Page 25 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva (Yezhov Bratva #8)

There were different kinds of silence. There was the quiet that followed laughter, soft and easy, like the world was catching its breath.

There was the silence of sleep, when even the walls felt like they’d dozed off.

And then there was the silence I was surrounded by now.

Thick. Wrong. Heavy, and pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe or even think.

I sat on the edge of the couch, a secondhand blanket draped over my shoulders.

The safe house air had cooled, the old heater barely taking the edge off the chill in the air. It wasn’t the cold, however, that had my skin crawling.

It was something else.

Something I couldn’t wrap my head around.

The lamp next to me buzzed once and dimmed. Again. As if it were warning me. Or counting down to something ominous. The shadows in the room were longer and darker than necessary, sending that foreboding chill down my spine.

I brushed a hand down my arm, trying to shake off goosebumps. Maybe it was the isolation. Maybe I was losing my mind. But I couldn’t ignore the sensation nibbling at the back of my neck.

I’d been cautious. Changed places twice. Moved only at night. Bought groceries in new places. Never used the same location twice. I didn’t use cards. I didn’t use my name.

And yet…the air tonight felt as if it knew me.

I forced myself up, stretched the stiffness out of my legs, and walked across the room to the kitchen.

The quiet clinking of the drawer opening sounded loud in the stillness as I removed the small knife I kept there, the blade already dulled from use but sufficient for close work.

My heart sank to my stomach when a sudden knock on the door vibrated in the apartment.

It was loud and solid. Three beats, like whoever was at the other side of the door was running out of patience.

My blood curdled, my mind fogging with confusion.

I inhaled deeply, reminding myself to remain calm. No one knew I was here, no one that mattered anyway. It had to be the landlord or someone who didn’t know who I actually was.

Regardless of what I told myself, fear still clawed itself around me like a cloak of death.

I didn’t move.

The knife trembled slightly in my hand.

“Who’s there?” I shouted, attempting to keep the sharpness from my tone.

There was no answer.

I tiptoed cautiously to the front door, my bare feet barely making a sound on the worn floorboards. I held my breath as I put one eye to the peephole.

The porch was empty. Not a soul in sight.

I stepped back, adrenaline combining with confusion. A wave of nausea crashed into me as my stomach twisted.

It was possibly a mistake.

Maybe someone knocked on the wrong door, or the wind rattled the door, and I mistook it for a knock.

Letting out a breath, I let the tension fall off my shoulders.

And that was when my nightmare came to pass.

Glass exploded in a thunderclap, shattering across the floor like diamonds. I shrieked—more of a gasp than a scream— just as a black-clad, masked figure rolled through the gap with an inhuman quickness.

I noticed just two things: the flash of a gun…and the lack of any uncertainty in the way he moved.

Panic tightened around my chest like a vise.

I turned and ran, crashing into the kitchen table, shoving it behind me in a desperate attempt to block his path. A chair toppled, but the thump barely registered. The only sound I heard was the quick, hard footsteps behind me.

A shot rang in the air, and the bullet tore into the wall to my left.

I dodged and ran faster, knife gripped firmly in one hand as I tore down the back hall.

I fumbled at the back door. My fingers were slick, trembling. The lock gave after one twist, and I burst out into the night.

The icy air sliced through my lungs like shards of glass. The backyard was wild, weeds grasping at my ankles, branches of trees slapping at my arms as I sprinted. The terrain was rough. I fell once, regained my balance, and continued.

Another shot.

This one missed by inches. I didn’t scream. There wasn’t enough time.

I ran past the trees and onto the gravel alley at the back of the house. My feet pounded the pavement. My lungs hurt. But I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

I didn’t look back either. My life and my child’s life depended on me, and I had to get away from whoever was behind that mask.

He was fast, running after me like a shadow. Like death itself.

I rounded a corner, swerving into a different alley, heart pounding as if it was going to jump out of my chest. My legs hurt. My body was on fire. I couldn’t keep running, but I had to.

A fence rose up in front of me, too tall to scale. I flung myself against it, nonetheless, grating my palm as I scrambled up and over, falling to the other side.

I did not have time to think as my foot hit concrete once more, and I slammed into something solid. I bounced off it, nearly falling backward, and raised the knife instinctively, ready to defend myself, to stab, to survive.

The masked man was gone. He’d disappeared into the darkness.

I turned around to see who I had bumped into, ready to fight if I needed to—because I sure as hell wasn’t going to die tonight—and I froze.

It was him.

Matvey.

His eyes locked on mine. They were cold and piercing. His dark coat brushed against my shoulder, and his face was an unreadable mask.

Everything in me collapsed at once.

I gazed up at him, blinking amidst tears and sweat. My chest rose and fell. My hands trembled, and the knife fell from my fingers and landed on the ground.

I couldn’t breathe. Not because of fear, but because I felt a sense of relief.

Regardless of the fact that my whole body cried out to struggle, to run, my heart said something else.

You’re safe now.

I reeled forward, and Matvey caught me, his strong arms clamping around me. And I broke.

The sobs that burst from me were deep, raw, torn from a place I didn’t even know still existed. I pressed my face into his jacket, wetting the fabric with tears, not caring that I was supposed to hate him or escape from him.

I didn’t hate him. I didn’t want to escape from him.

Not right now.

At the moment, he was the sole thing holding the world back from collapsing around me.

His hand traveled up my back, and his other hand curled around my waist protectively.

He said nothing. He simply held me and let me cry my heart out.

I clung to him like I’d never let go.

Minutes ticked by, possibly hours. I couldn’t say.

The sobs eventually dissolved into silence. I moved back a little, wiping my face. “I—I didn’t know where else to go,” I murmured, even though he hadn’t questioned me. “I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he said softly.

I glanced up at him. “How did you find me?”

He scowled down at me, his jaw tight. “I told you I always get what’s mine.”

I stiffened. “I’m not yours.”

He didn’t blink. “Then why are you crying in my arms, kotyonok ?

The word sent a shiver down my spine. His presence had no right to make me feel comfortable, but it did.

I looked over my shoulder. The alley was clear. There was no trace of the masked man. “Who was he?” I asked, half out of curiosity and half to avoid his question.

“I don’t know yet,” Matvey answered menacingly. “But I will find out.”

His hand grazed my stomach, a glance, almost by accident, but not quite.

I stepped back, guilt weaving through my ribs. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You shouldn’t have run.”

I gazed at him. “I had to.”

“You didn’t,” he replied matter-of-factly. “You decided to.”

The silence became more strained between us. I wanted to scream. I wanted to break down again, but more than anything…I wanted him to hold me a little while longer.

I swallowed hard. “What now?”

He stared at me as if committing my face to memory. “Now, you go home with me.”

My brows shot up inquisitively. “And what if I refuse?”

His voice was low. Cold. “You won’t.”