Page 45 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
“Shit,” I hear Ilariy murmur from above. I pull back and see him looking out the back window. “We’re being followed.”
Chapter 13 - Ilariy
Arina’s eyes widen as she turns to see the sedan giving chase. I can sense her panic, recall how petrified she looked before she realized I had come to her rescue.
I place a comforting arm around her shoulder, and she nestles closer, her breaths sound uneven in fear. I lean in closer to the driver. “Try to lose them, then get us to the closest safehouse.”
The driver nods and then takes a sharp right. Arina slides onto the seat, and I keep her close by pulling her back to my side.
“Do you know who they are?” she asks with a trembling voice.
“I swear I’m not lying, but I don’t know.” I grit my teeth.
“Just…how many enemies do you have?” She sounds afraid, small.
“Everyone who isn’t us in the Bratva,” I say, flinching as I do.
She gasps, but nods. I find it strange that I kept the truth from her for so long. Turns out, she takes it stronger than I thought her capable to be.
The car continues to chase us, and the driver takes another turn, one so sharp that our tires screech. But the car keeps on gaining distance on us. The street is congested, busy, and we can’t go any faster without hurting someone.
The driver and I connect eyes in the rear view mirror, and I see his fear. He sees mine, too, I think. If Arina hadn’t been with me, I would have used my gun and shot their bloody tires off.
But if I start the gunfire and they retaliate and she gets hurt, I couldn’t live with it. Shaking them off seems to be the best and only option.
We then approach a busy intersection, and I make a split-second decision. “Let them get closer,” I tell the driver.
“What?” Arina hisses. Even the driver looks incredulous.
“Trust me. When they’re close enough, we’re going to take that sharp right onto that dirt road.” I point to a narrow exit no one seems to have noticed. “They’ll be forced to bypass.”
The driver listens, and when the car is so close, reaching bumper to bumper, I scream, “Now!”
The driver yanks at the wheel, and we go off-road. We see the car speed right ahead.
“Reverse,” I tell the driver. “Get out of here. By the time they turn around to take this street, we’ll be driving the other way.”
Five minutes later, we see that my plan worked. We’ve shaken them off, and the driver is now taking a maze of a route.
“Shouldn’t we just go home?” Arina asks.
“No,” I insist. “The safehouse is closer. If they find us on the streets, we’ll be in trouble.”
She nods as the driver leads us to the closest place we can wait out a couple of hours.
There’s a tense silence in the car for the remainder of our drive. All six eyes in the car dart back and forth, left or right, holding our breaths and praying we don’t find an unwanted surprise.
Arina is still nestled close. I feel her tremble, her hands shaking. She’s petrified.
I hate those fucking men.
At last, we pull up to the back entrance of a high-rise.
“Take the car to the basement,” I tell the driver. “And call the family. Tell them what happened and see if they can find something out.”
I usher Arina out with my arm around her waist, making sure to check all corners to see if the coast is clear, before entering the building. We take the lift right up.
“What is this place?” she asks.
