Page 60 of The Bratva's Sold Bride

I was tired, scared, and uncertain; that was all. Of course, I was excited and happy to be away, but I wouldn’t be able to feel those emotions until I was a little more secure.

So, maybe never.

“I have the key,” Zoey said, waving an old-fashioned, plastic keychain as she walked toward me.

She looked pale in the sickly yellow light from the motel sign, and her hand shook. I hurried closer, to take her arm in case she went down.

“I’m fine,” she said. “You need to save your energy to worry about yourself.”

The fresh burst of guilt at her selflessness was almost welcome after all the mixed-up emotions bouncing around in my head. In the two minutes she had been getting the key, I almost had myself convinced this was all a big mistake.

She opened the door and let me go in ahead of her, pulling the door shut behind us and snapping on the light. I had expected a musty bed, a chipped dresser, and maybe a sad painting of the scenery.

I didn’t expect someone to be waiting in there, smiling at me with such a cruel look in his eyes that I jolted backward, slamming into Zoey, who grabbed me by the arms to keep us from toppling.

This had to be a nightmare; I couldn’t be awake. This just wasn’t happening, because how was it possible? Leering at me with sick glee from two feet away was the real monster who’d been at the root of all my troubles.

“Zoey, run,” I hissed, trying to shove her back. She must have been in shock, rooted to the floor like a statue.

Rurik Kuzmin’s smile grew more menacing as he stepped toward us.

Chapter 36 - Dimitry

I could barely take a breath to let out a growl of rage as I sank to the ground. Ivan rushed over to ask me what was in the message that made me lose my shit, prying the phone out of my grip. His face went pale as he looked at the picture I had been sent.

He wordlessly handed it back, too stunned to even utter a curse. I glanced down at the picture again, letting the anger course over me and strengthen me for action.

My wife, eyes closed, hands and feet bound like she was a hunter’s trophy ready to be trussed up on the hood of a truck for transport. A trickle of blood ran down the side of her face, and her lip was swollen and split. From the rough bedspread under her, the nondescript fake wood headboard, and the bit of dingy wall behind her, it looked like she was in some dank little motel, but God knew where, since they could have been anywhere by now.

Another rumble started in my throat. The desire to do something overwhelmed me, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to get to her faster.

“We need to study it for clues,” Ivan said, voice hollow.

It was already burned in my brain, every last pixel tormenting me with fear and the helplessness that I couldn’t immediately help Olivia, and then tear the worthless coward who took the picture to shreds. I wouldn’t feel whole again until I heard her voice and saw for myself that she was okay. And I had her captor’s bloody spine in my hands.

“Josef,” I muttered, my brain starting to click back into the proper gear. The rage had to shift into the background for now. “He’ll be able to track her, won’t he?”

Ivan nodded, remaining silent, but clearly upset and confused. I sent the picture and the messages to my top computer specialist. Josef had found one of our enemies hiding out in Taiwan once, based solely on a blurry doorknob in the background of an infiltrated video meeting he had with his boss. He’d find Olivia. He had to.

“Let’s head back to the house,” Ivan finally said. “Set up a base for information.”

He didn’t want to stand around idly anymore than I did, but it was the best idea at the moment, and all we could do except for setting off on a wild goose chase and possibly ending up further from Olivia.

“You don’t think her father’s a part of this, do you?” Ivan asked. “What the hell is going on, Dima?”

I was already pulling out my phone to call the bastard as we sped back to the house. It rang to voicemail, and I hung up, calling again. That time, I left a message, the last one I’d have the courtesy to give him.

“If you don’t call me back within the hour,” I said, noting the exact time. “You’re a dead man, Benedikt. Wherever you are, my people will find you and execute you on the spot. No more weaseling your way out of talking to me. One hour.”

Within fifteen minutes, we were pulling up to the house, and no sooner had I walked through the front doors than the sniveling old drunk called back.

“Tell me everything you know,” I demanded.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he whined. “The odds were definitely in my favor, but the race must have been rigged.”

He kept babbling almost incoherently, but I managed to piece together that he’d lost another huge amount on a horserace. Not just any huge amount, but the money I had deposited into his bank account to pay back Rurik Kuzmin. All 250 grand was lost, and he gambled away in the attempt to put himself on top again.

“I deserved that win,” he said pathetically. “I can still find a way to make it back and show all of them.”

---