Page 6 of Forced & Pregnant Bratva Bride (Tarasov Bratva #13)

My eyes fluttered open, and my head throbbed like a drum as I woke up with heavy limbs and an aching body. I barely slept last night—how could I when I was trapped in this prison with the devil as my jailer?

All I could think about was escaping and reuniting with my siblings.

My heart shattered at the thought that those kids were now at the mercy of our drunk father—the same man who sold me to a human trafficker.

He didn’t hesitate to let them take me, didn’t even try to object or pretend to resist. He just stood there and sealed the deal with a handshake.

I was furious, and with the amount of rage coursing through my blood, I could pull the trigger on him if I had the chance.

The real reason for my anger wasn’t just the fact that he sold me out to a stranger. It was because he stole me away from my siblings, leaving them completely disorganized with no one to care for them. I promised that I would return to them—I gave them my word, and now I failed them.

Micah hadn’t fully recovered from his illness yet, and his siblings were too young to care for him. Dad was a miserable man with no dignity or sympathy; I doubted he would even remember his son was sick and needed medication.

Emmy must have cried her eyes out when I didn’t come back for them as I promised.

They all must be so scared, confused, and so alone.

I spent all night weeping for letting them down—worried sick about how they’d cope without me.

They were still kids, still too little to survive a day without a guardian.

I’d never hated anyone the way that I hated my old man. I loathed him for subjecting those kids to a life of pain and suffering. He’d never been there for any of us, never bothered to be sober enough to look at us as children in desperate need of their father’s love and attention.

He left all of the responsibility to me at an early age, and I took it upon myself to carry the weight of the family without complaining. Yet, he was still heartless enough to pull a stunt like this.

Why? Why was he so selfish and so insensitive?

If I didn’t have younger ones who looked up to me—who didn’t depend on me for literally everything in their lives—maybe this betrayal wouldn’t hurt so much.

I spent the whole night worrying about Micah, Zara, Noah, and Emmy. I wished that I had just stayed back upstairs with them. Maybe my jailer would never have spotted me; he would have tortured my father and given him a date to pay his debt.

I wouldn’t have been involved in all of this madness. Dad would have danced to the tune of the music—he would have been the one to face the consequences of his actions.

It was useless crying over spilled milk. The main issue was how to get out of here. I had to find a way out. I must.

A soft groan escaped my lips as I took in the opulence around me. Plush couches and sofas were arranged with deliberate elegance, and an extravagant chandelier hung from the ornate ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the lavish space.

The sheets were obscenely soft beneath me, the king-sized bed offering a strange kind of comfort. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I pushed the heavy blanket aside. My bare feet landed on the soft rug at the foot of the bed, my head pounding from lack of sleep.

I scanned the interior again, then straightened and rushed over to the door. As expected, the damn thing was locked. “Dang it,” I cursed under my breath, twisting the knob hard and slamming my shoulder against the frame like that would magically force the door open.

Stupid.

But I guess that was just an instinctive move of a very desperate girl.

I leaned my back against the door, eyes roaming the room in search of other means of escape.

The windows.

It seemed like a good idea until I rushed over there and found out how strong the glass was. No latches. Even the curtains were too thick to tear into a rope. I thought about slamming a chair into the glass until it was too weak to hold. But then again, that would only attract unwanted attention.

My captor was clearly not a man I wanted to mess with. He was cold, ruthless, and downright dangerous. I was lucky he didn’t send me off to a brothel or sell me to some organ harvester. Maybe not yet anyway.

This man was an embodiment of evil, and for all I knew, he just might wake up one morning and decide to do the unthinkable to me.

I had to get the hell out of here. But I had to be quiet and smart about it, also.

So, no breaking of windows—even though, considering the strength of the glass, it might be an impossible task to pull off.

I paced the room, panic giving way to focus. There has to be a way outta here . The words kept echoing in my head as I studied the space. Then, my eyes returned to the door again—sleek, metallic, and without a visible keyhole.

My head tilted slightly to the side, eyes squinting in suspicion. “Wait a minute,” I murmured to myself as it finally hit me that it wasn’t a traditional lock.

I stepped closer, drawing my brows together, noticing the slim panel beside the frame. My fingers hovered over the smooth surface just beneath the handle, and I noticed the faint blinking light tucked at the upper corner.

From the look of things, I was locked behind an electronic door—maybe controlled remotely or linked to a central system. Maybe this situation wasn’t entirely bad. Electronic doors had their own flaws. I just had to find them.

I scanned the room with laser focus, my pulse racing as I searched the place—every corner and every inch.

Behind the vanity mirror—no hidden switch. Beneath the rug—solid hardwood. The bedside lamp? Hollow. A screwdriver came into view when I opened one of the drawers.

I held it up for a second, then slipped it into my pocket. And as fate would have it, I spotted the small maintenance panel beside the door, barely visible unless you were looking for it.

How’d I miss it this whole time?

Quickly, I knelt beside it, heart pounding as my fingers fumbled to remove the panel cover using the screwdriver. At last, I opened it without making any noise. Inside was a simple wiring, and quite frankly, I had no idea what I was doing.

