Page 35 of Bratva Prisoner
“Goodnight, Alyssa.”
I close the door and lean against it, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway. My heart is pounding like I just ran a marathon, and the worst part is that I can’t tell if it’s from fear or something else.
That’s when it hits me like a bolt of lightning: even after everything I’ve learned about him, everything I’ve seen him capable of, I’m still attracted to him. Still drawn to him in ways that make no logical sense.
I’m falling for a man who tortures people in his spare time. What does that say about me as a person? What kind of woman develops feelings for someone capable of such violence?
The answer is simple: the kind of woman who needs to get as far away from here as possible before she does something really stupid.
I wait another hour, listening for sounds of movement in the house. When I’m confident everyone has gone to bed, I grab my purse and the clothes Harrison retrieved from my hotel room. I don’t pack everything—that would be too obvious if someone checks on me—just enough to get by for a few days while I figure out my next move.
Getting out of the house turns out to be easier than expected. The front door is locked, but not with anything I can’t handle. Within minutes, I’m standing on the front steps, breathing in the cool night while I debate my next move.
I don’t have a car, don’t have much money, and don’t have anywhere safe to go. But I have something more important than any of those things: I have my freedom.
Chapter 11 - Maksim
Nothing quite prepares you for the moment you realize the woman you’re growing more and more attached to by the second has vanished into the night like smoke.
I stare at the empty bed on my security monitor, cursing myself for abiding by her wishes and giving her space. The covers are thrown back, and her belongings are scattered across the floor, along with her cell phone, which means I can’t track her. The timestamp shows she left three hours ago, which means she could be anywhere in the city by now. My imagination runs wild as I cycle through the other cameras, hoping to catch a glimpse of strawberry blonde hair somewhere on the property.
Nothing.
“Fuck,” I spit out before I grab my jacket and keys. Deep down, I know she’s probably safer away from me, away from the violence that seems to follow my family like a curse. But with that asshole ex lurking around, I will tear the city apart until I find her.
The streets are mostly empty at this hour, which makes finding her fairly easy even without technology. My contacts have eyes everywhere, and it doesn’t take long to get a lead. A cab driver picked up a young woman matching her description near the bank twenty minutes ago. Destination: the bus station.
Of course she’s trying to leave the city. I can’t blame her, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let her.
I find her at the Greyhound terminal, sitting on a plastic bench with a small duffel bag clutched in her lap.
“Going somewhere?” I ask before I take a seat on the bench beside her.
She doesn’t look surprised to see me, which tells me she was expecting this. Her knuckles go white where she squeezes the duffel bag handle. “Away from here. Away from you.”
“That’s not going to solve anything.”
“It’ll solve everything.” She turns to face me, and what I see on her face makes my heart sink—like she’s positively indifferent to me. I’d rather see hate in those eyes than indifference. “I can’t stay in your world, Maksim, in the same way I couldn’t stay with Troy when I found out he was involved in sketchy business. I won’t become another casualty of whatever war you’re fighting.”
My throat constricts at the word ‘casualty,’ as if she’s already dead in her own mind. “Nothing will happen to you. You’re under my protection.”
“Protection?” She lets out a bitter laugh that scrapes against my nerves like broken glass. “I’ve been in your house for less than a week, and I’ve already witnessed torture. What’s next? Murder? Bodies in the garden? Finding a finger or two in the pool on my next swim?”
“There are no bodies in the garden.”
“That you know of.” She arches one eyebrow, challenging me to deny that it’s possible.
As much as I hate to admit it, there’s some truth to it. Hell, bodies did just end up in my shipping containers. Ravenshollow has seen its share of violence over the years, and though I’ve tried to keep the worst of it away from the main house, I can’t guarantee it will remain unscathed forever.
“Where will you go?” I ask, changing tactics.
Her shoulders lift in a careless shrug that doesn’t match the fear I can see lurking in her posture. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
“Why? You barely know me.” She studies my face like she’s searching for lies with her head tilted at that stubborn angle I’m beginning to recognize.
“I know enough.”
