Page 22 of Kidnapped Prisoner By the Bratva
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I reached for it without taking my eyes off her. “Yes?”
“It’s done, Boss,” Luka said on the other line. “They’re all dead.”
My eyes narrowed. A part of me was glad it was over; however, I couldn’t help but wonder who the hell was behind this attack. Perhaps if we’d kept one of the assassins alive, we’d have gotten some answers. Like how the fuck they got past security.
I lowered the phone, burying it back in my pocket.
Wren’s eyes shifted to my bleeding arm, and although her mouth was shaped like she was about to say something about it, she didn’t.
“I’ll send someone to clean this up,” I said, referring to the mess and the dead body in her room.
Quietly, I headed out, knowing that she was safe and out of harm’s way. I was almost at the door when she spoke.
“Who was that guy?” she asked, her voice shaking under the weight of her fear.
That was the million-dollar question that I had no answer to at the moment. Without a word, I walked out of the room, wondering the same thing.
Chapter 9 – Wren
I’d stared death in the face.
Nothing was scarier than that.
I thought, for sure,this was the day I’d die.
But God had other plans—and thenbang. My jailer arrived in the nick of time and put a bullet in my attacker’s head. Four bullets to be precise. Damn!
This was last night, but even now, I was haunted by the sound of gunshots that echoed loudly in my head. I was so fear-stricken that I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak—all I did was scream the moment death came face-to-face with me.
They say, when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. That’s true. But what they don’t tell you is how fuckin’ horrible that experience is. I lived it, I survived it, and I can tell you for free that I almost shit my pants. That was the most terrified I’d ever been in my whole life.
I’d never seen a gun up close, let alone had the damn thing pointed at me. Fuck!
If my jailer had wasted just one more second, I would have been a goner by now—a fuckin’ first-class ticket to heaven. Or hell. Yeah, I’d rather not even think about it.
I thought I was brave until death came barging into my room and left me shaking like a leaf. I remember napping that cool evening, only to be woken up by the sound of rapid gunfire.
The mansion was invaded by gunmen. People were hurt, staff and guards alike. The household lost two men last night, four were in the ICU, while the others sustained minor injuries. No worker domestic staff was hurt—none that I knew of anyway.
But here’s the kicker: From what I gathered, no one else was attacked in their rooms the way that I was. None of the domestic staff faced off against the intruders.
Why only me? And how did the intruders know the exact room where I was? Was this planned? Fuck, was I the target?
No, no. This must be some sort of coincidence. Maybe my attacker didn’t know whose room that was. Perhaps, he just wandered in there, ready to kill whoever was inside. Right?
Uh-uh, girl, I think you’re in denial,said one of the voices in my head.
Which one was it this time, the voice of fear or that of courage? Or another voice entirely?
The voice continued,Remember earlier this morning, when you were walking down the hallway, you overheard a maid recounting what happened to her to her colleagues.
Shit. That was true.
The maid’s door was slightly open, and I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but what she was telling her colleagues caught my attention. She was seated on her bed, wiping her tears with a napkin as she told two other maids that one of the masked men had barged into her room.
According to her, he pointed his gun at her but then turned away shortly after. Even her colleagues were shocked, and they asked if she was sure that’s what really happened. The maid swore she was telling the truth.
“I swear…he just walked away,” she’d said amidst sobs.
