Page 67 of Kidnapped Prisoner By the Bratva
I swallowed hard. “For now. They know where we are, and they might send more people after us.”
He shook his head, his voice laced with conviction. “They won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He paused, reaching out to hold my hand. “Because you killed him.” Val gestured to the intruder’s body.
“I—I don’t understand,” I stuttered, confused.
“You earned our freedom when you took his life,” he said. “His name was Volchok, and he was sent to duel with me, a fight to the death. The rules were simple: kill or be killed. If I survived, I’d be a free man.” He squeezed my hand. “And thanks to you, I did.”
I looked at the dead guy and then back at Val. “So, what does this mean for me?”
He went silent for a moment, let go of my hand, and took a step back. His fingers combed through his hair, a palm swiping across his face.
“Val,” I called him softly, my heart racing in my chest, eyes fixated on him. “What does that mean for me?”
He hesitated, and for the first time since we moved here, he wore that signature unreadable expression.
Tension hovered in the air, my pulse quickening by the second. A part of me knew what he was about to say, but I wanted to hear him say it. I held his gaze, refusing to look away as my anticipation built inside me.
His jaw locked, throat wobbling after swallowing hard. He didn’t want to say it, and I wasn’t sure why. Was he afraid or what?
He finally gave an answer, his voice soft and gentle. “It means you’re free to go.”
A wind of relief blew across my face, and my eyes reflexively darted toward the front door. I didn’t think the idea of living would excite me the way that it did. If I were being honest, deep down, I felt guilty for wanting to leave.
But this was an opportunity to finally get my old life back. I’d been gone long enough, lost in the darkness of a world I wasn’t built for
“It’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asked, his eyes pinned on me.
A cold shiver ran down my spine, my gaze dropping to the floor.
A soft scoff fell off his lips. “I knew it.”
“Hey, don’t pin this on me, okay?” I frowned, raising my head to meet his gaze. “It’s not as easy as you think.”
“Seems pretty easy to me.”
My brows knitted together, scowl deepening. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s….” I paused, swallowing the rest of the words before things would escalate.
He cocked his head to the side, curiosity dancing in his eyes. “I’m not the one who’s what, Wren?” he asked. “Say it.”
I stood still, silent, with teary eyes.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Say it,” he challenged me, his voice deep with an emotion I’d yet to name.
“I’m turning into you, Val!” I blurted out, my voice rising higher than I intended. And from there, the words just spilled out like water from a tap. “I’m losing myself, okay? I am becoming someone I do not recognize, and it scares the shit outta me!”
Silence.
I continued, demonstrating with my hands. “Ever since I met you, I’ve been targeted, shot at, beaten by your own right-hand man—and today, I just freaking killed somebody!” I let out a hysterical laugh. “But that’s not the worst part, no, no, no. The worst part is that I don’t feel guilty! No remorse, no regrets—nothing!”
Silence.
I scoffed, rubbing my eyeballs. “I’m slowly becoming the monster I once hated.” We locked eyes. “And maybe that doesn’t scare you. But it scares the baby Jesus outta me.”
The silence between us was charged with tension and unspoken words—hisunspoken words.
