Page 17 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva (Zolotov Bratva #14)

I squish the clay between my fingers and center the gooey mass on the wheel. It yields how I want it to, and there’s something so satisfying about this very act of creation.

At last, I’m back in my happy place, all thanks to Tatiana and Katya. When they called last night asking if we could schedule this class as we discussed over dinner the previous week, I almost jumped with excitement.

I know that Ilariy’s sisters are warm and that our conversations were organic, but to see them take this initiative makes me even more fond of them.

Around us, the pottery class is abuzz with laughter and chatter. Just being here, on this sunny day, is such an absolute delight and some much-needed time away from the house.

“Arina, you’re a natural!” Tatiana exclaims and then throws a pitiful look at her object.

“What are you making?” I ask with interest at this abstract sort of figuring in her hands.

“A bowl,” she says sheepishly, and I giggle.

“How the hell is yours so good?” she moans, but it’s not from a place of jealousy; it’s from a place of genuine interest.

“I have had a lot of practice, remember?” I say gently as I begin to flatten the base of my vase with my fingers.

“I swear we’re coming here every week,” complains Katya. “Until we get this just right.”

“Guys!” I protest with a giggle. “We aren’t being judged on our pottery here!”

“True, but I hate sucking at things,” Katya holds up her own misshapen attempt.

“Pity, since you suck at so many things,” Tatiana teases, and Katya chucks a glob of clay at her sister. Tatiana ducks while I laugh.

I needed this—space to breathe and room to think.

The past week at Ilariy’s has left me feeling utterly confused.

It’s so easy to spend time with him, as if nothing ever happened.

I find it terrifying how easily I forget his lies when I see him across the dining table, how easily I forget he hates my brothers when he cracks a joke, and how hard it is to calm my racing heart when he’s around.

I needed some distance, I think. Out here, I can almost forget about him. I don’t know why it matters so much to prove to myself that I can, but it does.

Because I’m afraid to think of the alternative.

My bowl takes shape. It’s pretty and balanced. The sisters admire it as we clean up after class.

“You should sell these,” Tatiana declares.

“I’ll take ten,” Katya adds, linking her arm through mine as we leave the studio.

I feel my heart warm in their presence. They have such humility and tenderness. They’ve truly welcomed me, and not once do I feel like an outsider.

We step out into the bright sun, and Katya points to a café across the street. “Should we get some coffee?” she asks. “It’s such a good day to let it end already!”

“I absolutely agree!” says Tatiana, linking her arm across mine.

“I’m in!” I grin. I wouldn’t mind spending some more time with them. It would be a pity to head home so soon.

Once inside, we settle into a corner table and order our drinks and some pastries to share.

The girls are now gossiping about an old schoolmate of theirs, filling me in on even the smallest of details.

I sit back in my seat, allowing this moment to wash over me.

It feels like I’m sitting with my friends and not Ilariy’s sisters.

It feels wonderful.

“Anyway,” Tatiana leans forward. “This girl was a total bully in school, and to see her get arrested for running off with investor money is just icing on the cake.”

Katya looks shocked at how Tatiana speaks, and Tatiana shrugs, embracing her little mean streak. “What? Remember when she told everyone I had herpes? I didn’t, by the way.” She leans forward and nods seriously at me. “She was just jealous the guy she liked had a crush on me!”

I laugh while Katya crosses her heart and lets out some prayers to bless her sister.

Our coffees arrive, and I’m just about to take a sip when I notice something.

There’s a man standing at the counter, looking at his phone, but there’s something off about his behaviour because I catch him looking at our table.

When he catches my eye, he quickly glances back at his screen, but I notice the screen is dark.

Something prickles at the back of my neck, but I think nothing of it. He was probably just checking us out.

I notice this from the corner of my eye that he looks up again, not directly watching him. He keeps staring and makes a phone call, his eyes darting to the door. Two more men walk in and position themselves to the far right. The man nods at them, and now, I really look.

All three are watching us.

My heart begins to race as I quietly grab my bag. “Hey, guys.” I lean forward, meeting Tatiana and Katya’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Katya asks, noticing the urgency in my voice.

“Don’t look now,” I say quietly, “but I think we’re being watched.”

“What?” Katya whispers, pulling out her phone. Neither of the girls looks, thank god.

“There’s a guy at the counter and two by the table to the far right,” I murmur. “They keep watching us. Do you think there’s a way back out?”

Katya fumbles with her phone. “I’m texting Ilariy. Telling him where we are.”

“Good,” I tell her, while Tatiana leans back in her chair casually and looks around.

She drops back her chair and furrows her brows. “I think the kitchen should have a safe exit.”

“I’ve texted Ilariy,” says Katya, grabbing her bag.

“Let’s go,” I hiss. “Act casual.”

We slowly rise and gather our things, but I notice the man at the counter motion to the two to the right. They all begin to move toward the exit, and that’s when we break out into a run, running toward the kitchen door.

I push open the swinging door, and a few employees look startled. Without wasting a breath, I beg, “Please, let us through.”

The employees, all women, must understand and one quickly shows us out. “Through here,” she says. “Should we call the cops?”

“No,” Katya says. “We’ll be okay. We’ve got our cars.”

We run out into the alley behind the café and turn onto a smaller street. In fear, I throw a look over my shoulder and feel horrified when I notice the men have found our path.

“Run,” I urge, grabbing the sisters’ hands. “Now.”

We sprint down the alley, and Tatiana nearly stumbles, but I catch her before she falls.

