Page 4 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
But I don’t need any distractions, certainly not while Maxim is free.
With Roman preoccupied with adjusting to his new life as a father, my mind needs to be sharp. I have far too many things to deal with. Too many people are relying on me.
Still, even while the hot water cascades over me, I can’t get her out of my head.
Chapter 1 - Lily
It’s late by the time I get out of class.
Traces of color linger in the sky overhead while I pull the strap of my bag over my shoulder and leave the school building behind without another glance.
The smell of wet concrete and oil from the food truck just down the block fills the air, reminding me of how hungry I am after a long day. I’m tempted to stop and get something for the way home, but more than anything, I just want to get back.
Between lectures and practical labs, I had my work cut out for me, and I needed nothing more than to pass out on my lumpy couch before crawling my way into bed.
My apartment is only a few blocks away, but every step feels harder to manage than the last. Paired with a dull ache behind my eyes, I just need to pretend like I’m not drowning in textbooks and diagrams for a little while.
I cut through an alleyway I’m familiar with, hoping to take some time off my walk home. There’s usually a guy selling bootleg electronics at the end, but tonight, he’s nowhere to be seen.
However, a black SUV idles on the side of the street, almost blocking the alleyway with its headlights off. Exhaust fills the space between those brick buildings, surrounding a few men standing there.
I pause immediately, catching their low, urgent voices.
I should keep walking—I know I should turn around and go back the way I came.
But I don’t. Instead, my feet stay firmly planted, and I can’t move a muscle.
Pausing at the corner of the alleyway, my skin prickles, instinctively aware that something isn’t right. My breath catches when I’m still long enough to see them properly.
Three men stand over another while he’s on his knees, visibly panting with his face bloodied. Their clothes are all dark, seemingly trying to blend in with the shadows and doing so well.
One of them is holding something metallic resembling a pipe or a crowbar. Something dangerous enough to make him cower.
The ones standing seem to sneer at him, but they aren’t in any kind of rush. They almost look like animals playing with their meal before performing a mercy kill.
It doesn’t seem like a mugging. It’s too organized and too precise. Far too prolonged.
For whatever reason, it reads more like a warning or a message.
I catch a name from one of them as it’s said with a hint of triumph.
Lukov.
My brows furrow, and a cold front moves through my system. I’ve heard that name before.
I heard it whispered after my brother was killed, and the police were trying to piece together who did it, only for it to never come up again.
My blood freezes over, and I feel myself locking up completely.
Then, it happens. The final blow.
It’s swift, nearly silent, and seems to come from practiced hands straight to the man’s temple.
Like a poor sheep caught by a pack of wolves, the man collapses to the ground and immediately goes motionless. He doesn’t even twitch.
My eyes widen and my breath catches, and I go just as still.
I don’t know if he’s dead, and I can’t wait to find out.
