Page 75 of Beautifully Deranged

She nods, then adds quickly, “Thank you. For that day. Someone left clean clothes and food.”

I nod once.

Ayla hesitates before stepping a little closer. “Did you... did you figure out what they’re going to do with me?”

I shrug. “They didn’t tell me shit.”

She sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. “How long are they keeping me?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether or not Roman gets bored of scaring the shit out of you and your family.”

“That... might take a while.”

I stand, stretch, and head for the door. “Thanks for the chat,” I say casually. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

Right before the door shuts, I toss one last glance over my shoulder. “Oh,” I say loudly, tapping my back pocket. “Shit. I wonder where I left my phone.”

Except I don’t go back in, even though I know it’s on the bedside table. I want to test her. Will she pick it up? Who would she call? What would she say? I close the door behind me and press my ear to it. The hallway stays silent, but I can feel the tension radiating through the walls. I wait. Seconds tick by.

The bed creaks. She must’ve picked it up.

“Baba?” Her voice is small. But there’s a spark of hope buried underneath.

“Baba, I’m okay… I think. I don’t know. They’re not telling me anything.”

A pause.

“What do you mean stay calm? Baba, what are you talking about? You’re scaring me.”

Soft footsteps move across the rug. She’s pacing. My ear stays to the door. “Don’t do anything,” she whispers. “Please, Baba, you know we are no match for them.”

I’m glad I left her my phone. Because I can tell by spying on her now, it was the right call. Her baba’s definitely planning something, and it doesn’t sound good. I’ll wait till she hangs up. Then I’m telling the Bratva.

“What do you mean hide? From what? I just want to come home. Please, I’m scared. I want my mother. I want Emir. Please don’t hurt anyone. Just talk to them. Maybe it’s not too late. Baba, no. Don’t do this. Please.”

Pop.

Pop-pop.

Gunshots.

Ayla screams. I’m already moving. I throw the door open just in time to see her drop my phone. Her hands are shaking, pressed to her ears. Her eyes meet mine, huge and soaked with fear. I want to fucking choke her.

Her fucking family is putting my Mikhail in the line of fire. A bullet sings past us, shattering the vase on the nightstand. Ayla shrieks and dives for under the bed. Not a chance. I lunge, grab a fistful of her hair, and drag her back hard.

“You don’t get to hide,” I growl into her ear. “Not when your father just made my man a fucking target.”

She gasps in pain, trying to fight, but she’s too slow. Too small. If I have to use her as a human shield to get to Mikhail alive, I will. I promised him nothing would happen to me, and I never break my promises. Especially not to him. We hit the stairs. She stumbles behind me, crying now, trying to keep up. My grip never loosens.

“Lola! Stay upstairs!” Mikhail bellows.

No, Misha. Where you go, I go.

I see him below, crouched behind the overturned couch, gun aimed at the window. Blood trickles at his temple. Fire burns in his eyes. Roman’s beside him, barking orders. Sergei’s half-hidden behind the piano, reloading. Even the maid crouches low, pistol in her shaking hands. The Bratva is under siege.Because of her.

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