Page 28 of The Bratva's Hunted Bride
“You’re a real asshole,” I say, raking my fingers through my hair. It’s tousled beyond repair. “You know that?”
He shrugs lazily. “I’ve heard it a time or two.”
My hands ball into fists at my sides. I want to scream, throw something, hit him, anything to make him react in a way that shows even a modicum of emotion. His eyes are slate, revealing nothing, and his gaze on me can only be described as mildly curious, as if he’s wondering what I’ll do next.
“You need to get out.” I point my finger at the doorway to the bedroom. “Out. I need to sleep, and I don’t want you here.”
He takes his time getting to his feet and pulling on his clothes. I hold my breath as he walks by, expecting a final fight or some sort of protest, but he just leaves. Frustrated, I slam the door shut behind him.
***
“I think we’re good to go,” he says casually over breakfast the next morning.
I avoided coming out for as long as I could, but eventually my stomach’s growls let me know that skipping breakfast was not going to be an option. I’ve had none of the nausea I’ve heard some women complain of in their early pregnancies, but my appetite is ravenous. Normally, I’m happy to make that trade, but today it means facing Timofey and all the awkwardnesslingering after last night. He seems to feel none of it, as casual and unbothered as ever as he sips his coffee, flipping through something on his phone.
“We can leave?” I ask, setting the spoon down in my bowl of oatmeal.
He nods. “I think so. Once you finish up, we can pack and go.”
The thought makes me oddly melancholy. I’d almost enjoyed it here. I’ll never get to see the flowers that we planted bloom. I should be jumping for joy, as it means no longer sharing such close quarters with Timofey, but those feelings are too complicated to untangle over breakfast.
“Okay. Not much to pack, is there?” Keeping my tone as neutral as his is a challenge when I want to pick another fight just to provoke some emotion out of him. He’d seemed so tender last night, but all of it is gone now.
“Guns. Knives. The usual.” There’s a shadow of a smile playing on his lips now, and I wonder if he’s teasing me.
I push back from the table and head to the bedroom to change into the clothes I was wearing when I got here. Then, I sit on the porch while Timofey finishes getting ready. I’ll miss this spot. The smell of the vine, the songs of the birds, and the feeling of being in nature, unable to even see a neighbor. It’s so unlike the city I grew up in, more like the life I dreamed of having.
“Good to go?” Timofey asks, stepping out from the house. He looks good in a tight t-shirt and jeans. I’ve even gotten used to the sight of the weapons strapped all over his body.
I nod and follow him out to the car. We pull away, and I close my eyes so I don’t have to watch it disappear.
Chapter 13 - Timofey
Talia doesn’t say a word as we drive away from the hideout, leaning her head against the window with her eyes closed. She shut down last night, just when I thought we’d had a breakthrough. Pure, perfect sex and the feeling that she’d almost liked me, gone in a second. I don’t know what spooked her. Don’t know what I could’ve done differently.
But I don’t panic. If it happened once, it can happen again. The connection between us is obvious, and even she’s sometimes forced to acknowledge it. I can be patient. Talia is worth the wait. And fuck if this place didn’t feel like a little slice of paradise amid hell. I would have stayed forever if I could, but duty calls me back to the city.
That’s what’s on my mind when I spot the roadblock up ahead. Paradise. It’s a fleeting moment, a reprieve, but this right here is reality. Two cars are angled across the road to block traffic. Given that we’re in the middle of nowhere, the road is barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other, and there’s no room to go around, not without running into a few trees. And given that I haven’t seen a single other car on the road this whole time, it’s pretty obvious they’re here for us.
How the fuck did they find us? I flash back to the garden store—did someone spot us, or did we never manage to lose them during our initial escape? Doesn’t matter now; they’re here. I slam the brakes and jerk the wheel into a U-turn, but another car is speeding up behind us. It skids to a stop diagonally across the road, and a man jumps out. He points a pistol at the car.
“Get down!” I yell at Talia, reaching across the center console to shove her down as I hit the gas.
He fires, and the glass shatters the back window. His next shot takes a tire, and the car pulls to the right. I draw my pistol and fire back through the windshield four times in quick succession, struggling to keep the car on track. Talia screams and wraps her hands over her head.
One day, I’m going to make these bastards pay for everything they’ve put her through, but for now, I just need to get us out of here. It’s not happening in this car, though. The man goes down, and if my shots didn’t take him out, the way he cracks his head on the pavement would do it. It’s still too good for him.
“We’re going to have to run to that car,” I tell Talia, steering my car up alongside the other.
The two roadblock cars are moving our way, fast, and the driver in the car in front of us swings a gun in our direction. I fire off a shot that makes him duck, and another that takes him in the chest.
“Let’s move!” I open my door and provide covering fire as Talia sprints for the other car. My first shot blasts through one of the windshields, and the second hits the hood. One of the cars slows, but the other continues barreling in our direction.
Talia is quick. She jumps into the passenger seat while I race around the other side, grabbing the dead driver and throwing him from the car. A bullet whizzes past my shoulder. I fire off two more rounds blindly, then throw the car into gear and tear off down the road.
“Stay down,” I tell Talia, “there’s one more.”
“Give me your gun,” she says, holding out her hand.
