Page 64 of The Bratva's Sold Bride

“So where do you think you can go so he won’t find you?” I asked, perfectly reasonably and not at all taunting.

“We’ll jump around for a while, but I plan to eventually set you up in Moscow. Ever been? You’ll like it there.”

His sarcasm didn’t touch me because I was holding in my bitter laughter. I was about to end up in Russia after all, and now with someone so much worse than my father. With my father, I knew what to expect, although I’d already been wrong to believe he’d paid off his debt.

“I’m sure that Dima will pay you whatever my father still owes,” I said, desperation beginning to claw at me. I had to get out of this before that plane arrived, not liking how confident he was in thinking he could really keep me hidden.

Rurik set his phone down in his lap and looked at me for way too long and much too intensely. “It is a lot of money,” he said. “But I like it better this way.” His head tilted like a bird sussing out a worm. “I think you’re very pretty, and I’ve taken a liking to you. You’ll be a nice addition to my life, especially knowing how much rage your husband will feel when I send him a picture now and then to remind him of who won.”

The wheels in my brain spun like they had never spun before. So he had no immediate plans to kill me, but what he described sounded so much worse. I had to think of a way out of this.

“Will it really be winning, though?” I asked. “You’ll never be able to set foot in California again. All your work will be wasted, and you’ll lose what little power you have.”

Okay, I shouldn’t have said little. His stony mask switched to visible anger in a blink, and I braced for another attack. He got himself under control and didn’t lunge to choke me again, or beat me into oblivion. The slow smile that curled his lips was almost worse.

“Don’t you worry about that. I have plans in place, and it’s just a matter of time before every last Fokin is under my heel. Then there will be no place I can’t go.”

Now, I was no longer just fearful for myself. Could he mean it, or was he just blustering about destroying the entire Fokin family? My chest twisted. They were my friends. Even if I didn’t want to live the same way they did, they’d shown me nothing but kindness. Aleks had taken my father under his wingand given him job after job despite his flakiness. They saved my cousin’s life once and set him up with a business of his own in Russia where he’d be safe.

Dima had kept me out of this creep’s hands for as long as he could, and it was my own fault I was there for trusting Zoey. I thought he was being controlling and overstepping boundaries by running a background check on her. I called him paranoid, but I should have been on high alert.

I had been blind, fighting Dima at every turn, even when all I wanted to do was give in. The fight was stupid and pointless, and I’d wasted so much time with the man I had always admired, secretly had a crush on, and had grown to love. Yes, love. The realization was like a sunbeam after days of storms, but was quickly blotted out by an even bigger dark cloud rolling in.

Too little too late. I was only figuring out my feelings when the clock was ticking down on really losing my freedom. Oh my God, how did I ever think Dima had been my jailer? The things he hadn’t allowed me to do were to keep me from the very situation I was in now. Sure, he had been bossy, he had always been bossy, but controlling?

Everything seemed different now, in the shadow of Rurik Kuzmin leering at me. Too little, too late. It was enough to make me want to sob, but there was no way I’d let Rurik think it was because he was getting to me.

Which he was. He continued to talk about his plans, his taunting voice grating on my last nerve and decimating the last bit of my courage. Apparently, he had a bunker on the outskirts of Moscow, and hundreds of people there willing to cover for him. He’d barely lose any freedom, but I’d never see the light of day again. I’d be under his complete and utter control.

No pretty garden to tend, no jungle paths to explore, no quaint town full of friendly people. People I really wanted to get to know, not just use them as a possible means to escape. That was lost, too. The place I could have thought of as home if I didn’t have such tunnel vision, was being ripped away from me. Everything was being ripped away from me.

“Yes, I’ll put you in some very revealing outfits,” Rurik continued, the glee in his voice dragging my attention back to him. “Or maybe nothing at all for some of the pictures Dimitry will receive? Would he hate that or like it?”

Did he really think I would answer? It took all my effort and control not to puke at his plans.

“We could even stage a wedding,” he continued dreamily, excited about making his arch-enemy miserable. “Not that I’d ever marry someone like you. But it would certainly make his head explode.”

He snapped another picture of me, probably because my mouth had dropped open in horror and disgust. He finally shut up for ten seconds to send it to Dima, and I wished I was untied just so I could snatch the phone out of his hands and throw it across the room. The thought of Dima suffering on my account was too much.

“Yes, speaking of heads exploding,” Rurik cackled. “I don’t think this last picture packs enough punch. Let’s get you undressed and—”

In the next instant, the only thing exploding was the door. It burst inward, slamming into the wall. Before it could bounce back, Dima rushed in, looking like an avenging angel brandishing a gun in each hand. Ivan was right behind him with his gun drawn, sweeping the room to make sure no one was hiding in the corners.

Rurik jumped up, and I heard a loud, shrill noise. It was me, screaming, because just as Dima lunged forward and knocked Rurik across the side of his head with one of his guns, Rurik shouted. The adjoining door on the other side of the room flew open, and two men burst in, pulling their weapons.

“Dima, behind you!” I screamed, throwing my body forward. I landed hard on my tied hands, between the wall and the bed, and unable to see what was happening.

“Stay down,” Dima bellowed as a gunshot rang out, nearly deafening me in the small room.

Another gunshot quickly followed, and then my ears were ringing too badly to make out who was shouting. My heart was in my throat, pounding so hard I got dizzy as I slammed my wrists onto the side of the bed and pulled myself up. There was no way in hell I could stay down there cowering and not knowing who just got shot.

Please don’t let it be Dima.

Had he been so distracted by my scream that Rurik’s men got the drop on him? What if his brother had been killed? He’d never forgive me for that. I’d never forgive myself. My head popped up above the side of the bed, and for a moment, all I saw was Rurik, slumped over on his chair, dazed from the blow to the head.

“Dima,” I said, unable to get enough air to scream again.

He stood up from where he was crouched over one of Rurik’s men, blood coating his palm. Ivan stood up at the same time.

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