Page 23 of Forced Bratva Hostage

But that can’t be true. Behind all of that attitude, there has to be fear. I’ve taken her from her home, everything she knows, and she has no idea what to expect.

I toss in bed, sighing and trying to stop my thoughts from churning. Sleep, dammit, Andrei. Just sleep and forget about the girl.

Maybe I should check in on her, to make sure—to ease my worry.

No.

Leave it alone.

***

It took me forever to fall asleep, but in the morning, when warm rays of sunshine touch my pillow, I wake up refreshed and ready for the day.

At some point last night, between sleep and dreams, I decided how to deal with Tatiana.

I’m going to move her to the room opposite mine. It’s much bigger, it has its own living room along with the ensuite, and she will be more comfortable in here. And I can have better locks put on the doors.

Somehow, having her closer to my room makes me happier, too. Just so that I can keep an eye on her, not for any other reason.

After getting dressed, I head right to her room, before going downstairs for coffee. The door pushes open easily, as it still isn’t locked. I knock lightly on the wood as I push it inward.

“Tatianna, are you awake? I was thinking you could move to—"

Where is she?

The bed is empty. I walk over to it and touch the sheets. They’re cold—but they do smell like her. The entire room smells like her. Intoxicating and taunting.

After checking the bathroom, I confirm she’s definitely not here.

I should have locked the door again and posted a guard right outside it. I’m making life difficult for myself.

Hurrying downstairs, I expect to find her in the living room or the kitchen, but she’s not there, either, and when I ask around, none of the staff have seen her.

What the fuck?

“How could she get past everyone? What the fuck were all of you doing?” I snap at the guards near the back door.

“Sir, we’ve been standing here all night, just as you requested.”

I shake my head and walk away, starting the search through the entire mansion.

Room by room, I hunt for her, getting more agitated as time slips past. How could I be so stupid? She is the key to everything, and without her, I have no plan.

Storming through the kitchen, I shove the door open that leads through the wine cellar to the garage.

I’m panicking. She’s nowhere, and that’s impossible.

In the garage, I find the lights on. All of them.

The door of my Pontiac Firebird is open.

I lean into the car, searching for anything that might tell me what happened.

There are wires hanging out beneath the panels by the pedals on the driver’s side. It’s clear she’s tried to outwire the car, but she hasn’t pulled out the right wires—just the fact that she tried, though, is interesting. And surprising.

What else does this girl have up her sleeve?

I stand up, narrowing my eyes as I search around the rest of the garage. She isn’t hiding anywhere in here, but I find an open window, too tiny for me to fit through—but she’s half my size.