Page 65 of The Russian's Forced Bride
Without waiting for him to recover, I arched my back against the chair so my hands could reach the bat beneath me. But then Mateo had gotten back to his feet, cussing in Spanish, and before I could successfully grab the bat, he once again yanked my hair, forcing my head up, and slapped me hard across the face.
My sight immediately blurred as he towered over me, my face stinging like an anvil had been slammed against it.
“You crazy bitch,” he spat into my face while I began to laugh hysterically, my hair flipped over my face with blood trickling down my nose.
“You’re going to die,” I laughed, watching his face burn in anger as he made a fist to punch me.
But he couldn’t kill me. He was just a fucking puppet to Joaquin.
I kept laughing into his face like a madman because, in truth, I felt like Ihadlost it. Not only was I starving, but it felt like my entire system was being flipped over from the inside.
I didn’t want to lose my baby.
But the only thing I could do was make this man—who had scissored his way into my life—feel the same anger I was feeling.
So I kept laughing, even though I was dying inside.
Chapter 23 – Rafael
The tactical jacket I wore clung to me like a second skin. It had been years since I had worn one, considering I was pushed back to become a businessman. But today, I wore it like a badge of armor, reminding myself that I had to do this.
It wasn’t that I was afraid to go back into the art of killing I had been so cruelly dragged out of. I was worried that I’d be too blinded by my anger and get caught up in it. I knew myself, and I knew there was a darkness that lurked in my subconsciousness—a bloodlust that gripped me hard as I stared ahead at the Kamarov building where they had taken her. I was prepared to get my hands bloodied if that meant getting Arlette back. It didn’t matter if she saw me differently after what I was about to do.
As long as she survived, I didn’t really give a fuck about anything.
Maxim tossed a Glock to me, which I skillfully caught, strapping it into my waist belt. And just then, through the comms which Diego had given to me, Matvey’s voice tore through—authoritative yet leveled with understanding. I didn’t want to have to listen to him this time, but it was because of his help that we knew where they had hidden Arlette, so I decided to at least pay attention to whatever he had to say.
“Just get her out of there, Rafael,” he instructed me. “That’s your main priority. Seeing as she’s carrying a Bratva child, you shouldn’t consider doing anything else.”
I scoffed in annoyance. Of course, he wasn’t going to give me the go-ahead to kill that fucker.
“I know you want to kill Joaquin and his nephew, but leave them to me. I promise you’ll get your revenge. Do you copy, Rafael? Don’t disobey me.”
I tried to clear my head and actually listen to him, but all I could think of was killing that man. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to get Arlette out. She was my main priority. Nevertheless, I agreed to Matvey’s instructions, even though I knew I was certainly going to disobey him.
Right after I was done with Matvey, Diego led Maxim and me through the black iron gates, using hand signs to point out an entrance through the back of the house where we could get in without being noticed by Joaquin’s men, whom he claimed were swarming all over the place like flies.
“It’s a suicide mission,” he had claimed, explaining there were about twenty men in total in the building, with five on each floor and one in the room with Arlette, perhaps keeping her from escaping.
But in my opinion, killing off twenty armed men was akin to child’s play. It had been years since I had fought against trained killers, yes—but that didn’t mean I lacked experience. And besides, I had Maxim with me.
I wasn’t being egotistical, but brutally honest. I was confident we could take them all out. The problem, though, was reaching where Arlette was being held in time. If our gunshots echoed through the building, I reckoned it could set off Joaquin to kill Arlette. So we had to be swift and as stealthy as possible.
When we got to the mansion’s backyard, Diego explained that there were no men positioned directly, as they were all busy guarding the front door and each floor.
I patted Diego’s back in thanks, letting him go and signaling to Maxim with my hands that we move in through a trapdoor hidden within the field of poppies and flowers adorning every inch of the backyard garden. The garden, which had not been tended to in years, had become swallowed in vines and weeds, hiding the trapdoor in plain sight.
Following my lead, I pushed back the massive grass blades until I found the metallic trapdoor, whose metal gleamed slightly with the sun. With a shared look of agreement, I opened up the trapdoor, slipping inside, and Maxim followed right behind me.
The tunnel leading to the underground bunker was dimly lit, reeking of stale, moldy air, with the sound of dripping water echoing into the distance. The concrete walls were sludgy with moss and creeping insects crawling around.
Silence settled over Maxim and me as we navigated through the bunker tunnels.
And just when a shadow approached in the distance, Maxim walked the curve and immediately fired a headshot at one of the suited-up guards, who fell with a thud, spraying the walls with crimson.
The comms in my ears crackled as Diego’s voice came in: “Three heat signatures. On your left, approaching fast.”
I immediately raised three fingers to Maxim, signaling that three other men were approaching. And right after they rounded the corner, Maxim fired his gun at two of them while I shot one in the arm, ducking when he fired at me. Upon nearing him, I threw a punch at his face, once again firing at his slumped body on the ground.
