Page 15 of The Bratva's Auctioned Bride
I’m ok.
I’m ok.
I’m ok.
I close my eyes and keep repeating this until my breathing evens out.
Diomid is still driving like a madman. His eyes dart to the rearview mirror, watching for anyone following us, but I’m convinced he took them by surprise and left the place in such disarray that they didn’t even have a chance to realize I was being saved before I was already gone.
Only once we’re out of unknown territory and close to the city again does he slow down. My eyes trace over his profile. Wow. He’s gorgeous. And he came to save me. What does that mean? I mean, seriously, a guy isn’t going to risk his life to save someone if he doesn’t like her. Does this mean he likes me? Was this some romantic, grand gesture?
Diomid pulls into an underground garage and shuts off the engine.
“Come on, let’s get inside,” he says, still looking tense. “We can put the safe house into lockdown.”
He pulls my door open and grabs my arm, dragging me from the car a little roughly. I explain away the pushy attitude by accepting that his adrenaline must be through the roof, and he won’t be able to calm down until we’re inside.
He pushes me into the hideout, and while he’s locking up and checking the rooms, I take a look around.
It’s modern, small, and neat. Even though it’s a hideout, they clearly haven’t spared any expense on the décor, as everything is of high luxury.
While I’m waiting for him, I try to sort out my thoughts.
But I’m a bit numb and overwhelmed, still shocked about how quickly everything happened.
When Diomid walks into the room, I run toward him and throw my arms around his neck.
“Thank you so much for coming to save me. I don’t even know what to say. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you!” I blurt out, smiling and with tears stinging my eyes because my emotions are running wild.This beautiful man saved me.
Diomid wraps his long fingers around my shoulders and coldly tugs me off him. He pushes me away and scowls at me, his brows knotted in disapproval.
The expression takes me by surprise. This isn’t the gorgeous man I met in the bar last night. This isn’t even the gorgeous man I woke up next to this morning.
This guy looks furious with me.
I take an extra step away from him, creating more distance, biting nervously at my lip.
He snarls, shaking his head. “How stupidly reckless are you? What gives you the right to run around town like that, with intense disregard for your own safety, when you’re a fucking Shevchenko?” he says my name as though he was spitting it from his mouth. Like it tasted bitter.
“You know who I am?” I stammer in confusion.
“Yes, I do, and I know you should have had security guards around you at that club,” he snaps.
How does he know who I am? I thought I was being so careful.
Maybe he found out during the rescue. Those guys who took me must have done so because of who I am? Surely?
“I didn’t make those guys kidnap me, you know. I didn’t choose to be taken,” I huff, disappointed in the way he’s treating me.
“You may as well have,” he snarls.
Does he really think this was all my fault? Why is he being so nasty?
I fold my arms across my chest and glare at him. Anger begins to bubble inside me. Anger at the people who took me. Anger because I hate admitting that my brothers were right. But mostly, anger at this guy, who I thought saved me because he cared.
“I havenothad the best day. I’m still wearing the same damn dress I went out dancing in last night. I need a shower. I need something to eat. I need a freaking cup of tea or something. But most of all. I actually just need a hug. Not like I want that fromyou,though, but the least you could do is not treat me like I’m the criminal!”
His eyes grow colder as he watches me. “Do you know who I am?” he asks, as though the answer is a weapon of some kind.
