.

Talk about being discreet.

I didn’t have to ask; that had to be Matteo. But, as much as I tried to seal it in, hiding my distaste proved difficult. “What happened to simple cars? A Honda Odyssey would have scaled through just fine.”

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