Page 27 of Bratva Prisoner
I’m hiding from one criminal by staying with another. I’ve traded one dangerous situation for a different kind of dangerous situation, and I was too grateful for the rescue to ask the right questions until now.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, and it’s the most honest answer I can give.
Because the truth is, despite everything logic tells me about staying away from dangerous men, I don’t want to run from Maksim. He’s shown me nothing but kindness and protection, and the way he makes me feel has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with safety.
Maybe that makes me naive. Maybe it makes me stupid. But right now, sitting in his expensive car while he looks at me like I’m worth looking out for, I can’t bring myself to care about the difference between legal and illegal when it comes to the man who’s kept me safe.
Even if that safety comes with a price, I’m only beginning to understand.
Chapter 9 - Maksim
I’ve spent three days keeping a respectful distance from the woman sleeping under my roof, and it’s about to drive me completely insane.
I watch Alyssa from the doorway of the breakfast room, noting the way she picks at her eggs Benedict as she scrolls through her phone. Ever since the jewelry store incident, she’s been guarded, like she’s evaluating everything I say for hidden meanings. Which, to be fair, she probably should be doing.
The problem is that I miss her. I miss the easy conversation we had in the kitchen that night, the way she looked at me in the pool before my brother’s call interrupted everything. Now she treats me like a riddle she’s not sure she wants to solve.
“Good morning,” I announce as I step into the room.
She glances up from her phone with a smile that doesn’t feel genuine. “Morning. You’re up early.”
“I have a proposition for you.”
“Oh?” One eyebrow arches before she asks, “What kind of proposition?”
“The kind that involves hiking boots and fresh mountain terrain. I thought you might like to get out of the house for a while.”
Her face lights up for the first time in days. “Hiking?”
“There’s a trail about an hour north of here that offers some incredible views. Perfect for someone with your outdoor interests.”
She sets down her fork and tilts her head. “You want to take me hiking. Why?”
“Because you’ve been miserable for three days, and I’m the reason for it.”
“I haven’t been miserable.”
“You’ve been polite,” I counter, moving closer to her chair. “Which is worse.”
That earns me a genuine laugh, the first I’ve heard from her since Troy grabbed her arm on that sidewalk. The sound does something to my chest that I’m not prepared to analyze.
“Fine,” she concedes. “But I’m choosing the trail difficulty level.”
“Deal.”
Two hours later, we’re halfway up a mountain path that’s testing the limits of my cardiovascular fitness. Alyssa moves ahead of me with the confidence of someone who’s actually done this before, while I try not to let her see how much I’m struggling to keep up.
“You know,” she calls over her shoulder, “for someone who has the body of a weightlifter, you’re surprisingly out of shape.”
“I prefer my exercise to involve less… elevation.”
“What kind of exercise do you prefer?”
The innocent way she asks the question doesn’t fool me for a second. There’s mischief in her voice that makes me want to tackle her onto the nearest flat surface and show her exactly what kind of exercise I have in mind.
“The kind that requires a partner,” I reply instead.
“Like tennis?”
