Page 70 of The Bratva's Auctioned Bride
The second man swings his fist, and it connects, with a snap, against the first man’s jaw.
The moment that the punch is thrown, the room goes into chaos. A fight breaks out. Someone throws a glass. I get pushed right onto the floor, on my hands and knees. Every time I try to stand up, someone ends up tripping over me or kicking me without even knowing they’re doing it. I squeal, pushing my way through the sea of legs and boots and men and pressing myself against a wall.
My heart is racing, my head screaming.
In my earpiece, Diomid shouts, “Where the hell are you?”
Just as the bombs go off.
The explosion is deafening. My ears pop, then ring in silent discomfort. Thick, choking grey smoke fills the already chaotic venue. The guests go into a full-blown panic. The perfect distraction. The perfect deference. Except I was not supposed to be stuck in the middle of it.
Every man starts shoving his way toward the entrance, pushing, punching, aggressive with fear for his own life. I can’t move away from the wall. Not because I’m scared, but because I literally can’t move with the pushing and shoving going on around me.
“Diomid, get the girls out, I’ll get out when I can,” I shout, but smoke fills my lungs and the words come out choked and incoherent. I can’t make out his reply in the noise around me.
I sink lower, trying to hover beneath the layer of smoke pulsing through the air. My eyes are watering so badly that I can’t see properly.But you have to get out of here, Angelika. You need to move.
Forcing my feet to carry me forward, one step at a time, with my eyes narrowed and my hands stroking along the wall as guidance, I try to map the place in my mind. I’m to the left of the stage. Even if I can’t see, I can feel my way to the edge of the stage and then along it. Once I reach the right-hand side of the stage, I’ll be a few steps from the swinging door.
Suddenly, I’m lifted off my feet, a sea of bodies and hands and panicked people. I’m stuck in the flow. I scream and kick, but it’s no good. When my feet find the ground again, I’m nowhere near the wall, and my vision is too blurry to figure out what direction to go in.
Tears of fear mix with the tears streaming down as my eyes try to fight the burning smoke. I press my earpiece harder against my ear, trying to hear him, but I can’t.
“Diomid?” I shout into the microphone. “I need help!”
Someone grabs me from behind, and I spin to push them away, tired of being bullied.
But it’s his voice against my ear.
“Angel, I’ve got you. You’re ok, you’re ok.”
My heart somersaults and I let out a happy yelp.
He pulls me right against him, then pushes me behind his back, yelling at me not to let go as he uses his bulky size to push through the crowd with me slipstreaming behind him.
We get to the swing door quickly. I still can’t see properly, but when we get through them, the air is clearer and the place is less chaotic. He grabs my hand and I run, trusting him to lead me.
As we step into the open air, I gasp in multiple lungfuls of fresh, untainted air.
He picks me up in his arms, unable to wait for me to get my bearings, and carries me toward one of the cars his men arrived in.
Diomid shoves me into the passenger seat and closes the door.
“Oleg, I have her,” he says into his microphone. He pauses, standing next to the open driver’s door, listening to his brother’s reply.
“That’s fucking brilliant. We’re in the second car. Move your asses.”
Diomid climbs into the car. I turn toward him, finally able to breathe again, and immediately start lecturing him. “You came in there without a disguise. The whole point was for you to stay out of sight. Someone could easily have seen you, you risked your life…”
He grabs me and pulls me onto his lap, holding me against his chest and burying his face in my hair. “Are you ok? Are you hurt? Fuck I thought you’d get trampled in that stampede. We saw the men pouring out of the front entrance in a state of total panic and chaos. I ran around to the side to wait for you, but you never came out. I thought… I thought something bad had happened. I couldn’t hear you; you weren’t responding.” His voice is so strained with emotion that it stuns me into silence as I snuggle closer to him and grab at the fabric of his shirt. “I’m ok,” I mutter. “I’m really fine.”
My body is still coursing with adrenaline when he pulls me away to look at my face.
“Your eyes are so red,” he says quietly, gently brushing a strand of hair from my face and pulling the grey hat off my head.
“Those smoke bombs are really effective,” I smile, giggling anxiously, my heart still racing.
“That they are. That’s why you were supposed to beoutsidewhen they went off,” he scolds.
