Page 71 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

"She… she got away," Carl stammers, his words slurring slightly. "Pepper sprayed me and… and the other guy."

My mind races. If Zara escaped, why isn't she here? And why the hell would she have needed to escape? Where could she have gone? The possibilities, each more terrifying than the last, flood my thoughts.

"Other guy?" Vladimir interjects, his voice sharp. "Who else was involved in this, Carl?"

Carl's eyes dart between us, the reality of his situation sinking in. "I… I can't…"

"You can, and you will," I snarl, my grip tightening. "Every second you waste puts Zara in more danger. Now talk!"

“I said I can’t…” he insists, now standing and backing away from us.

The next I know, Mark has him in a headlock and pushes him toward me. Carl's whimpers echo through the dilapidated room as I twist his arm behind his back, pushing him face-firstagainst the wall. The acrid stench of fear and sweat fills my nostrils.

"Talk," I snarl, increasing the pressure. "Now."

“Please…” he begs. “You don’t understand. If they know…”

“What we’d do is worse,” I scream, pulling his thumb back against his hand. A sick crack echoes through the room, and Carl screams, crumbling to the floor, clutching his hand while whimpering like a little boy.

“If you don’t talk,” Denis says, slowly walking over and getting on his haunches. “What we’ll do is much worse.”

Denis pulls out a pistol and puts it right under Carl’s chin.

"I… I was going to sell her," Carl chokes out, his body trembling. "To your rivals."

A wave of fury crashes over me, threatening to drown out all reason. "You were going to what?"

Vladimir steps closer, his eyes cold. "Why?"

Carl's breath comes in ragged gasps. "Revenge. She cut ties with us… her family. Left us with nothing. We fed her, clothed her."

I lean in close, my lips brushing his ear. "You call yourself family? You're nothing but a parasite. Your fucking family ate through her millions. You fed her? How dare you?” I can’t help but land a punch in his gut.

He sputters, wheezing for air.

“What’s in it for you?” Denis digs the gun under Carl’s chin.

“M-m-money,” he says. “They said they’ll give me thirty grand.”

I feel a tremor of anger course through me. "Thirty grand? You'd sell my Zara for thirty grand? I’m going to fucking kill you!” I bellow, trying to grab the gun from Mark.

“Stop, Brother,” Vladimir holds me back, pulling me to my feet. “Think,” he whispers, trying to calm me. “We need to learn more.”

"Where were you taking her?" Denis takes over, his eyes flashing between mine and Vladimir.

"I don't know exactly," Carl whimpers. "Just… just a meeting point."

My grip tightens involuntarily around Vladimir’s, trying to break free. The thought of Zara being sold like a chattel makes my vision blur with rage. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus.

"Who are the buyers?" I ask, my voice dangerously low.

Carl hesitates, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he weighs his options.

"Answer him," Mark growls, stepping forward menacingly.

"The… the Petrov syndicate," Carl finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

The name sends a chill down my spine. The Petrovs are known for their cruelty, especially toward women. The image of Zara in their hands makes my stomach churn.

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