Page 15 of The Bratva King's Auctioned Bride

Damn it. Of course, I knew that was the case. I was losing it if I thought it was going to be so easy. This was Arkadi Mikhailov, after all. I couldn’t let that kiss trick me into forgetting he wanted me and every last member of my family to suffer.

Back to the search, because I wasn’t getting past those guards without a weapon.

The house would have been an excellent place to spend a week or two if I weren’t being held hostage. Every room was big and airy, with walls of windows or private porches and balconies that boasted glorious views. The decor was minimal and modern, suited for a single man, and it didn’t seem overly lived in, though I did manage to find a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt so I could get out of the godawful nightie that I’d been forced to wear on that godawful stage.

I let Arkadi’s oversized jacket slide down my shoulders, trying not to recall the feel of his hands as they moved up and down my back. The brisk, spicy scent that clung to the fabriclingered on my skin, giving me way too many confusing feelings. There was no way I wanted more. No possible way. Every bedroom had an ensuite bathroom, and I briefly considered taking a shower to free myself of it, along with the memory of his touch.

No time.

While I went through every drawer and closet at breakneck speed, there wasn’t a cell phone anywhere, and if there were any weapons, they were locked up tight somewhere I couldn’t find. The fresh clothes seemed like such a major victory and my first step toward freedom, but I didn’t stand a chance without a weapon. My spirits were just about dashed to pieces, and I slumped into a chair in the kitchen with a bottle of water.

Just a quick break to get myself together. I’d been through a hell of a lot since I left my apartment earlier that day. My mind was a whirlwind, careening from despair to rage to fear about what might lay ahead. What was Arkadi’s plan? He really didn’t mean it when he said he was going to marry me, did he? Why the hell would he do that?

It was the first time I’d allowed myself to recall those words and the look on his face when he said it. It really seemed like he meant it. Not wanting to think about what happened when he returned and I was still unarmed, my mind perversely went back to that kiss. The kiss that made me lose my freaking grip.

Oh God, did I actually run my hands up his very, very strong chest? It was like clinging onto a rock-hard furnace, his heart thudding under my palm. My own heart had been going a hundred miles a minute as I gasped against his lips. When was the last time I had kissed someone like that?

Exactly never. I was always an overachiever, and I had to work for the good grades I was determined to get. While I was mostly a social butterfly and loved going to the occasional party with friends during high school and college, I never prioritized dating. Not that I could if I wanted to.

My overprotective brothers were like having six extra fathers, and Papa was certainly enough on his own. As tiresome as they were, I loved them all way too much to ever actively go against them. Men were trouble; men took up all your time, and it was easier not to go looking for a relationship that wouldn’t pass muster with them anyway. I wanted to get my career—whatever that would be now that my boutique was dead and buried—off the ground before I gave my time to a man.

Now, I had no choice in the matter, and neither did my brothers. Hadn’t I seen this very thing happen before? In my family, it was practically the norm. Except not to me. I wasn’t going to put up with being grabbed off the street, stuffed into the trunk of a car, and forced to march down the aisle.

Hell no. I wanted to be wooed, romanced, swept off my feet figuratively, not literally. I needed to have conversations about the future with the man I’d end up marrying. Not demands, not orders, but thoughtful discussions about our shared ideals.

Not whatever Arkadi had planned for me. Hell fucking no.

It was hours later in the dead of night when he finally returned, finding me still in the kitchen, listlessly eating some pasta I’d boiled when there was no possibility of falling asleep. My mind was still a whirlwind, and when he strolled in looking much too self-satisfied and much too… tempting, I snapped.

Enough was enough. I could not let him get close enough to muddle my thinking again. Jumping up, I grabbed the heavy cast-iron pasta pot from the sink and swung it at his head with all the force I could muster. It hit with a shockingly loud crack, but he didn’t go down, only swayed on his feet for a moment.

Just long enough for me to grab the gun that peeked out from a hidden holster under his jacket, taking a step back, I raised the gun, my finger moving up to curl around the trigger. Arkadi froze for a split second, then a maddening hint of a smile raised one side of his mouth. He didn’t think I had the guts.

Click.

Who was more shocked? Him that I actually pulled the trigger, or me, when nothing happened? The damn safety was still on. In my panic and haste, I had made a stupid mistake that might have cost me everything. I staggered back as he recovered from the blow from the pot and lunged at me. I threw the first thing I could grab from the counter at him, and the pottery mug hit him square in the face. I ducked under his outstretched arms and bolted.

Without thinking, I fled for the front door, knocking over everything in my path as I ran, hoping to put precious seconds between us. By the time I got to the front door, I had the safety off and held the gun up as I swung it open and burst onto the terrace. The guard wasn’t lounging around on a smoke break this time, but ready for me with a snarl on his face. I barely registered his hand moving toward the gun at his side, moving solely on survival instinct.

Another click, and this time a bang, as I shot him without hesitation. I’d shot at targets countless times, but that was the first time I’d had to put a bullet in a person. He crashed to the ground like a bag of bricks, and I jumped over his body, runningdown the pebbled path toward the gate. How many more men would I have to shoot to get out of there and gain my freedom? As many as it took.

Bile rose up in my throat as I thundered close to the gate, forcing myself not to turn around and see what I’d just done. My brothers had kept me out of the dirtiest parts of their business, though I was well aware of what went on when our enemies just disappeared.

Whatever it took to maintain our own safety. If you messed with us, you got what you deserved. After what seemed like forever and a split second at the same time, I made it to the gate, about to puke from the overload of adrenaline. My gun was still raised as I dodged the gatehouse, not exactly eager to have to shoot someone again so soon. Throwing myself at the stone wall, momentum got me a handhold several feet above my head, and I hoisted my foot into the first crevice I could find.

The ancient, ten-foot wall seemed twice that height as I scaled it, my heart about to choke me with its rapid-fire beat. My fingernails cracked as I dug into the tight spaces between the stones, and thorny ivy grabbed at my hair and clothes. Dirt fell into my eyes, but I shook it away, only another short reach from the top. It was a miracle I hadn’t been pinged off into the grass below already.

“Stop,” a voice shouted from behind me.

I groaned in frustration, so close to the top, my whole body tensing as I waited to feel a bullet rip through me. Turning, I trained my gun toward the source of the voice. As many as it took to gain my freedom. The gate guard stood six feet from the wall, his own gun aimed squarely at me. Would he shoot me and risk Arkadi losing his bargaining chip? Was I truly preparedto end yet another life? I shook my head at him through the darkness, my finger twitching toward the trigger.

Before either of us could act, a hand wrapped around my ankle and brought me crashing down off the wall.

Chapter 13 - Arkadi

Well, damn. My furious captive actually tried to shoot me. If it weren’t for her panic in forgetting to release the safety, I would have been dead right now. The side of my head throbbed from where she clocked me with a pan she’d pulled out of the sink. I rubbed the sore spot in bemusement as I watched her tear off toward the front door.

She wouldn’t make it far, and for some reason, probably the conk to the head, I found the fact that she just tried to kill me utterly amusing and a bit charming. Mila wasn’t at all who I thought she was. Not merely a hapless card I was holding onto and waiting to throw down to claim my victory. Not a pawn, either.

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