Page 2 of Pregnant Bratva Hostage (Dubrov Bratva #17)

I don’t think I’ve ever been this low in my life.

Every morning is a struggle. This morning is no different.

Day after day, I have to force myself to get out of bed. I force myself to brush my teeth and have a cup of coffee, hoping, stupidly, that the coffee will fix the dark shadow hanging over me all the time.

It never does.

I guess the bottom line is that everything has a price.

There are consequences for everything, and I knew that one day I would have to pay for what I’d done.

I’m a terrible person.

What I did to Rose…

It’s just unspeakably horrible.

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. There are shadows underneath my eyes, and my face looks pale and hollow. Those eyes looking back at me don’t even look like mine. I don’t recognize the girl in the mirror.

I look haunted by too many things.

Because I am.

The past few months, I’ve been drowning in guilt.

I should have spoken sooner. I should have refused to obey my uncle. I’m just as bad as he is, because I didn’t speak up.

Shaking my head, I turn away from the mirror.

I pull my long, caramel-blonde hair into a high bun, messy and carefree. Not carefree in the good way—carefree in the ‘I don’t care about much anymore’ way.

I’m going to be late for work. But the last month, especially, I’ve been late almost every day.

I hate going there.

I hate staring at the desk where Rose used to sit. She would throw me these cute little smiles all day and roll her eyes and hold up signs scribbled on paper saying, ‘chocolate croissant for lunch?’ or ‘I’m craving strawberry cheesecake.’

I miss her so much.

And I hate myself for what I did to her.

For letting my uncle kidnap her.

I can’t believe he was going to kill her.

If the Andreevs hadn’t arrived, my friend would be dead. Would I have stopped my uncle? I tell myself over and over again that I would have. But I didn’t stop them when they hit her. And I’m terrified of my uncle. All my life, I have been terrified of him.

Boris Krolik adopted me when I was just a baby, after my parents passed away. He groomed me to be just like him. Evil. Cold. Heartless.

But that’s not who I am. I pretended, just to fit in. I obeyed him, despite knowing it was wrong.

When he found out I was against anything, he would threaten me.

He would lock me away until I changed my mind and saw things his way. Sometimes for days. Sometimes longer.

I’m old enough now to understand that I’ve been living in a very toxic environment. And I need to get out.

Somehow.

I prefer to walk to work in the mornings. It’s not too far, and I like being outside, among normal people doing normal things. I can pretend I’m normal, too.

There is a cold bite to the air this morning, and I pull my jacket collar up high around my neck to try and stay warm as I make my way down the main street.

People glance in my direction. Some smile with pity in their eyes. Some look away immediately.

It’s my expression.

I wasn’t always like this.

But since I did what I did to my friend, how am I supposed to just carry on with my life like nothing happened?

And the worst thing of all is that Rose forgave me. She fought for me. She screamed to get the Andreevs to stop when they wanted to kill me. She acted how a friend should act.

And then she forgave me.

Instantly.

She didn’t yell at me or tell me I’m a horrible friend. She just forgave me. Why?

Why do I deserve that from her?

I don’t.

“Good morning, Miss Krolik,” the doorman greets me as I step into my uncle’s building.

“Morning, Lionel.” I smile tightly. He smiles back. I can see he’s worried about me. I used to bring him a cup of coffee sometimes and ask about his kids. Now I hardly say anything at all. I don’t have anything in me. I’m a hollow version of myself.

I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up.

The elevator doors slide closed, and I let out a heavy, sad sigh.

I hate working here.

I hate my uncle.

I hate myself.

My desk is as I left it last night.

I plonk down into my office chair and drag the files I was working on towards myself.

At least I can lose myself in work for a while, but it’s a temporary reprieve. I have to make a big change if I want to find myself again.

Although I don’t know if I ever knew the real me.

I think Rose was the first friend I’ve ever had. She made me laugh. She made me look forward to each day. I would wake up excited to come to work.

Before her, I was whatever my uncle molded me into.

I’ve just lived every moment of my life as an obedient little rabbit, doing whatever my uncle says because I’m too scared to go against him. I don’t even know who I am as a person.

But I do know this: I’m not the same as him.

What we did—kidnapping Rose—it led to destruction and death, and he’s just carried on with life as though nothing happened.

I’m torn to pieces by guilt.

We are not the same.

I don’t even want to work here or live in the same house as him, but I have nowhere to go.

I rub my hands over my face, trying to stop the looping thoughts. The same thoughts that have been taunting me since the day Rose was rescued.

Work. Do your work. Focus on that.

Huffing out a heavy breath, I turn my attention to work and do my best to get lost in the monotony of it.

The morning drags by. I answer calls. I update spreadsheets. I e-mail clients. I file documents. I get my uncle to sign where he needs to sign. I send some more emails.

I’m dying inside.

Morning turns to afternoon.

Afternoon turns to early evening.

Everyone is supposed to attend a meeting at half past five.

It’s four now.

I stare at the time, blinking in the corner of my laptop screen.

Four.

I can’t do this anymore.

I can’t be here.

I can’t sit in this chair and pretend that my life is okay when it’s not.

I’d rather be dead than go through this day after day after day.

In a surge of panic, I stand up, and my chair rolls back, hitting the wall behind me. I jump in fright.

Looking around, no one else seems to care about the sudden noise. I’m the only one who is so tense. They are all sitting there like robots, tapping at their keyboards.

