Page 12 of Forced Innocent Bride By the Bratva

“Okay, ma’am. I’m gonna need you to relax,” he said, his tone calm and reassuring as he set his dinner on top of the vehicle’s roof. “What’s going on? What men are you talking about?”

“They—they kidnapped me, and I…I escaped, and now they’re looking for me—but they can’t find me,” I explained, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a frantic rush. I grasped his collar and stared into his eyes, pleading, “They can’t find me. Please, you have to help me.”

“Alright, ma’am. But first, I’m gonna need you to calm down, okay?” He delicately held my hands, taking them off his collar.

I took nervous glances over my shoulders, my eyes roaming the surroundings for any sign of the Russians. By the time I returned my gaze to the officer, I realized that he was staring, like he was studying me or something.

“You seem a little riled up,” he said, nodding toward the front passenger seat. “Get in. Let’s get to the station and sort this out.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” I rushed over to the other side and got into the vehicle, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.

I never thought a day would come when I’d be so glad to run into a cop, the same way I never imagined that my wedding day would be raided by Russian goons. If today had taught me anything, it was that nothing was black and white, and things could change at any time.

The officer got into the car, started the engine, and drove away while I looked through the rearview mirror to confirm that we weren’t being followed.

“You can relax, ma’am.” He stole a glance in my direction. “You’re in good hands. You’re safe now.”

His words rekindled my dying hope, and I let out a soft sigh of relief.

The drive was short, and soon, we arrived at the station. The officer pulled up by the parking lot, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. We both stepped out of the vehicle, and he led me into the unassuming building, my sharp eyes still roaming the surroundings.

“Come on,” he said, pushing the door open.

I followed him inside, enveloped by the fluorescent lights overhead that cast a sterile glow over the precinct. The scent of stale coffee and worn leather wafted through the air as my gaze swept across the room, taking in the rows of cluttered desks.

“Take a seat,” the officer said, gesturing at a bench to my right-hand side.

I nodded, absently rubbing my sweaty palms over the fabric of my white lace. As the officer moved ahead to greet his colleagues, I sat on the bench, my feet tapping on the floor and my hands cupping my face. Then I felt it: a prickle at the back of my neck. With a discreet motion, I raised my head, only to find that almost all the officers present at the station were staring at me.

My heart stopped for a moment, my gaze shifting across their faces, suspicion flickering in my eyes. Some of the officers leaned toward one another, whispering inaudible words that were most likely about me.

Was it because I was dressed like a runaway bride? My tangled hair, ripped gown, and bare feet were more than enough to draw unwanted attention. Maybe that was why they were staring and murmuring amongst themselves. Right?

I shifted my gaze to the officer who had brought me here, and he seemed engrossed in a hushed conversation with two others. Occasionally, they’d steal a glance in my direction as if to check if I was still there, or if I was listening in on their conversation.

Something wasn’t right. Something was off about these guys and this place—I could feel it in my bones.

The previous officer left the other two and walked back to me with a notepad in his hand.

“Is everything alright? What’s going on?” I asked him, rising to my feet and meeting his gaze.

He halted in front of me and sighed. “Ma’am, there’s been a complaint about a woman in a wedding dress breaking a window in a public restroom just a few clicks from where I found you.” He withdrew his handcuffs. “You’re under arrest, ma’am.”

“Wait, what? No!” I backed away, my lips trembling, my heart sinking into my chest. “This is some sort of mistake. I’m the victim here!” I protested, but he’d already grabbed me by the hands. His grip was firm but gentle.

“Stop resisting, ma’am,” he said, leading me toward a cell.

“No, no, no, no, no…!” The words tumbled out of my mouth in a nervous rush. “This isn’t right. You can’t arrest me! I’m not the bad guy!”

The other officers turned their faces away as I was being dragged to a cell for allegedly breaking a window. He pushed me into the cell and jammed the locks before leaving me to my fate.

I rushed forward, grabbing and noisily shaking the bars. “Let me outta here! Let me out, please, you don’t understand!” I cried, struggling with the bars. “I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

All my shouts and pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears, and now I wondered if breaking a window based on hearsay was enough reason for them to throw me behind bars. They didn’t even stop to listen to me—and why the fuck were they all whispering and staring at me a few minutes ago? Something wasn’t right.

Then I heard them—those slow, menacing footsteps that put the fear of God in me. The closer the footsteps, the colder the shiver that ran down my spine. “Oh, God, no,” I muttered under my breath, withdrawing from the bars.

The approaching footsteps stopped, and there he was, Daniel, standing on the other side with that pesky little smirk on his lips. “Did you honestly think that you could run away from me? I control half of the city. There’s nowhere you can run to that I won’t find you.”

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