Page 48 of Forced Bratva Hostage

I would be walking right back into that life I was so desperate to get away from.

I glance back towards the door that leads to the club.

Andrei is inside, waiting for me. I could go home with him—be his wife, and whatever else that life has in store for me. But I might die in whatever plan he has for the future.

I turn towards the end of the alleyway. My way out.

Towards freedom that isn’t really freedom at all.

My mind is playing tricks on me. Making me second-guess myself. I’m questioning what I want and where I should go. This shouldn’t even be something I need to consider. I should go home.

There’s that word again. Home.

I sigh in frustration and rub my hands over my face. When I look down the alley again, in the dim street light, a figure appears at the end near the street. At first, I tense, ready to run from the ominous shadow, but in a flash of surprise, I realize it’s Van.

His bulky form, his rugged face, and his stern expression are all familiar to me.

He’s walking towards me, but I don’t know if he knows it’s me or not. I think it’s darker on this side of the alley.

I lift my hand and shout his name.

“Van, it’s me.”

He doesn’t reply.

“It’s Tia,” I say nervously.

My heart turns cold, frozen like ice in my chest.

He lifts his arm, his gun tight in his grip.

And he aims it right at me.

“Van,” I shout, but he doesn’t even flinch.

I hear the gunshot snap loudly through the alley, echoing off the walls.

My body is flying through the air, and I brace myself for impact, expecting to hit the pavement, and expecting the pain to arrive when my mind registers that I’ve been shot…

But instead, I land on someone and realize that there are arms around me, holding me tightly.

“Tatiana, get up,” Andrei is shouting at me as he stands up, pulling me with him.

My ears are ringing, and I can hardly hear what he’s saying.

His hands brush over my body, but there is no blood; he pulled me out of the way in time.

Van screams in anger, and another shot fires just as Andrei pulls me back into the club.

He doesn’t let go of my hand, and we are running, pushing through the crowd, loud music confusing me, until we burst out of the doors in front, right by his car.

He tugs the door open and shoves me inside.

“Move.Now,” he shouts.

The door slams, and the engine growls to life.

Wheels skid on tar, and I’m pushed back into my seat by the force when he accelerates.

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