Page 55 of Kidnapped Prisoner By the Bratva
They dubbed her a manipulator and accused me of being so naive for not seeing through her tricks.
Then, to crown it all, Akim declared me wanted for the murder of Luka Udinov, my right-hand man. He accused me of killing Luka in a bid to protect my so-called wife.
Rumor had it that Wren had attacked him while I was away because she knew he was on to her. Luka had no choice but to fight back, even though she was a weaker vessel and he would never hit a woman.
I happened to return home in time to meet the fight, and driven by my rage, I defended the enemy. Luka didn’t want to fight me out of his respect for me, and so he didn’t land a single punch. I, on the other hand, didn’t hold back. Even when he was down, I mounted him and beat him to death with my bare hands.
When I heard this perverted and twisted version of what really happened, I knew then that I didn’t prepare well enough for Akim Antosha. I underestimated the old man. I’d always known he was a manipulator, and for the first time, I didn’t see an attack coming from a while away.
Manipulation 101: Half-truths were always the best lies.
A few tweaks here and there, and the truth became a lie—one so carefully crafted it was enough to fool many. In this version, Luka was the hero, Wren was the villain, and I was the puppet caught in between.
Akim Antosha turned the situation in his favor, demonized me, and dragged my name through the mud. I’d been playing his game from the very moment I chose to marry Wren. Every decision I made since that day, every step I took, every action I made was designed to lead to this moment.
His plan was orchestrated so well that even I didn’t see it coming until it was too late.
My thoughts weren’t my own; my plans and actions weren’t my own. I was just doing exactly what Akim wanted without even knowing it. I thought that I was free when, in fact, the bastard was controlling me the whole time.
Akim was a master at this game, and I’d lost to him. I lost because I didn’t prepare enough; if I had, I would’ve anticipated all of this beforehand. I lost it all in one single sweep: my power, my name, my dignity, and my freedom. All for what? A woman I hardly even knew?
Was it worth it? Was she worth the sacrifices?
Yes, she was.
All of this was my fault. I was the reason her life was such a mess. If I hadn’t kept her locked up in the mansion longer than she should’ve been, none of this would’ve happened. But it was useless crying over spilled milk. The deed was done, and there was no reversing it.
She was my wife now, and as her husband, it was my job to keep her safe and provide for her. So, yes, she was worth all the sacrifices.
“Where are we going?” Her voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
I looked at the front passenger seat where she sat, seatbelt fastened. “Some place safe,” I answered, eyes fixed on the lonely road ahead.
She didn’t ask more questions; she rested her head against the glass and looked out the window.
The car’s tires whispered over the pavement, the road snaking through the canopies of towering trees. We’d been driving for hours since we left the mansion with some clothes, and this was the first time Wren was asking where I was taking her.
It was no longer safe back at home with a target now on my back, so we had to disappear. No one knew where we were going; that information was classified.
About twenty minutes later, we reached our destination, a safehouse tucked deep within the forest, surrounded by trees and nature. The building sat beneath the canopy, the walls softened by moss and weathered wood.
I brought the car to a stop in front of the cabin and turned in her direction. “We’re here.”
She looked out the windshield, eyes squinting. “Where’s ‘here’ exactly?”
“It’s an old safehouse I set up in case I ever needed to lay low. I guess it wasn’t a bad investment after all.”
She scanned the surroundings, skepticism flickering in her gaze. “Who else knows of this place?”
“No one,” I answered. “I told you, it’s a safehouse.”
One after the other, we stepped out of the car and closed the doors behind us. I walked over to the trunk, popped it open, and withdrew the duffel bag inside. She looked around, palms rubbing her shoulders as she drank in the beauty of Mother Nature.
The air smelled of damp earth and pine, and the only sounds out here were birdsong and the distant rush of a nearby stream.
“Come on.” I headed toward the cabin, shoes scuffing against the gravel path winding toward the porch, half swallowed by leaves and roots.
I unlocked the door, and it creaked open, revealing the stuffy interior. A foul stench drifted into my nostrils as dust particles swirled in the air.
