Page 31 of Stolen By the Don

It’s a gamble—everything is a gamble—and the odds of me leaving unnoticed are slim. Forcing myself to remain calm, I close the doors, plunging the van into darkness. A plastic barrel sits in a corner, the only thing big enough to hide me if the driver decides to do one last inspection before leaving.

I climb in slowly, careful not to make any noise. Then I wait.

The wait feels like forever, but then I hear the sound of footsteps, more than one set. approaching the van. Polina’s voice. “I’ll pass your message along to Mr. Volkov.”

The driver replies, “Thank you. Ah—if you don’t mind me asking, is his wife allergic to anything? She was asking if the items were organically grown and said something about you being aware.”

Shit. Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. It was a spur-of-the-moment idea, and everything that came after was made up on the spot. If Polina decides to confront me before he leaves, my cover is blown. Sweat beads gather on my forehead and drip down into my eyes. I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep the faintest sound from giving me away.

“There’s no problem, then,” Polina replies. “Unless you have something you’d like to say?”

He clears his throat suspiciously. “Ah…no. I should get going.”

Footsteps head for the front of the van, another set retreating. I hold my breath, counting down in my mind. The engine comes to life, and the van jerks, causing the barrel and me to tumble. Ibite down hard on my lip as I wince, not moving an inch from my uncomfortable position.

Freedom. I’m free. And I’ll be back for revenge. Roman Volkov will regret not taking my offer of leniency when I first offered it.

“What the hellare you doing in the back of my van?!”

The voice crashes into my sleep like a grenade. I jolt upright, heart hammering against my ribs—and it’s not the driver staring down at me.

It’s someone else. Someone I don’t recognize.

Panic flares hot in my chest. I scramble to my feet, fumbling for the cap I shoved in my pocket and jamming it over my head. My hair’s a mess, and my face is too exposed. “I’m so sorry!” I blurt out, dipping into a hasty, low bow. “I—I must’ve dozed off while unloading. I didn’t mean to—I’ll leave right away!”

I don’t wait for a reply before leaping out of the van, feet pounding against gravel as I break into a jog, then a run, putting as much distance between me and the man as I can. I don’t look back. I can’t risk it. If he recognizes me and figures out who I am, I’m done.

The van is nothing more than a smudge behind me when I finally stop. I double over, hands braced on my knees, wheezing for breath.

As my lungs begin to recover, I straighten slowly, only to freeze as I realize where I am. All around me…fields. Fields and fences, with dirt paths stretching outward like tangled veins. Rows ofendless crops that seem to roll right into the sky. But there’s no sign of a road, buildings, or people, except the man who scared me minutes ago.

Just a sea of farmland.

And me.

Standing right in the middle of it. Where’s the driver? And he said the farm was an hour away. I don’t know how long I spent asleep, but this looks like the middle of fucking nowhere. My stomach sinks as I turn in a slow circle, trying to get my bearings, but it’s useless. I can’t tell where this place starts or where it ends. Every direction looks the same—miles and miles of green, brown, and nothing.

Shit.

I drag my fingers through my hair as my optimism deflates. I knew it was too good to be true. Maybe I should’ve listened to my father, as unreliable as he has become. At least he was right. My spontaneous, patched-up escape plan has landed me smack in the middle of nowhere. And I’m on my own.

I need to find a way out.As I thrust my hands onto my hips, pacing and mumbling, I hear an engine roar. From afar, I see the van coming toward me.

My heart leaps. The van! I don’t care if the driver looked like he could toss me around. He’s my only way out of here. “Hey!” I yell, waving my arms above my head. “Please! Stop!” I start running toward it, kicking up clouds of dirt. “Please, wait!”

The driver doesn’t look at me as the van reaches my position and speeds past. I scream louder until I can no longer hear myself, running until my legs give out and I fall to the ground. But it justkeeps going, rumbling and growing smaller until it’s swallowed by the heat haze.

“Screw you,” I whisper, too tired to yell. “Screw you to hell.”

There has to be someone else, right? A vast field, crops…there must be someone who can help me. I just have to find them. My feet feel like lead as I pick myself up off the ground and continue walking, each step bringing me closer to my final breaking point. Sweat pours down my face in torrents, and I toss the cap away, cursing under my breath.

My vision begins to fade too, slipping into memories of Roman’s house, like a side-by-side comparison to the hellhole I’m stuck in. A well-played cosmic joke. Just when I’m close to giving up, I see a farmhouse.

And a man, sitting in front of it.

“Hi!” I call out, finding my voice again. “Hey! Can you help me? I need a car to get out of here.”

He stands up, walking down a couple of steps. I pause as he approaches me, taking in his appearance. He’s tall and lean, probably in his forties. A ball cap is pulled low over his brow, dirt smeared on his hands. He squints at me as I approach, his eyes narrowing. I see a flash of recognition in them.

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