Page 98 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
Six down.
I drag the last body into the bushes, wipe the blood from my hands with his shirt, and exhale. All clear.
The entrance is ahead—an old steel door half rusted at the edges.
I press my back against the wall, gun drawn, and ease the door open.
Inside, it’s pitch black, but I hear faint movement. A creak. A low hum of power in the distance.
I step into the darkness, every nerve on fire, eyes adjusting fast to the dark, my grip tight on the gun—
And then I hear it.
A sharp crunch of gravel behind the door.
Fuck.
Too late.
A shadow lunges at me from the side, slamming into my ribs like a freight train. I stagger back, hit the wall hard, the wind knocked clean out of me. My gun clatters to the ground.
I’ve just lost my cover of silence, so the quicker I get this fucker, the better for me. And Jennie.
Chapter 21 – Jennie
I don’t know how long I’ve been here.
My arms are numb, my body screaming with every shallow breath. My head throbs like it’s cracked open, and my throat is so dry it hurts to even swallow. The ropes have rubbed my skin raw, and the chair beneath me feels like it’s been carved from concrete.
I try to keep my head up, but it lolls forward anyway. I’m so damn tired. So damn weak.
Yegor paces in front of me like a lunatic, muttering things I can’t make out, his fingers twitching at his sides. He keeps running a hand through his hair, the other gripping a gun he hasn’t used yet. Yet.
He stops now and then to glare at me, his lips curling in some twisted mockery of a smile. “Not long now,” he says to no one. Maybe to himself. Maybe to me. I don’t ask. I don’t speak. I can barely think.
Then—Gunshots. Close. Loud.
My heart jerks into my throat. A scream. Not mine. A man’s. Then another shot, followed by the crash of something heavy hitting metal.
Yegor freezes. “What the fuck?”
He rushes to the door, peeking through the crack like he’s trying to guess if hell itself just arrived.
He doesn’t get the chance to check properly.
The door bursts open with a violent crash—wood splintering, metal flying. Yegor stumbles back, lifting his gun—
And there he is.
Adrian.
Gun raised. Covered in blood and dirt, but not his own. His chest is heaving, his eyes locked straight on Yegor like he’s already decided how this ends.
I want to cry. To scream. To reach for him. But all I can do is let a broken sob catch in my throat as tears burn down my cheeks.
Adrian’s eyes flick to me for the briefest second—just enough to see me tied, bleeding, still breathing.
Then he speaks. Voice like gravel, thick with rage.
