Page 15 of Owned By the Russian

Ilya stood over the lifeless body, his chest rising and falling with unrestrained fury. It seemed as though the sight of the man choking her replayed in his memory because, without hesitation, he aimed his gun at the man’s already motionless form and fired twice, as if to drive him his point.

“Gryobanyy kusok deryma,” he snarled, his voice cold and venomous, the Russian words slicing through the tense silence like a blade. Courtesy of her father’s insistence to learn at least six languages, Valentina was more than versed with what Ilya just spat out.

Fucking piece of shit.

When his gaze shifted to her, the intensity of it made her stomach tighten.

Possessive. Protective. Dangerous.

But there was no time to dwell on it.

“There’s more coming,” she rasped, her voice still strained as the faint sounds of footsteps and shouted orders reached her ears.

He stretched a hand toward her. “Then we need to fucking move, Valentina. Come with me.”

It wasn’t necessarily her most preferred option, but it was her safest. And it wasn’t like she had a choice at that moment.

So, she took his hand, ignoring the jolt of sparks that ran through her skin, just as more men swarmed the building.

“Car’s out front,” Ilya said, dragging her toward the back exit, his gun raised as the chaos continued to close in around them.

With one hand, he fired efficiently while the other held Val tight, unwilling to let go. They were outnumbered, but they moved in sync, like two parts of the same vehicle, as Ilya led them to his car.

The moment they hit the car, Ilya slid into the driver’s seat. He yanked the passenger door before shoving Valentina inside with little care for delicacy.

“Stay down,” he barked as he slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut.

“No,” Val scowled, snatching the gun from his hand and immediately firing out of the passenger window.

The engine roared, tires screaming as he gunned the car forward, swiftly weaving through the narrow streets. The chase was immediate—two black SUVs roared after them. Gunfire rang out behind them, bullets pinging off the rear bumper.

“Shit,” Val snapped, ducking her head back into the car, her gaze darting to the glove box. “I’m out. Is there more ammo?”

“Backseat. Under the duffel.”

She scrambled over the console, her knees landing awkwardly on his thighs, her ass close to his face as she reached for the backseat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ilya growled, his hands tightening on the wheels, muscles stiffening from the distraction.

“I’m getting the damn ammo,” she shot back, her face inches from his as she stretched one arm behind her.

Her weight pressed against his lap as the car swerved sharply to the left, nearly throwing her sideways. Ilya’s hand shot out instinctively, gripping her waist to steady her.

“Watch it,” he warned, his voice low and tense.

“I’m not the one driving like a fucking maniac,” she bit out, her cheeks burning at their proximity. She yanked the duffel bag forward and collapsed back into the passenger seat, her heart racing for more reasons than one.

Val rolled down her window again and fired at one of the pursuing SUVs, hitting a tire. The vehicle spun out, slamming right into the second one.

Ilya jammed his foot on the accelerator, hightailing them out of there until his car was the only one in sight.

Valentina’s breathing was ragged as the silence pressed in around them, only broken by the distant hum of engines fading into the night. She glanced sideways at Ilya, his sharp profile illuminated by streetlights. There was a quiet ferocity in him—controlled and dangerous.

“Do you always bring this kind of chaos with you?”

His expression was unreadable as he stared straight ahead. “Not always.”

She leaned back in the chair, her fingers grazing her neck as she remembered the shootout in her living room. She had so many questions, but she started with the most pressing one.

---