Page 10 of Used Bratva Bride

I don’t need an introduction to know who he is. The dark buzzed hair, the cold, assessing gaze, the sharp, unreadable expression—I’ve heard his name whispered in the circles my family moves in. He’s not just anyone.

He’s a king among criminals. He’s the man even my father respects.

The moment his piercing gaze locks on to me through the car window, a cold sweat prickles along my skin.

I barely have a second to react before he steps forward, raises his gun, and aims it directly at me.

The world narrows to the cold steel of the gun aimed at my head. My breath catches, my body frozen in place as MikhailSharov stares at me, his expression unreadable, his presence suffocating. The car feels too small, too closed in, the air thick with the scent of leather and my own rising fear.

“Out,” he says, voice low, controlled. A command, not a request.

My entire body is trembling. I can’t move. My hands grip the seat beneath me so tightly my knuckles ache. My stomach churns violently, the champagne I drank threatening to claw its way back up. This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening.

I shake my head once, barely able to force out the words. “W-What do you want?” My voice is a whisper, barely audible over the pounding of my heartbeat.

Mikhail doesn’t move, his grip steady on the gun. “Get. In. The. Car.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. I don’t want to move, don’t want to get closer to him, but what choice do I have? My gaze flickers to the bodies outside, Carter and my driver kneeling on the pavement, their hands restrained behind their backs by his men. My stomach twists with horror.

“What about them?” I whisper, my voice shaking. “What are you going to do to them?”

Mikhail doesn’t answer. Instead, he shifts slightly, tilting his head in their direction.

Bang.

I scream as the first shot echoes in the night. Carter’s body jerks violently before slumping forward, blood spilling onto the pavement beneath him.

Bang.

The driver follows an instant later, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut, a dark stain rapidly pooling beneath his head.

My breath shatters, the world spinning around me. My stomach lurches, bile rising in my throat. My hands fly to my mouth as I choke back a sob. The bodies—the blood—the way they just fell. My mind refuses to process it, refuses to accept the horror that just unfolded before me.

Mikhail lowers his gun slightly, but his gaze remains locked on to me, cold, unwavering. “You’re next if you don’t cooperate.”

A sob gets caught in my throat. My limbs feel like lead, but my survival instincts scream louder than my fear.Move. Move or die.

I inch forward, each breath shaking as I slide toward my open car door, the gun still aimed at my head.

Every step forward feels like dragging myself toward my own execution. My breath is coming too fast, shallow and ragged, my vision swimming with terror. The gun stays trained on me, an unwavering promise of what will happen if I make the wrong move. My fingers tremble as I reach for the car door handle, my heartbeat pounding so loud I can barely hear anything else.

I have no choice. I have to get in.

I swallow the sob rising in my throat, my fingers curling around the handle. Slowly, I pull the door open, feeling the cool metal under my sweaty palm. Mikhail watches me like a predator observing its prey, his gun steady, his patience razor-thin.

Then, at the last second—I snap.

With every ounce of strength I have, I swing the car door outward. Hard.

It slams into him with a sickening thud, catching him off guard just long enough. He staggers back a step, and before I can second-guess myself, I run.

My heels skid against the pavement, my pulse a wild, erratic drumbeat. I don’t think—I just move, sprinting toward the street, my dress tangling around my legs, my breath tearing from my throat in panicked gasps. The cold air burns my lungs, but I don’t stop.

I make it across the street before I hear it. The gunshot. A deafening crack splits the air, but I don’t process what’s happening until a second later.

Pain explodes through my body, so sudden and blinding that I don’t even know where I’ve been hit. My legs buckle beneath me, the strength in them vanishing all at once. I collapse onto the asphalt, a ragged scream ripping from my throat as fire pulses through my nerves, white-hot and unbearable.

The world tilts, my vision swimming, dark edges creeping into my sight. The streetlights above blur into glowing halos, the cold pavement biting into my skin as I struggle to move, to breathe, to do anything.

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