Page 85 of Obsessed Bratva King

I stare at the handle, my chest rising and falling too fast.

Then—

“Ivan!”

I slam my fist against the door. “Open the fucking door!”

Silence.

I pound harder, my breath coming in sharp gasps. “You can’t do this!”

Nothing.

My hands curl into fists. My entire body shakes with rage, with frustration, with something deeper that I can’t name.

I take a step back. My heel hits the edge of the bed—because of course there’s a bed in here. Of course he put me in a room meant for keeping me. Planned this whole thing.

I scream in frustration, kicking the door as hard as I can. The impact reverberates up my leg, but I don’t care.

He doesn’t believe in you. He never did.

I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head. No. No, that’s not true.

But it feels true.

Because I’m here. In a locked room. Waiting while he goes to fight the war I started.

The sound of my phone vibrating makes me jolt. I sit upright. I must have fallen asleep. Hours have passed.

My pulse stutters as I whirl around, snatching it off the nightstand. The glow of the screen pierces the dim room.

A message.

From Ivan.

I hesitate before swiping it open.

Come to me, kitty kat. I need you. Pier 19.

My stomach twists.

My gut coils with unease. The code. He’s been forced to type that message.

This is a trap. Darren’s sent them all to pier 17 but he’s waiting for me at pier 19. And he’s got Ivan’s cell. Which means he’s got him.

My eyes land on the only possible exit—a high, narrow window near the ceiling.

I grab the chair near the small desk and smash it against the glass.

The sound shatters the silence, the sharp crack reverberating off the walls. Pieces rain down onto the floor, glittering in the dim light. Cold night air rushes in, biting against my skin.

I haul myself up, squeezing through the jagged opening. The glass scrapes against my jacket, slicing through fabric, but I don’t stop.

The drop outside is farther than I thought. My body slams into the ground, my breath leaving me in a painful whoosh. My palms scrape against the rough ground, my elbow stings, but I push myself up, ignoring the ache.

Gun tucked into my waistband, I move toward the garage. Ivan needs me. I’m coming.

24

---