Page 11 of Hostage of the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #7)

Azriel’s hands trembled with barely contained rage as she stared at Kostya across the marble kitchen island. The morning light streaming through the windows did nothing to soften the hard set of his jaw or the steel in his dark brown eyes.

“Absolutely not,” he repeated. “You’re not leaving this house.”

“I have exams!” The words exploded from her, voice cracking with desperation. “My finals start tomorrow, and I haven’t even—”

“Not my problem.” He took a slow sip of his coffee, the casual dismissal making her blood boil. “Your education can wait.”

Wait? Everything she’d worked for, everything she’d sacrificed and endured under her father’s roof, the late nights studying while nursing bruises, the part-time jobs to save every penny for college, the desperate hope that had sustained her through years of hell, and this man wanted her to just.. . wait?

“You don’t understand,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level. “I’m graduating in two weeks. Two weeks, and then I’ll have my degree. I’ll be able to get a real job, build a life.“

“You already have a life.” His eyes never wavered from hers. “Here. With me.”

The casual possessiveness sent ice through her veins. “This isn’t a life. This is a prison with better furniture.”

Something flickered across his features before his expression hardened again. “Yesterday proved that it’s not safe for you out there. Until I handle the situation, you stay put.”

Azriel’s nails dug into her palms as she remembered the terror of being chased, the weight of Kostya’s body pressing her against the alley wall, the way her heart had hammered for reasons that had nothing to do with fear in those final moments before he’d pulled away.

“I don’t care about safe,” she lied, lifting her chin. “I care about my future.”

“Your future is with me now.” He set down his coffee cup with deliberate precision. “End of discussion.”

The dismissal hit her like a physical blow. Azriel stood frozen, watching him scroll through his phone as if her entire world hadn’t just crumbled. The casual indifference was somehow worse than his anger, worse than his threats.

Without another word, she turned and walked away, refusing to let him see the tears burning behind her eyes.

Her bedroom felt smaller than usual as she closed the door behind her. The king-sized bed with its silk sheets mocked her with its opulence. What good were expensive things when they came with invisible chains?

Azriel pressed her back against the door and slid down until she was sitting on the carpet, knees drawn to her chest. This was how it had always been with her father, her dreams crushed under the weight of someone else’s will.

But she wasn’t that same scared girl anymore. She’d escaped once. She’d been so close to the finish line, so close to proving that she was more than the worthless burden her father had always claimed her to be.

Two weeks. That’s all she needed. Something, anything, that was truly hers. Something no one could take away.

The seed of an idea began to form in her mind.

Three hours later, Azriel knocked on Kostya’s office door with appropriate meekness.

“Come in.”

She found him behind an imposing mahogany desk, attention focused on a laptop screen. “I need to go shopping,” she said without preamble.

Kostya’s fingers paused over the keyboard, but he didn’t look up. “For what?”

“Clothes. Personal items.” She’d rehearsed this part. “Everything I own is back at my apartment, and I’m down to my last clean... everything.”

His dark gaze swept over her wrinkled jeans and oversized sweater she’d been wearing for three days straight. Something shifted in his expression, recognition of basic human needs.

“Make a list,” he said finally. “I’ll have someone pick things up for you.”

“I have very specific requirements.” The lie rolled off her tongue easily. “Sizes, brands, and colors that work with my skin tone. I’m not going to let some random person shop for my underwear.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Then we’ll go together.”

No. That wouldn’t work. “I don’t think your presence in the lingerie section of Nordstrom would be particularly... discrete.”

She thought she saw his lips twitch before his expression shuttered again. “Fine. I’ll have someone escort you.”

“Thank you.” The words tasted like ash, but she forced them out.

The next morning, Azriel found herself at Michigan Avenue’s shopping district with a mountain of a man named Boris trailing behind her. He looked like he could bench press a car, but seemed content to let her browse as long as she stayed within sight.

She played the part perfectly, the reluctant mob wife making the best of her situation.

She took her time in Nordstrom, trying on clothes and asking endless questions.

Boris looked increasingly bored, eventually finding a chair near the fitting rooms where he could watch the entrance while scrolling through his phone.

That’s when Azriel made her move.

She slipped into a fitting room with an armful of clothes, then immediately exited through the employee entrance she’d noticed during reconnaissance. The hallway led to a service elevator that deposited her in the parking garage. From there, it was a quick cab ride to campus.

Her heart hammered during the entire journey, adrenaline and terror mixing into a cocktail that made her hands shake. Any moment, she expected to see Kostya’s black SUV pulling up beside the cab.

But the cab reached the university without incident, and Azriel paid the driver with emergency cash she’d been hoarding. The familiar Gothic Revival buildings should have calmed her, but instead they only intensified her anxiety. This felt too much like borrowed time.

The examination room was sterile, filled with long tables and uncomfortable plastic chairs. Azriel took her assigned seat and stared down at the blue book and pencils. Around her, other students fidgeted and whispered last-minute review points.

She’d studied for this exam for weeks, but now her mind felt blank. Every few seconds, her gaze darted to the door, expecting to see Kostya’s imposing figure.

“You may begin,” the proctor announced.

Azriel’s pen hovered over the first question, palms slick with sweat. Analyze the economic factors that contributed to the collapse of the Soviet Union. She knew this topic inside and out, but the words seemed to swim on the page.

Focus, she commanded herself. This is what you came here for.

Slowly, painfully, she began to write. Each word felt like a small victory, each completed sentence a rebellion against the forces that wanted to keep her trapped. The familiar rhythm of analysis and argument began to take hold.