I grab my purse and bolt towards the elevator. I have to get out.

I can’t breathe.

The walls are too close.

Everything is heavy against my skin.

The elevator doors close me in, and the claustrophobia gets ten times worse.

I squeeze my eyes shut and lean my back against the mirrored wall, counting in my head until I hear the polite chime of the doors opening. I burst through them into the foyer. I hear Lionel asking me if I’m okay, but I just wave my hand at him and smile tightly. I can’t speak. I might throw up.

I burst through the building doors and out onto the street.

As soon as I’m outside, I can take a real, genuine, deep breath of air.

I can breathe.

I’m okay.

Walk, Tania. Just walk. Walk it off. You’re okay.

The receptionist saw me running out of there. She’ll report it to my uncle, and if he thinks something is going on with me, he’ll come looking for me.

I turn the corner, unconsciously heading towards the water.

The ocean always calms me. I need to see it. I need to breathe in the salty air.

My hand dips into my jacket pocket, and I grab my phone.

I’ll message Mandy, the receptionist. It’ll buy me some time.

Me: Hi, I don’t know if I ate something strange at lunch, but I’m feeling horribly sick. I’m going to go home and lie down. Please excuse me from the meeting. Thanks.

I hit send and slide my phone back into my pocket.

An afternoon off will be good for me.

Actually, a week off would be good for me.

That’s what I really need. I need to get far away from here, maybe a beach resort; I don’t even care that it’s colder now.

I want to book a hotel and wake up next to the ocean for a while.

Maybe a month. I don’t know. I can clear my head, take a proper break, and figure out what I want to do about everything.

But how do I tell Boris this? My uncle makes all the rules. All the plans.

Come on, Tania—just tell him. You’re an adult. This is your life.

My stomach knots and my heart races at the idea of standing up to my uncle. I try to picture myself standing in front of him and telling him I’m going away, that I need a break from him.

The image makes me want to vomit.

Perhaps I won’t talk to him in person.

But I can message him. Then I can rush home before he finishes the meeting this evening. It should be an hour or so. I reckon he won’t be home until after seven tonight. That gives me plenty of time to grab a bag and get out of there before he has a chance to stop me.

Maybe I’ll never come back.

The idea excites me. Just disappear. Never see him again.

Fueled by the daydream of running away from my life, I am empowered enough to take my phone out and start typing a message to my uncle.

The entire time I’m writing, I want to throw up. But I’m also flooded with hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, I can live a life different from this one.

Me: Uncle Boris, I wanted to let you know that I am going away for a couple of weeks.

I need some time to myself. I need a break from work.

I will be staying in a hotel somewhere near the sea.

I’ll make sure it’s safe. I just wanted to let you know so that you wouldn’t worry about me.

Thank you for understanding. I will chat soon, just give me some time to settle in and everything.

Before I can change my mind, I hit send. The message goes through—there’s no going back now.

My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach.

I can’t believe I actually did it. I messaged him.

He’s going to be furious.

What if I said something to offend him?

I’m walking towards the waterfront, rereading the message, engrossed in my phone, and filled with panic.

And I walk straight into someone. I knock into him so hard that all of the air is pushed from my lungs and I let out a loud yelp of surprise.

I glance up, already mumbling an apology because I wasn’t looking where I was going.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention and I should have—”

I’m standing inches away from a familiar face.

The face of one of the men who rescued Rose that night.

One of the Andreev brothers.

My mouth drops open.

He smiles, and the wickedest grin spreads across his face.

My heart leaps back up into my throat.

“Hello, Tania.” His voice is like dark, salted caramel, melting from his mouth and coating me with warmth. Goosebumps spread across my skin.

But his eyes are dangerous. Bright blue, but dangerously dark.

I gasp and try to step away from him.

He wraps his hand around my waist, and as he does, he spins me so that my back is pressed against his chest, slamming his other hand over my mouth.

I try to kick out, but a car pulls up next to us, and he drags me into it, throwing me face down into the back of the van and cuffing my hands behind my back.

Tears are streaming down my cheeks.

Fight back, Tania. Fight. Get away.

But what’s the point?

I deserve this.

I deserve these awful things that keep happening to me. I don’t deserve a nice holiday by the ocean. I deserve this karma for what I did to Rose.

The wheels of the van spin beneath us, screaming against the tarred road as the van takes off with a jolt forward.

Strong hands grab me and lift me into a seat.

“Hurry, let’s get out of here,” the Andreev brother says to the driver.

“Yes, sir.”

I close my eyes, but it’s too late to hide the tears that are rolling down my cheeks. He’s staring at me.

I turn my face away, looking out of the window, but it’s too dark to see anything.

My heart is beating fast, but at this point, I don’t think I’m even scared anymore. This is what I let happen to Rose. I let my uncle kidnap her. She must have been terrified. She was terrified—I saw how scared she was.

It’s only fair that I go through the same thing.

I’ve messaged my uncle to tell him I’m going away. He isn’t even going to be looking for me.

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my jacket, and the man reaches in to grab it.

He shoves it into his pocket.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing that, darling.” His voice is caramel again. It runs over my skin and sends goosebumps up my arms. A shiver tickles down my spine.

I close my eyes, trying to block him out, and rest my head against the back of the chair. I guess I wasn’t all the way at rock bottom yet—but I certainly am now.