Page 69 of Claimed By Rage

A growl rumbles in my chest as I check,again, for the spare key to my handcuffs. She must have found them and took ‘em with her. Clever girl. The gun I took from Thanatos is missing, soshe snagged that, too, before cuffing me to the rail I had custom-fitted beneath my sedan. I normally use it to drag people a few hundred feet down the road. She used it to keep me here while she ran away from me.

I wish I could have glimpsed those skimpy red panties while she high-tailed it out of here.

The need totakeroars in my ears. It’s only a matter of time before I find her. Beforewefind her. Ruin will bust a nut at the mere mention of chasing her down, and Thanatos, despite his goddamn issues with her history, can track her anywhere. Rebel will have a fucking field day simply because we’re doing something out of the ordinary.

I don’t have to worry about my brothers.

I don’t even have to worry that they’ll want to kill her for hurting me. Resistance to change is normal. It’s part of the process. Denial. Resistance. Then acceptance, or what-the-fuck-ever the steps are. Point is, she’ll come around.

Especially after we fuck a baby into her. Then preservation won’t just be for herself, it’ll be for our child.

And what loving mother wants their child to grow up fatherless? Surely not our girl. I can tell she was a daddy’s girl up until he died, and I can be the same for our child. Loving. Supportive.Present.

Celia hit the fucking jackpot with me and my brothers, because we won’t fuck around with affairs, or secret lives, or boring nine-to-five jobs that keep us stressed and impotent. When one of us is busy, the other can slide right into place to pick up where the first left off. She won’t have just one husband, but several. Not one partner, but three.

Point being, she doesn’t realize what she’s running from, so we’ll have to remind her. As many times as it takes.

Chapter 21

Celia

There isn’t muchI inherited from my father after his death. The house went to my mother, all of his business assets and contracts went to my brother, and anything else within our home was either given away or sold when my mother finally moved on. But while Mikhail was swept away by new responsibilities and my mother consumed by grief, I spent countless hours inside his office. Sitting at his desk. Fingering through the books on the shelf. Pretending to answer the landline. The thing about sudden, unexpected death is that it hits everyone differently. For me, I wanted to uncover secrets my father kept. It’s how I learned that in addition to his extensive real estate contracts and connections, he kept a ledger on the side. Although I never cracked the code for what he bought, sold, and traded his life for, Ididfind something much more valuable to a girl whose path diverged from the role ofsubmissive bratva wifeshe was supposed to fill.

It was a place to hide.

The house my father kept in secret is under another man’s name. I haven’t the faintest idea who he was—my father bearing a false name or some other long-forgotten soul whose identity he stole—but I took the key hidden in a side panel in my father’soffice and claimed the safe house as my own. I spent the latter part of my teenage years going back and forth between our family home and this one. I haven’t changed much in the time I’ve spent there—it’s a bachelor pad through and through, with shag carpet and a huge TV in the sitting area, enough canned goods to feed a small army in the pantry, and a single bed that creaks with the slightest shift of weight. Nothing luxurious—just enough to get by for a night or two before the appeal of alone time wears off. It’s the opposite of the luxury my brother and I grew up in.

That must be part of its charm.

I kept this property a secret from my ex-husband—in fact, I haven’t been back in years. It’s only when I’m panicking in the street that it even comes to mind. A place to run. A place tohide.

You can’t hide forever.They’ll find you sooner or later.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I resist the urge to look over my shoulder. I’ll have to go back to my house to get the key. If those texts I sent from Rage’s phone have done their job, none of the boys will be waiting for me at home. Hopefully, they’re too busy looking after Rage to spend even an ounce of their attention on me.

I move on stiff legs as I cross a busy street, considering my next steps. Am I fleeing the city? Or am I going to stay and fight for the life I’ve built?

I think of Valentina and wonder how she made the decision to flee not only the bratva, but her position as our princess. Had she been planning it all along, or was it a spur of the moment decision? How did she get away—andstayaway? Did she have help, or was she alone?

Staring up into the gray winter sky makes me feel as small as every speck of snow flurrying down. Calling anyone for help will only put them in danger. Mikhail is the exception, but asmuch as he might support me getting away from Rage and his brothers, he wouldn’t support leaving the city altogether.

Is that what I want? Toleave?

I catch my reflection in a storefront window and place my hands on my stomach. Flutters of hope stir in my chest, and I fight the tears welling in my eyes. If I become pregnant, which option is the best for my child? To stay within the city—within Rage, Rebel, and Ruin’s sphere of influence—or to leave? I clutch my stomach as another idea emerges.

Is it better not to become pregnant at all?

The last time I let Rage in, I took a morning after pill. At the time, having sex with a stranger made the consequences a bit too permanent. But now that I know Rage, has that really changed? Or is it worse knowing who he is and what he’s done?

Bile rises to the back of my throat and I duck in an alley and throw up my breakfast. Conflict wars inside my body, the future uncertain, my path unclear.

Rage seemed like he wanted to have a baby.

With me.

But as much as I want a child, bearinghischild feels like a noose tightening around my neck. I’ll be at his mercy until the baby arrives—and even then, once I’m under his complete control during the pregnancy, will he ever let me go once it’s over?

Meandthe baby?

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