Page 17 of Bratva Prisoner
“Running away from something?”
I turn, drop my eyes to the water, and answer, “Not running. Escaping.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Running implies you’re being chased. Escaping means you’re choosing to leave. I chose to leave.”
“Your family?”
I don’t answer immediately. Talking about my family isn’t something I do, especially not with men I barely know, no matter how many times they’ve swooped in to rescue me. But something about floating here with him, surrounded by the privacy of his hidden oasis, makes the words want to come out of my shell.
“Let’s just say they weren’t the type of people you’d want as parents,” I finally reply.
“I think most people feel that way about their parents at some point.”
“Your parents weren’t gamblers and alcoholics who treated their daughter like a burden they couldn’t wait to get rid of.” I cringe as soon as the words leave my mouth. I don’t need his pity or his psychoanalysis of my childhood trauma.
But Maksim doesn’t offer empty sympathy or ask probing questions about my past. Instead, he simply nods like he understands the need to escape toxic situations.
“Is that why you were so independent when we met?” he asks. “All that talk about not belonging to anyone?”
“I spent my entire childhood being controlled by people who didn’t have my best interests at heart. When I finally got free, I swore I’d never let anyone have that kind of power over me again.”
“And then Troy happened.”
“And then Troy happened.” I sigh and tilt to float on my back to create some distance between us. “He made me feel safeat first. Protected. I thought I’d finally found someone who cared about me without wanting to control me.”
“But he did want to control you.”
“In ways I didn’t even realize until it was too late,” I admit. “The constant texting, the showing up unannounced, the way he’d get jealous if I talked to other people. I thought it was romantic attention. Turns out it was just a different kind of prison.”
“You’re not in prison anymore,” he points out.
“No, but I’m not exactly free either, am I?” I wave my arm around, gesturing to his home hidden behind the shrubbery. “I’m hiding in your house, depending on your protection, and letting you make decisions about my safety. How is that different from being controlled?”
“Because you can leave whenever you want.”
“Can I?”
We both know the answer isn’t as simple as he’s making it sound. Yes, technically, I could walk out of here anytime I choose. But realistically, I have nowhere to go and no resources to get there. My safety depends entirely on his willingness to protect me, no matter how much that irks me.
“You could,” he says finally. “But you won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because despite everything you’ve been through, you’re smart enough to recognize when someone genuinely wants to help you.”
“And you genuinely want to help me?”
“More than you know.”
The way he says it makes my heart speed up. There’s something in his voice that has nothing to do with protection and everything to do with the attraction that’s been simmering between us since that night at the club.
I realize we’ve drifted closer again, close enough that our legs brush against each other as we tread water. The pool might be large, but it suddenly feels very small with both of us in it.
“The freediving,” I say, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “It started in my grandmother’s pool when I was little, and I took it to the next level when I was in college. The water was one of the few places I could go where the world just… stopped. No noise, no demands, no expectations. Just me and the silence.”
“I can understand that.”
