Page 86 of The Pakhan's Sold Bride

“I want to be the one to kill him, but if it comes down to it, and you have the shot, you take it,” I say to Roan.

He nods, staring at the car and pulling onto the road behind Benedikt’s SUV ahead of us.

I’m coming, Lara. It’s going to be okay, little one.

Chapter 24 - Lara

We don’t drive for long. I do my best to count the turns and note each direction, but it’s not as easy as it seems in the movies, and once I miscount one turn, the rest becomes useless.

It feels like the trunk is getting smaller by the minute. I’ve never struggled with claustrophobia, but in this moment, I can see why people have it.

I can hear the muffled sound of men talking from the front of the car. Occasionally, I hear hooting or a shout.

Sometimes I kick the back of the car, but it’s not easy, and I’m worried I’m wasting my energy instead of saving it to fight when I’m out of here.

Because it’s not a long drive, I know we’re still in the San Francisco area when the car comes to a stop and the engine goes quiet.

My heart pumps faster, adrenaline making me dizzy as I wait for the trunk to open.

When it does, the light that floods in blinds me for a moment, and I blink hurriedly, trying to get my vision back.

Rough hands lift me from the car, and I’m thrown over a man’s shoulder. I don’t recognize him, or the place he’s carrying me into.

Three men are walking with him, talking about nothing in particular, casual and calm.

We enter an industrial building. It smells like we’re close to the docks.

The place is filthy; it stinks as though people have been squatting in here. I gag and fight the urge to vomit all the waydown this man’s back. I can’t imagine he’d treat me kindly after that.

Stay calm, Lara. Wait for the right moment. Watch everything. Learn. Be patient.

I have to keep reminding myself that kicking and fighting until I have a real chance of escape is going to be useless.

He carries me past an elevator that clearly isn’t working. The heavy metal door is hanging lopsided, full of dents, and the floor looks rotten. There are so many guards standing around on the ground floor.

We take the stairs, which don’t exactly look safe, either.

Third floor.

Third door on the left. Along the passage are more guards.

We go into a room, no bigger than a bedroom, perhaps once an office of some kind. There are old, rotten books in the corner and a broken desk, leaning precariously against the far wall. The windows are coated in dust and grime, the light struggling to pierce through it.

The air smells cleaner in here, but not by much.

I’m slung forward, off his shoulder, and dropped to my feet, but my legs buckle beneath me, and I fall to the ground.

“For fuck’s sake,” the man groans, grabbing my arm and yanking me back to my feet.

“Where is the boss?” he asks his comrade.

“Not sure, he said he was on the way. Let’s get her tied and ready. The last thing we need is more drama or her getting away.”

“This little bird isn’t going anywhere,” the man holding me smirks, a dark, terrifying smile. He reaches out and touches me, and I pull away from him, making him laugh in amusement.

“Feisty,” he says.

The other man loses his patience.

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