She was halfway through the second essay when the door opened. Azriel’s pen froze, heart stopping completely as she waited for the inevitable. But it was only another student arriving late, looking harried and apologetic.

Not Kostya. Not yet.

She returned to her exam with renewed determination, pouring her heart and soul into each answer. This might be her last chance to prove she was more than just a pawn in someone else’s game.

The proctor called time just as she finished the final question, her hand cramping from three hours of intensive writing. Around her, students were stretching and gathering their belongings, engaging in casual chatter about answers and celebration plans.

Azriel gathered her things slowly, trying to blend in as they filed out. Her legs felt unsteady as she climbed the stairs, each step taking her closer to whatever consequences awaited.

The late afternoon sun was blinding after three hours in the windowless room. Azriel blinked, raising a hand to shield her eyes as she descended the library steps.

She was halfway across the quad when she saw him.

Kostya stood beside the fountain, his dark suit making him look like a predator among the casually dressed students. His hands were clasped behind his back, posture deceptively relaxed, but even from fifty feet away, Azriel could see the dangerous tension coiled in his shoulders.

Their eyes met across the distance, and the fury in his gaze hit her like a physical blow.

For a moment, she considered running. The campus was large, filled with hiding places and multiple exits. But where would she go? She had no money, no resources, and now he knew exactly how far she was willing to go to defy him.

Squaring her shoulders, Azriel walked toward him. If she were going down, she’d do it with her head held high.

“Before you say anything,” she began when she was close enough to speak, “I want you to know that I—”

“Shut up.” The words were barely above a whisper, but they carried the weight of a death sentence. “Not another fucking word.”

His hand closed around her upper arm with bruising force, and he began walking toward the edge of campus, dragging her alongside him. Students gave them a wide berth, whether from his intimidating presence or the violence rolling off him in waves.

“You think this is a game?” His voice was low enough that only she could hear, but each word felt like a blade. “You think I make threats just to hear myself talk?”

“I think you’re an asshole who doesn’t understand what it means to have goals beyond intimidating people,” she shot back, her own anger flaring despite the danger. “I worked my entire life for this degree. I wasn’t going to let you—”

“Let me?” He stopped walking so abruptly that she stumbled. “Princess, you seem to be under the impression that you have choices here. Let me clarify something for you—”

The first gunshot cut through his words like thunder.

For a split second, neither of them moved, both frozen by the sharp crack that seemed impossibly loud in the peaceful campus setting. Then chaos erupted around them.

Students screamed, some dropping to the ground, others running in every direction at once. A second shot rang out, then a third, and suddenly Kostya’s arm was around Azriel’s waist, pulling her against his body as he scanned their surroundings with predatory intensity.

“Stay low,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the panic with military precision. “Do exactly what I tell you.”

More gunshots echoed across the quad, and Azriel could see people streaming out of buildings in every direction. A girl near them was sobbing hysterically while her boyfriend tried to pull her toward the parking lot.

Kostya moved through the chaos like he was born for it, his grip on Azriel never loosening as he navigated between panicked students and abandoned backpacks. She stumbled trying to keep up with his longer strides, her heart hammering so hard she could barely breathe.

“Where are we going?” she gasped.

“My car.” His eyes never stopped moving, cataloging every face, every potential threat. “Two blocks north.”

They had almost reached the edge of campus when a man stepped out from behind a parked security vehicle. He was tall and lean, wearing a maintenance uniform that might have looked normal if not for the gun in his hand.

“Kostya Nikolai,” the man called out, his accent thick and unfamiliar. “You’re a hard man to find.”

Kostya pushed Azriel behind him in one fluid motion, and suddenly, there was a knife in his hand, where it had come from, she had no idea.

“Not hard enough, apparently,” Kostya replied, his voice conversational despite the weapon trained on them.

The gunman smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. “Your brother sends his regards.”

“Which brother would that be?” Kostya took a step forward, seemingly oblivious to the gun pointed at his chest. “I have so many enemies, it’s hard to keep track.”

“The one who’s going to dance on your grave.”

The man’s finger tightened on the trigger, but Kostya moved faster than should have been humanly possible. One moment he was standing three feet away from the gunman, the next his knife was buried to the hilt in the man’s throat.

Blood sprayed across the sidewalk in a crimson arc. The gunman’s eyes went wide with shock and pain, his hands clawing at the blade protruding from his neck. A horrible gurgling sound escaped his lips as he collapsed to his knees, then pitched forward onto the pavement.

Azriel stared in horror at the spreading pool of blood, her mind struggling to process what she’d just witnessed. The casual efficiency of it, the way Kostya had acted, as if killing was as natural as breathing, was like watching a completely different person.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered.

Kostya was already moving, retrieving his knife and wiping it clean on the dead man’s shirt with practiced ease. “We need to go. Now.”

He grabbed her arm again, but gentler this time, as if he’d suddenly remembered she wasn’t accustomed to watching people die. Azriel’s legs felt like water as he guided her toward a black SUV parked at the curb.

“Get in the car,” Kostya ordered, opening the passenger door.

She climbed in on autopilot, her hands shaking as she reached for the seatbelt. The click of the buckle seemed unnaturally loud in the confined space.

The pain hit immediately, sharp and sudden, like someone had driven a red-hot spike through her left shoulder. Azriel gasped, her hand flying to the source of the agony, and her fingers came away wet with blood.

“Kostya,” she whispered, staring at her crimson-stained palm in shock.