Page 29 of The Bratva's Forced Kidnapped Bride
“We’re returning to LA today,” he said.
“Today?” I poured myself a cup of strong black coffee, unsure if I had heard him right. “Don’t you need to help sort everything out after the attack?”
When I turned, he held up his tablet, showing me it was well after noon. “I’ve already seen to everything. The prisoners are being taken care of, and we already know who was behind it.”
His voice was oddly cold, his face unreadable. He went back to sipping from his mug, as if he had forgotten I was there. I wanted to ask if the Collective was behind the attack. Hell, I wanted to ask a lot of things, but I stiffened up and shrugged, pretending I wasn’t stung. What did I expect? A hug and kiss and maybe some more action on the kitchen table?
I was out of control.
Taking my coffee, I went into the other room, not sure if I was supposed to pack up all those clothes and jewels he bought for me, and not caring either way. I didn’t see Anatoli again until we were heading toward the airfield, and by then I’d gotten my mind back on what was important.
I had been gone for more than two weeks, and my family was probably searching for me, out of their minds with worry and probably beginning to fear the worst. Once we were back on my turf, I had to find a way to get free, or at least get a message to them somehow. As we waited for the private jet to be loaded, I gave him a smile and touched his arm, thinking if I kept being nice to him, I could gain enough trust to warrant a bit of freedom. Enough to get the word to my family.
He didn’t look at me, didn’t exactly jerk his arm away from my touch, but he kept his eyes glued to his phone as he stood and headed toward the jet stairs. I followed him like a lost dog, strangely hurt. But why? There I was pretending things had changed between us to gain my own ends, and when he acted like everything was business as usual, my heart twisted up.
Maybe it was time to admit that what passed between us the night before was no act. At least to myself. But that wasnonsense, utter bullshit. So why wouldn’t the tight feeling in my chest ease up when he seemed to quite purposely wait for me to choose a seat, then sat in one as far away as possible in the small space?
Once we were in the air, the discreet flight attendant came from the front to prepare a tray of fresh bread and fruit, asking if we’d like champagne. Both of us snapped a negative at the same time, but the professional never batted an eye and poured coffee instead. I didn’t really need any caffeine, since I was already amped up on my newly renewed anger, which never should have been allowed to lapse.
As soon as she was back in her hidden area, I gulped down the bitter brew, relishing the burn in the back of my throat. Anatoli tapped at his tablet, ignoring the hole I was trying to make appear in the back of his head with the sheer force of my will.
What was that saying about a woman scorned?
Except I wasn’t scorned, or even rejected. Not when I was the one to instigate things. It didn’t matter what my heart felt, because my heart was irrelevant in this situation. I was just pissed because he had the upper hand again. At least it helped a little bit to believe that. It helped to start formulating a plan when I was back on solid, somewhat familiar ground again.
It would be great if we didn’t end up back in the desert, because that was a dead end. There was no escaping that place without a pack mule loaded with supplies. The simplest thing would be to bide my time and get a hold of his phone, get out a call to Mat, who’d alert everyone in LA.
However, he never let me out of his sight if I wasn’t locked up in a room. It irked me, made my skin prickle withresentment, but I was going to have to keep working the seduction angle and keep my damn, stupid feelings in line.
The low murmur of his voice shook me out of my thoughts, but he wasn’t speaking to me. He was on his phone, clearly making some plans that might be useful to know. As inconspicuously as possible, I shifted to make it seem like I was getting more comfortable, but now I could hear a little better.
“No, I don’t care about that,” Anatoli said, then something else I couldn’t make out. “We’re not waiting.”
His voice brooked no argument. What was he so adamant about happening right away?
“It should have been set up by now,” he said, his voice rising with irritation. A long pause, probably waiting for his lackey to explain himself. “No…. won’t be a problem. Not after this goes down.”
There was a bit of turbulence that rattled the drinks cart, making me miss who he was speaking about. Who wouldn’t be a problem? Did I hear the name Aleks? Was Anatoli plotting something against my family that was about to take place very soon? Maybe as soon as we were back in LA?
Fear and fury filled my veins, followed by a sense of betrayal that was all wrong and completely out of place. Anatoli wasn’t betraying me; he was acting as he always did, which was in his best interests. He always wanted to take my family down, and nothing I did would ever change that.
Nope, not on my watch. I slipped out of my seat, moving toward the bar at the back. He didn’t look up from his phone, still plotting as if I didn’t exist. I’d had bad luck hitting people with bottles in the past, so I chose a heavy silver ice bucket. The only knives were the useless serrated one the attendant used to slice the bread, and a dull-edged butter knife, so I’d haveto improvise. That was fine, I liked working in the heat of the moment.
“Make sure everything is in place,” Anatoli said, dipping his head as he ended the call.
Heaving the ice bucket down onto his glossy black mane, I smashed it into his thick skull without a single sound, even though I wanted to whoop out a war cry. There was only a dull thud as his head flopped forward, and when there was no move from the front of the plane to rush to his assistance, I hurled myself around the seat and jumped on him.
He wasn’t out, just dazed, but I’d hit him hard enough to reach under his jacket. Patting his hard sides and running my hands around his back, I yanked out his gun. Leaning back, I slid off the safety and cocked it. Just as he looked up, I hooked my finger around the trigger and pulled.
“What the fuck?” he shouted, dodging at the last millisecond. The bullet tore through the seat half an inch from his ear and dinged off the drinks cart, lodging itself somewhere that wasn’t Anatoli’s skull.
I tried to shoot again, or even smash him with the butt of the gun, but my murder attempt had shocked him out of his daze, and his reflexes had the speed of survival behind them. I barely managed to graze the side of his face with my fist before he wrestled me to the floor, one hand on my neck, his knee firmly on my back to keep me down.
The flight attendant rushed from behind her curtain with a gun raised. Anatoli snapped that everything was under control before digging his fingers into the back of my neck.
“What the fuck?” he repeated. “You could have blown a hole in the plane and sent us both to our deaths.”
I lay completely still, my defeat heavier than the knee pressing into my spine. So close to ending this, so close to being free. Did he really move that fast, or did I falter, somehow unable to end him—end this, whatever it was, once and for all?