“There,” Katya points to a narrow passage between buildings. “It’s a shortcut to the main street. Our driver should be there.”

We take the passage, but just then, the footsteps behind us turn louder, closer.

“Oh my god,” Katya clutches at her stomach as we keep running. But just then, to our horror, we see a tall metal gate.

“Shit,” says Tatiana just as I look back.

“The men are almost at our heels,” I cry out in fear. “Listen, scale the wall and get help. I’ll try to stall them.”

“Wait, what? No way!” Katya protests.

“Just trust me, okay? It’s no good if all of us are caught. Please.” I push her toward the gate. “Just go. We can’t all climb it together.”

Katya protests again, but Tatiana and I exchange looks. I level a glare at her, a silent command, and she realizes I’m right.

“Okay, fine, we’ll get help,” she says, and drags Katya toward the gate.

I turn back, my heart hammering against my ribs, and look around for something resembling a weapon. I see half of a jagged-edged broken bottle and pick it up immediately.

The men approach, and I hold the bottle out. “Step back!” I scream as I inch my way to the back, slide along the wall. They circle me, following like vultures.

“Drop the bottle,” one of them hisses. From the corner of my eye, I see stones on the ground. I plant my feet in place and shake my head.

“No can do!”

“Bitch, drop the bottle,” another says.

Just as they try to walk closer, I quickly bend down and pick up a large rock, throwing it in their direction. They duck, and I begin to run the other way, toward the main street with the bottle still in my hand.

The alley stretches ahead, seeming endless. I hear them behind me, gaining ground. My lungs burn, but fear keeps me moving.

The main street is so far off, and they’re so close. I see a small alley to my right, and see that it diverts like a maze. I take it, hoping to get them off my heels.

I run and take the first left, then the right. I pass another turn and keep running into the darkness, my breath coming out in pants, and the men draw even closer.

Why can’t I see any light? I begin to panic, but I can’t stop. There’s no other turn, and the only thing I can do is run straight.

I run with everything I can in me. All my strength. My chest aches and my stomach cramps. But I run.

Just then, I reach a dead end.

“Fuck!” I growl and spin to see if I can run back, but to my horror, I find myself inching against the wall out back, see them come nearer.

There’s nowhere to go.

I raise the bottle with trembling hands. “Stay back.”

They laugh—evil and cold—and it sends a chill down my spine. One lunges forward, and I swing the bottle, cutting into his shoulder. He curses, grabs my arm, and twists it until pain shoots to my elbow, and I drop the bottle

I scream as loudly as I can, hoping someone can hear me.

“Shut her up,” one of them growls.

The man who still has my arm twists it behind my back while the other begins digging into his backpack.

“No!” I scream, fearing the worse. I’ve been taken once before, and I know this time around, I won’t be so lucky.

“No, please, let me go.” I try to struggle, but the man has a strong grip on me.

I try to kick back, against his shins, but he pulls back and twists my hands even further. I scream as loudly as I can when I see the man tear out some duct tape. If they manage to shut my mouth, I won’t be able to help myself.

I scream even louder.

Just then, a blur of motion catches the corner of my eye.

Someone crashes into the alley from a side entrance I hadn’t noticed. The two other men turn, and I feel the one with his hands on me get distracted, his grip loosening. I seize the moment to wrench free, and just then, I see a face in the darkness.

Ilariy.

I see the fury on his face, the rage in his eyes, and all my fears melt away.

Without wasting a breath, Ilariy runs toward us, takes off on one foot and swivels in the air, kicking one of the men straight in the chest until he’s down and slamming his elbow into the neck of the other, bringing his face to hit the street.

The men groan on the floor as Ilariy walks toward me. He cups my face ever so gently, his eyes peering into mine, and all I see is the knowledge that now, nothing bad can happen to me.

He then turns to his side and approaches the third man, who now holds a knife in his hand. Ilariy simply grins, and I feel my toes curl. I’ve never seen him like this: this brutal, this domineering, and knowing he’s being this version all for me makes me see stars.

Ilary rushes toward him. The man lunges forward, and Ilariy sidesteps before punching him on the side of his chest. The attacker wheezes and tries to stand, which is when Ilariy delivers his final justice. My justice. He grabs the hand with the knife and cracks it back until the bone snaps.

The man howls and falls to his knees, just like I had, and clutches his hand.

Ilariy doesn’t wait to watch or savor the moment. He turns back to me, grabs my hand, and pulls me into a run. Behind us, the two other men follow and begin to give chase.

Ilariy doesn’t waste a moment. He picks up speed, his hand in mine, until we’re on the main road. He rushes me into his waiting car, slides in beside me, and I look out of the window to see the other two men run toward a car of their own.

“They left their third behind. What assholes,” Ilariy hisses as he watches and urges his driver to move.

The car speeds away as the other two get in theirs, and Ilariy turns to me.

“Arina.” His eyes go over my face, my body, my arms. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head, unable to speak. The relief of seeing him, of being safe, collides with the knowledge of what he is. My emotions swirl into a confusing mess that leaves me lightheaded.

Without thinking, I fall into his arms. He catches me, holding me close, his heartbeat rapid against my ear.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair. “You’re safe now.”

And that’s the problem. I feel safe with him. Despite everything, despite knowing better, I feel safe with the very man who put me in danger in the first place. The realization sends anxiety thrumming through me, but I can’t make myself pull away.

“Where is Katya? Tatiana?” I whisper into his chest.

“They’re safe,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head.

“Shit,” I hear Ilariy murmur from above. I pull back and see him looking out the back window. “We’re being followed.”