Page 16 of The Bratva's Hunted Bride
The boys aren’t total idiots. They’re outnumbered and outgunned, and whatever they hoped to achieve here tonight is slipping out of their hands. They spare one last look for their poor friend before taking off for their car.
Jaroslav waves a cheery goodbye as they peel out.
“Glad we were around to help out.” Georgy’s gaze lands on my gun, still out. “Think you can put that away now, friend.”
I laugh and nod at Jaroslav. “While he’s around? I don’t think so. We don’t need your help, Shevchenko. What the hell are you doing around here?”
“Easy,” he says, holding up his hands. “Got word of something going down, and right now, your best interests are our best interests.”
“Not fucking likely. Do you know those guys?”
He considers the man on the ground for a moment before shaking his head. “No idea. Upstarts looking for a way in, maybe. Hired thugs? Your guess is as good as mine.”
Jaroslav nudges the unconscious man with the barrel of his gun. “Want me to finish him off?”
“I’ve got plans for him,” I say, letting my gun hang by my leg. Matvey would never forgive me if I started up another war with the Shevchenkos right now, and it’s the only thing keeping me from blasting Jaroslav to pieces.
He grins. “I like the sound of that.”
Diomid finds his voice. “We’ve got this handled.”
“I think they’re telling us to fuck off, Georgy,” Jaroslav says.
“Fine, fine,” Georgy agrees amiably, a smug smile on his face that’s almost as unnerving as the wolfish grin on Jaroslav’s. “But I do hope you’ll remember this little favor.”
They get back in the car and drive off.
Diomid spits on the ground. “Pricks.”
“Holy shit that was close. A bunch of testosterone and guns. My favorite thing to be in the middle of.” Valery drags her hands through her hair. “Want us to dump that guy?”
“I’ve got it,” I tell her, drawing my knives and making my way over.
I don’t get to indulge my impulses when Matvey’s busy trying to make peace with everyone. He’s got me neutered, toothless, like we’re a bunch of diplomats. But this man right here has a purpose, I think, as I start to carve into his chest. He’s going to send a message. No one fucks with the Abashin family.
***
Blood-spattered, I unlock the front door and step inside, hoping I’ll have a chance to shower before Talia sees me. I’m still buzzing. Adrenaline and the thrill of slicing into that man, parting his flesh with the tip of my knife, has me fantasizing about other carnal desires.
I indulge in them as I slip into my office and turn on the camera system. I think of Talia coming to join me in the shower, water soaking her clothes to her skin as she begs me to take her. Talia naked on hands and knees, crawling for me. Talia screaming out my name as I pound into her.
She’s not in the bedroom. Or the living room. She’s not anywhere. I yank my phone out of my pocket, dread filling me as I see the notifications I missed. Smoke alarm. Doors opened. Gate breached. I gave her the damn escape blueprint myself.
Chapter 8 - Talia
I can’t believe it worked. When Timofey mentioned how the security system responds to smoke, I thought I’d have to wait days to get a chance to use that information, and instead, he left me alone the very same night. It was easy enough to catch some paper on fire and waft it beneath the smoke alarm.
I’d even been nice about it—instead of tossing the burning pile onto the carpet to light up the whole place, I dropped it into the sink and ran the water. It’s more than he deserves. As promised, the doors unlocked and now, I’m out in the yard sucking in fresh air for the first time in a week.
Now there’s just the not-so-insignificant matter of getting over the fence. I wasn’t joking when I teased Timofey about how absurdly tall it is, and the spiked top is just the icing on the cake. There’s no way I can climb it, and even if I could, I’d impale myself trying to get over the top.
Think, think, think.I don’t know how long I have before Timofey comes back home. Every second counts. Sprinting, I race down the drive to the gate. Maybe this is my best shot. The gate itself is as spiked as the rest of the fence, but the stone pillars bracketing it are smooth-topped, and there’s a lip halfway up where I could set my feet.
“Hang on in there,” I say, hoping that all of this turmoil will somehow make the baby stronger, that she’ll come out with a fondness for adventure. “We’re going to get out of here.”
I wrap my arms around the pillar and dig my fingers into its rough sides, finding just enough purchase to scrabble up to the lip. The stone scrapes my bare arms, but I don’t let go. A few scratches are better than anything Timofey has in store for me.
I don’t believe he was going to kill me, not anymore. For all his frightening qualities, there was something almost… gentle about him. He’s like a dog trained to fight when what it really wants is to eat treats and get its belly rubbed. Still deadly, still dangerous, but not completely irredeemable. Or maybe I’m just suffering from Stockholm syndrome.
