Page 44 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
“Fuck!” I growl and spin to see if I can run back, but to my horror, I find myself inching against the wall out back, see them come nearer.
There’s nowhere to go.
I raise the bottle with trembling hands. “Stay back.”
They laugh—evil and cold—and it sends a chill down my spine. One lunges forward, and I swing the bottle, cutting into his shoulder. He curses, grabs my arm, and twists it until pain shoots to my elbow, and I drop the bottle
I scream as loudly as I can, hoping someone can hear me.
“Shut her up,” one of them growls.
The man who still has my arm twists it behind my back while the other begins digging into his backpack.
“No!” I scream, fearing the worse. I’ve been taken once before, and I know this time around, I won’t be so lucky.
“No, please, let me go.” I try to struggle, but the man has a strong grip on me.
I try to kick back, against his shins, but he pulls back and twists my hands even further. I scream as loudly as I can when I see the man tear out some duct tape. If they manage to shut my mouth, I won’t be able to help myself.
I scream even louder.
Just then, a blur of motion catches the corner of my eye.
Someone crashes into the alley from a side entrance I hadn’t noticed. The two other men turn, and I feel the one with his hands on me get distracted, his grip loosening. I seize the moment to wrench free, and just then, I see a face in the darkness.
Ilariy.
I see the fury on his face, the rage in his eyes, and all my fears melt away. Without wasting a breath, Ilariy runs toward us, takes off on one foot and swivels in the air, kicking one of the men straight in the chest until he’s down and slamming his elbow into the neck of the other, bringing his face to hit the street.
The men groan on the floor as Ilariy walks toward me. He cups my face ever so gently, his eyes peering into mine, and all I see is the knowledge that now, nothing bad can happen to me.
He then turns to his side and approaches the third man, who now holds a knife in his hand. Ilariy simply grins, and I feel my toes curl. I’ve never seen him like this: this brutal, this domineering, and knowing he’s being this version all for me makes me see stars.
Ilary rushes toward him. The man lunges forward, and Ilariy sidesteps before punching him on the side of his chest. The attacker wheezes and tries to stand, which is when Ilariy delivers his final justice. My justice. He grabs the hand with the knife and cracks it back until the bone snaps.
The man howls and falls to his knees, just like I had, and clutches his hand.
Ilariy doesn’t wait to watch or savor the moment. He turns back to me, grabs my hand, and pulls me into a run. Behind us, the two other men follow and begin to give chase.
Ilariy doesn’t waste a moment. He picks up speed, his hand in mine, until we’re on the main road. He rushes me into his waiting car, slides in beside me, and I look out of the window to see the other two men run toward a car of their own.
“They left their third behind. What assholes,” Ilariy hisses as he watches and urges his driver to move.
The car speeds away as the other two get in theirs, and Ilariy turns to me.
“Arina.” His eyes go over my face, my body, my arms. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head, unable to speak. The relief of seeing him, of being safe, collides with the knowledge of what he is. My emotions swirl into a confusing mess that leaves me lightheaded.
Without thinking, I fall into his arms. He catches me, holding me close, his heartbeat rapid against my ear.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair. “You’re safe now.”
And that’s the problem. I feel safe with him. Despite everything, despite knowing better, I feel safe with the very man who put me in danger in the first place. The realization sends anxiety thrumming through me, but I can’t make myself pull away.
“Where is Katya? Tatiana?” I whisper into his chest.
“They’re safe,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head.
