Page 13 of Captivated By the Bratva

When he lunged forward to stab me, I twisted into a countering move and took the blade from him. With my step back, I drove the sharp point into his gut.

He groaned, uttering expletives in Russian, then Spanish. I lost track of them as I slammed my elbow into the side of his head. That knife wound would slow him down from chasing after me and trying to get Nadia. The hit to his head would make him stagger even more.

Nadia.

I caught my breath, my chest heaving as I looked to the side where I’d shoved her.

Fuck!

Only the brick wall met my eyes. She wasn’t there. The damn woman had taken off while I’d been distracted fighting off this man.

My patience was shot. I didn’t have time for this. I found her and lost her? Already?

“Fuck!”

As the man groaned and clutched his bleeding injury, I gripped his hair and smashed his face into my knee.

Under any other circumstances, I would stay and interrogate him before killing him. I had to ask him who he was. Why he wanted her. What his connection was, if he had any other than seeing a gorgeous woman and wanting to take advantage of her.

But I couldn’t. Jogging away, I shook out my hand and wished away the sting and ache of punching that fucker so hard.

Nadia wasn’t here. I ran forward to an intersection of the alleys, scanning the grimy area for any sign of her. Slowing to a stop in the cross of alleys, I steadied my breath and listened for any sound of her footsteps as she ran away.

“God damn it,” I mumbled.

She was gone.

I had to hunt her down all over again.

6

NADIA

Itwisted and scooted along the wall, focused on getting away. Off to the side, I stayed out of the way from the two men fighting.

The tall man with the deep voice punched the Avilov thug who’d spotted me in the bar. He hadn’t only found me there. He’d chased me once tall, dark, and handsome acted like a wall I’d run into. And it couldn’t have looked good thatanotherman was trying to capture me. According to that hulkish Avilov, I belonged with and would be on my way to his boss. I was supposed to be Lev’s bride.

Whoever the hell this other guy was, I didn’t know. And as I ran down the alley, leaving them fighting back there, I didn’t want to know.

One creep stalking after me to bring me to his boss was plenty. I didn’t have the mental energy to figure out who that other man was. Or why he wanted anything to do with me.

Or how he knew my name.

Like the Avilov, that man I’d run into wanted to take me away.

But where?

Why?

I winced as I came to the road. My feet hurt. Aching spirals of pain radiated up from my soles. I hadn’t anticipated needing to literally run from the bar when I put on these simple flats. Every breath I wheezed in and out felt like a searing slice with the stitch from running so hard and fast. Worse was the throbbing, pulsing agony in my upper back. When that guy shoved me aside, I slammed into a sharp edge of a brick that protruded too far out from the wall. Blood trickled from the cut I couldn’t see, but that was the least of my problems.

So long as I was conscious and able to run, I would.

I had to go. To leave. Not just to relocate from their fight in the alley. I needed to get the hell out of here. Away from London.

Nowhere seemed safe. “Home” in New Jersey hadn’t been a safe location for me since Lev Avilov showed up six years ago and tried to take me with him. Now, here, in my refuge in another country, I had been spotted.

Slowing to a walk so no one would be freaked out by my hurrying, I glanced again and again over my shoulder. Those men were far back there, too distracted in sharing hits to notice which way I’d gone. But the paranoia persisted. Fear seeped into my blood, and I doubted anything would convince me to loosen up or relax. Having an Avilov man chasing me down was bad, but that other newcomer added more suspense and confusion to the mix.

---