Page 35 of Bratva Prince
The bitch was unconscious again.
17
Willow
My eyes fluttered open, and darkness enveloped me, with a hazy red in my peripheral. Groggy from possibly the deepest sleep I’d ever had, I looked around me, wincing as a sharp, throbbing pain coursed through my head. I cried out from the pain as I squeezed my eyes shut.
Rustling from beside me caused my eyes to jerk open, suddenly alert to my surroundings.
I sat up—too fast because I only fell back to the… sand? Was I on a beach? Again, I sat up, this time much slower. My eyes adjusted, the red haze morphing into a fire that burned in the sand only a few feet away.
Where am I?
A dark shadow emerged from the trees, and I tried to scoot back, but my body was too sore to move.
The firelight shone over a familiar face with dark-blond hair. “Ivan?”
He carried a pile of wood to the fire, jumping when he heard my voice. “Oh, Daddy’s little princess is up now?”
I narrowed my eyes, memories of his plans to take me back to Moscow flooding my mind. I couldn’t remember much, but Ididremember him asking me to go with him to San Marino, and then treating me like dirt the entire ride to the jet.
And then he drugged me.
That part hit me hard. Honestly, I was still in disbelief that he would do something so heinous. Why did he have drugs, anyway? Was he used to drugging women? Maybe he really was involved in sex trafficking.
After he drugged me, everything turned hazy. I vaguely remembered him accusing me of things I didn’t understand, and telling me he would negotiate with my dad over my release, or something to that effect. I don’t know—It’s all blurry.
But what did Ivan have to do with my dad? Was he working with my father? What if he was really Dominik and was only pretending to be Ivan?
No, that’s too outrageous. Besides, from the few bits of information I’ve heard about Dominik, he’s dirty and conniving, but not smart enough to pull offthatelaborate of a plan.
He brought over a bag of something, handing it to me. I stared at the bag, not reaching for it. How could I? I didn’t trust him after he’d drugged me and threatened to take me back to my father—knowing that I couldn’t stand the man.
“Well?” He asked in a sour tone. “Are you going to eat it, or is it not up to your high standards?”
My high standards?What the hell was his problem?He’sthe one that screwedmeover, so why was he being such an ass?
“I’m not eating anything you hand me. I’ll go get my own food,” I snapped, using every bit of strength in my arms to push myself up, though the action was unsteady and my arms trembled from the pain.
Ivan laughed—a deep, hearty laugh—and dug into the bag, biting into whatever food contents were within. “If you insist. You want to head over to the bistro, or the fancy restaurant on the corner?”
He gestured around us, my eyes following his motions. Nothing but trees, sand, and water.
“Where are we?” I mumbled, taking in the scene.
Ivan shrugged, unphased. “Somewhere over Croatia, I believe.” My mouth gaped open as I stared at him in disbelief. “What, are you catching flies? Close that thing before you swallow a bug,” he said, turning away from me to tend to the fire.
My mouth snapped shut, but not because he told me to. The last thing I needed to pile onto these injuries were bugs flying in my mouth. “Why are we in Croatia?”
“The jet had a fuel and oil leak, caught fire, and Andrey coasted us to safety.”
Was he serious? He spoke as if recounting a sporting event and not a crash landing. How the hell was he so calm?
“You’re joking, right?” I asked, unsure what else to say.
Ivan scoffed, adding more wood to the fire and arranging it to stand firm. He motioned around him, to the vast sea and the empty beach. “Does it look like I’m fucking joking?”
“Then how are you so calm!” I shouted, losing my shit in front of him.
