Page 8 of Bratva Prisoner
Finding Alyssa in a random alley behind a coffee shop feels like the universe finally decided to throw me a bone. For weeks, I’ve had every resource at my disposal hunting for this woman, and she falls into my lap when I least expect it. The gods of fortune must be drunk, because this kind of coincidence doesn’t happen in my world.
But the relief of finding her evaporates the moment I see the terror in her green eyes. She’s not just startled to see me; she’s genuinely afraid of something, and that something isn’t me.
I follow her line of sight to the mouth of the alley, where two men stand watching us with matching scowls that scream trouble. One is younger, maybe late twenties, with the lean build of someone who thinks he’s tougher than he actually is. He looks familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. The other looks like muscle for hire—thick shoulders, dead eyes, and a jacket that’s definitely hiding a weapon.
Neither of them belongs in my neighborhood unless they’re here for business. Bad business.
“My ex,” Alyssa whispers after a moment of silence. “He’s been following me for weeks.”
The pieces click together faster. She’s running, which is why I haven’t been able to find her, and these bastards have been hunting her. This ignites something in my chest—a possessive rage that surprises me with its force.
“Which one?” I ask, keeping my voice calm despite the violence brewing under my skin.
“The younger one. Troy.” She says his name like it tastes bitter. “The other guy… I don’t know who he is.”
Troy. I file the name away for later use, along with a mental image of his face. He’s about to learn what happens when someone threatens what’s mine.
The muscle moves first, taking a step toward us with his hand drifting inside his jacket. That’s all the warning I need.
“Hold on tight,” I tell Alyssa, and before she can ask what I mean, I scoop her up in my arms.
She lets out a startled yelp as I lift her against my chest and swoop one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. She weighs practically nothing, and that makes my protective instincts roar to life even more.
“Maksim, what are you—”
“Getting you out of here.”
I stride toward the street, carrying her like she’s made of spun glass. Behind us, I hear footsteps on the pavement and voices, but I don’t look back. My car is parked half a block away, and right now, that’s the only destination that matters.
Alyssa wraps her arms around my neck and presses her face against my shoulder. Her body trembles against mine, and her heart is hammering through the thin fabric of her dress.
“Are they following us?” she asks.
I glance over my shoulder. Troy and his friend are keeping pace about twenty feet behind, close enough to track us but far enough to avoid direct confrontation. Smart. They knowbetter than to make a scene in broad daylight on a busy street in Barkov territory.
“They’re there,” I confirm. “But they won’t try anything out here. Too many witnesses.”
My Mercedes sits exactly where I left it, gleaming black paint reflecting the afternoon sun. I fish the keys from my pocket with one hand while keeping Alyssa secure with the other, then hit the unlock button. The click of the doors opening is the most beautiful sound I’ve heard all day, besides Alyssa’s voice, of course.
I set her down carefully beside the passenger door, keeping one hand on her waist to steady her. Her legs look wobbly, and the last thing I need is for her to collapse on me.
“Get in,” I tell her as I open the door.
She doesn’t argue. The moment she’s settled in the leather seat, I’m around to the driver’s side, sliding behind the wheel and engaging the locks. The interior of the car feels like a sanctuary—bulletproof glass, reinforced doors, and enough space to think clearly.
Alyssa slumps against the seat, finally allowing herself to breathe. Color slowly returns to her cheeks, though her hands still shake as she smooths her hair back from her face.
“Thank you,” she breathes out. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t—”
“Don’t.” I turn in my seat to face her. “You’re safe now. That’s what matters.”
She nods, but I can see the tension still coiled in her shoulders. Through the windshield, I spot Troy and his companion standing on the sidewalk about fifty yards away,making no effort to hide their surveillance. They’re waiting to see what we do next.
Let them wait.
“Tell me everything,” I prompt. “Start from the beginning.”
For a moment, she just stares at her hands folded in her lap. Then the words start pouring out like water from a broken dam.