But wires would always be wires.

I remembered enough from helping Dad with electric repairs when Mom was still alive—back when he was still sane. I observed the setting, studying the connections of crisscrossing colorful wires.

It looked simple. But simple didn’t always mean easy.

I drew a deep, long breath, hoping that I wouldn’t end up making things worse or electrocuting myself.

I didn’t have the right tools, just a screwdriver and luck.

And with those, I started prying, picking at the seams like a lunatic, trying to find the brain of the thing.

I needed a way to maybe fool the sensor or jam the circuit—anything at all.

Minutes dragged, and my hands were already sweating, trembling. My heart was pounding like a drum, yet I didn’t stop, even though I heard footsteps outside and nearly gave up.

Fifteen minutes later—maybe even more—and I was still there, making a fool of myself.

And then finally, I heard it—the soft click of the lock that stole my breath. My eyes widened in a fleeting moment of victory. The panel flashed a faint green light, and the knob turned.

I rose to my feet, pulled against the knob, and the door creaked slightly. The hallway lights slipped into the room, and I snuck out, barefoot, breath lodged in my throat. My pulse was racing as I ran through the hallway with silent footsteps, avoiding the cameras that I could.

The house was enormous, and I felt lost, unsure of where to go. I’d never been in such a huge building before, and for some reason, there seemed to be too many hallways. The place was like a friggin’ maze. Not to mention quiet—too quiet, like a museum after hours.

This place gave me the creeps—the flickering hallway lights, the animal skins, and the mounted lion and antelope that adorned the walls.

Finally, I spotted a grand staircase up ahead, and my heart gladdened. However, that gladness was short-lived by the soul-shattering voice that thundered behind me.

“Stop right there!”

I gasped, looked over my shoulder, and saw the black-suited man rushing to catch up with me. Without hesitation, I ran toward the staircase, my breathing sharp and uneven. I’d almost made it to the first step when his strong arms grabbed me mid-stride, tackling me down with an effortless move.

“No—get off me!” I shouted, struggling beneath him, flailing.

“Stay down,” he ordered, pinning me to the floor.

Another guard rushed over to help him, but as he bent over, my foot connected with his face. The kick was so powerful that it sent him stumbling backward with a hand on his nose.

“Fuck!” he cursed, brows furrowing with deep creases between them.

The previous guy, shocked by the force of my kick, loosened his grip and glanced back at his partner. This was it—my window—and I didn’t waste it.

In a split second, I drove my elbow hard into his ribcage, and a primal groan fell from his mouth. Then, with a quick sweep of my leg, I knocked his feet out from under him, the force sending him crashing to the floor.

By the time I sprang to my feet, the second guy—the one with the broken nose—swiftly grabbed my waist from behind.

“Let go of me!” I yelled and slammed the back of my head against his face.

“Fuck, my nose!” He let go, groaning like a wounded beast.

I turned around, kicking him hard in the nuts. His hands left his nose and flew to his groin as he dropped to his knees, straining with veins on his forehead.

The moment I turned around to run, I bumped into someone whose torso was as hard as a brick wall. I recognized that scent—that cologne.

It was him.

My jailer.

Quietly, I raised my head, frozen in place, heart pounding like a drum in my chest. As I locked eyes with him, I felt a sudden weakness in my knees, and my breath hitched in my throat.

He said nothing, and his blank expression filled me with terror. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking, what he was planning to do with me, and that scared the shit out of me. I was sweating in weird places, subtly shaking like a leaf, terrified by his presence.

He glanced behind me, watching his men struggling to get back on their feet. Without a word, he stepped forward, and reflexively, I retreated with slow backward steps.

Soon, he trapped me at a corner, my back against the wall. His imposing frame towered over me, making me feel so small and helpless before him. He stood there, cold and calm—terrifyingly calm.

I swallowed hard, my pulse picking up at the intensity of his gaze. My chest was rising and falling, my red hair sticking to my cheeks as I tried to catch my breath.

Finally, he spoke, his voice deep and husky. “Pull a stunt like this again, and I’ll break your legs myself.”

Those cold words seeped into my bones like venom, quiet but lethal. His gaze was unwavering, as was the steel in his tone.

I blinked rapidly, trying to mask my terror, but it was clear that he could see right through me. And I hated that.

“Now,” he said, his voice dripping with authority, the kind that sent tremors down my core. “Go back to your room.”

I didn’t say a word, just frowned at him before reluctantly walking away, afraid and angry at the same time. I hated his tone—hated the way he commanded me like he owned me. Obeying him was the only reasonable thing that I could do at this point, especially because I wanted to keep my head.

It took a little while, but I found my way back to the room, and the moment I went inside, I slammed the door shut behind me. Seething, I grabbed the bedside lamp and hurled it at the wall, my chest heaving with fury.

The poor lamp shattered into pieces, and I thought it would help, but it didn’t. It was the only thing I could break anyway.

It didn’t matter how long he had me trapped in here; I was going to figure a way out of here. One way or another.