Page 76 of Forced Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva

I stumble over a tree root, and he tightens his grip, steadying me with a curse under his breath. His urgency feels real. Desperate.

So had Yelena’s grief.

My mind whirls in helpless, frantic circles.

Jackson’s hand is sweaty against my skin. His breath is hot against my temple. We’re nearing the side gate now—the one servants use, hidden from view, nearly swallowed by ivy.

I hesitate. Everything inside me screams that this is wrong. That this is a different kind of trap.

Except, part of me wants to believe him.

Wants to believe that my father, whatever his sins, is still trying to save me. That he’s reaching across the ocean of betrayal and blood and lies to pull me back to him. That there’s still something left of the man who held my hand when I was small, who spun bedtime stories from thin air and called me his whole world.

Doubt gnaws at me. Sharp. Ruthless.

If he lied about who he was—if he lied about Maxim’s murder—what else has he lied about?

The version of him I knew, the man I defended so fiercely, could never have pulled a trigger on another human being. Could never have taken a life for a paycheck. Could never havedrowned in blood money and still kissed me good night like nothing was wrong.

Now this man, Jackson, claims to be his messenger. His rescuer.

My mind twists itself in knots, tangled between the past and the brutal, ugly present.

Andrei is a monster; there’s no pretending otherwise. He’s violent, controlling, ruthless to the bone.

At least he never hid it. From the moment he took me, he made no secret of what he was. He didn’t dress it up with promises or smiles. He didn’t pretend to be anything other than sharp teeth and iron fists.

My father wore a mask, and I loved that mask my whole life.

I stumble slightly, dragged over the uneven stones. Jackson tugs me forward again, urging me toward the gate faster now, his fingers tight and bruising around my wrist.

Too desperate.

Too insistent.

Something twists hard in my gut—a low, sick warning that cuts through the fog of confusion and grief.

This is wrong. Something doesn’t add up.

I slow my steps, digging my heels subtly into the ground, resisting without making it obvious. Jackson yanks harder, muttering curses under his breath.

I swallow hard, my voice barely steady, barely there.

“Where are you taking me?”

The question falls into the heavy night air, brittle and trembling.

For a heartbeat, Jackson doesn’t answer. Just one split second of silence.

It’s enough to hear the lie forming behind his teeth.

He covers it fast, voice light, too light. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere Andrei can’t find you.”

Safe.

A meaningless word. A word that doesn’t match the bruising grip he has on me, the frantic way he keeps glancing over his shoulder, the subtle panic radiating off him in waves.

I may not trust Andrei, but I trust this even less.

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