Page 5 of Virgin Bratva Hostage

Two of the guards climb into my car and I roll my eyes, reaching out and turning the volume on my music way too loud. Loud enough to annoyme, but the fact that I am probably annoying him is satisfying enough for me to suffer through it.

I’m not really a Swifty fan—but I like to make an exception when any of the guards are in the car. Blaring the girl power tunes and singing as loud as I can is one of the ways I like to get my small revenge.

And, of course, I sing as off key as I can.

Whatever small pleasures I can steal in these moments—I take them.

My brother really should have agreed to at least loosen the ropes a little.

He could have left me with two guards. He could have negotiated or compromised. I’m feeling so suffocated lately that I’ve been contemplating doing something to prove to them that I don’t need the guards, that I can watch my own back. I’ve learned a lot since all of that shit happened. I’m not as naive as I used to be.

I wish my brothers had more faith in me.

Well, me talking to Rodion this morning was a curtesy. It was one last attempt to be reasonable and to have an open discussion with him.

Him saying no just makes me more determined to prove myself.

So I’ve got a plan to lose my guards for a bit.

I desperately need a few hours alone.

And I won’t do anything stupid—just a little shopping.

If Rodion had agreed to lessen the intensity of my security, I wouldn’t be doing this—so really—it’s his fault.

When I get home, I park in my usual spot. One of the guards escorts me as I head up to my penthouse suite.

The rest of them move off to position themselves around the building.

My penthouse is gorgeous.

My brothers take care of me well. I do appreciate that—but I don’t appreciate being treated like a child.

Once I’m inside my home I know I have a very small window to achieve my plan. The guard who escorted me here will start scouting with the rest of them.

They spend around ten minutes scouting the building and making sure there are no unusual visitors or vehicles around, then they stand in one position, rotating on a shift until I go out, then they fall in line around me.

So I have ten minutes before one of them will be positioned outside my door again.

I toss my phone onto the sofa, I’m one hundred percent sure my brothers are tracking it. So, I have to leave it behind.

It’s time to go.

I grab my purse and bolt right back out the door and into the elevator.

My heart is hammering like a thousand horses running wild.

The elevator moves quickly down to the ground floor.

I bolt out of it as soon as the doors open and run into the street.

I can’t take my own car, it has tracking as well.

Without looking behind myself, too scared I’ll see one of the guards, I keep walking as fast as I can until I’m far enough away from my building—then I wave down a taxi and climb inside.

It was perfect. My escape plan was beautifully, perfect.

“Can you please take me downtown?” I say to the driver. “The little shopping district off Fifth Street.”

---