Page 16 of The Pakhan's Kidnapped Bride
Fuck. This can’t be good.
“Where is the girl, Anya?” I snap.
“She’s inside, sir. She hasn’t left. She hardly shows her face at all.”
Relief washes over me, but I still run into the house. I need to confirm it with my own eyes.
I run up the stairs, taking them three at a time with long, urgent strides, racing towards her room.
I push the door open without knocking, and my heart sinks.
She’s not there.
She’s always in her room.
I hurry around the house, searching everywhere for her, but it’s clear—she’s not here. Did she leave with my cousins? Did she escape before they even arrived? Or after?
This is bad.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I see a few messages from Katya.
Katya: We’re on our way to visit. Are you home?
Katya: Hello, answer me, don’t be annoying.
There is another message from an hour ago.
Katya: We stole your ‘friend.’ She’s so much fun.
Why isfriendwritten like that? What did Anya tell them? My fingers speed over the keys as I type a hurried reply, trying to come across casual.
I hurriedly type out a response.
Me: Where are you? Is she still with you?
Katya: We’re having cocktails at the mall. Want to join us? Silver Swan cocktail bar, on the top floor.
I spin around and bolt downstairs towards the car. There’s no saying what Anya’s plan is. She could be playing it cool and hanging out with them, just waiting for the moment she can escape. She might have told them anything.
She doesn’t even realize the danger she’s in, sneaking out like this. What if someone followed her? What if someone saw her leaving my house and assumed she was of value to me, only to take her and use her against me? How can she be this stupid?
This is so fucking risky on so many levels, it has my temper flaring out of control.
I drive like a maniac to get to the mall as quickly as possible. My tires scream over the tarred road when I turn corners and ignore traffic lights. I own this city, anyway. These roads are mine and I will drive them however I see fit.
Having Anya out there without guards or me—it has anxiety pulsing through me like poison.
I need to get to her as soon as possible. And she’s going to get a fucking earful from me. I never gave her permission to leave the house.
The mall is busy with afternoon shoppers. Katya is not answering my calls.
I push past the slow-roaming browsers, ignoring their annoyed glares as they spin towards me, but then enjoying the look of shock on their faces from the sheer size of me, not to mention the anger etched into my expression.
The girls aren’t at the cocktail bar. I grab the closest waiter and demand to know when the three women left. He stammers, tripping over his words, pointing at the door and whimpering, “They only left five or so minutes ago.”
I release him and storm out again, marching through the mall in search of them. I’m about to try calling Katya again when I hear Kira’s loud, familiar laugh.
The girls are in a fashion boutique. Through the window, I see Kira holding a dress against her chest and spinning to see how it flares.
