Page 35 of Prince of Control (Bratva Heirs #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Lara

I’m in deep trouble.

I pace in the large bedroom Brash brought me to. It’s a master bedroom with a large king-sized bed and a huge window overlooking an orchard. We’re not in Paris. We’re at Brash’s family’s residence in Turkey.

The door is locked. If I had any doubts, it’s confirmed. I’m his prisoner.

My head is muzzy because I didn’t sleep at all on the way here, and it would be five in the morning back in Illinois.

It was just Brash and his henchmen on the flight over. There was no one I could appeal to for help. I waited until Brash dozed off to sleep and then tried to use my phone, but there was no service or wifi to send a message to anyone.

When we landed, he took my phone from my purse and tossed it out the window of the limo that picked us up.

“Deep breaths,” I mutter to myself, trying to keep the panic at bay. I feel like I’m the heroine in a horror movie where she suddenly realizes that nothing was what it seemed.

I’m the heroine who is too stupid to live. Why did I leave with Brash?

What made me think he was safer than Baron?

Oh, Baron. Thinking of him still makes my chest feel like it's been cleaved in two.

I am trying to put this all together. I had the entire plane trip to think. To examine the puzzle pieces and try to fit them together.

Brash said my arranged marriage had to happen because I had interest from another party—him. Baron’s expression had confirmed the truth of that statement. What had Brash said on the plane? Your father shouldn’t have refused my initial offer.

Meaning he’d offered to marry me? After a few dates? Without even asking me?

I shake my head. This is so medieval. So it’s not about Brash's desire for me. I’m the pawn.

Maybe the plan is as obvious as it seems. An arranged marriage to make an alliance with my father.

Except forcibly kidnapping me is not going to win my father’s cooperation.

Brash misplayed his hand if he thinks this ends the way he wants it to.

Or maybe he doesn’t care anymore, and this is just about getting even with my father for snubbing him.

Except he called me his wife.

He talked about punishing me.

A sick feeling washes through me. Somehow I know this isn’t the seductive kind of punishment I experience at Baron’s hand. The kind that includes a little pain and ends in pleasure for both of us. If I thought Baron had a sadistic streak, it’s nothing compared to the real violence I sense in Brash.

I flop down on the bed. The pain of missing Baron makes tears sting my eyes. But damn him!

If our marriage was rushed or forced through to keep Brash from making a claim on me, why couldn’t he just have told me that?

Better yet, why didn’t my dad tell me? He was the one who put me in this horrible situation by not trusting me with the truth. If I get out of this, I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him.

But those thoughts won’t get me out of this.

I need to keep a clear head. Figure out how to manage Brash.

Find a phone to call Baron or my dad. My dad would be closer to Turkey, but it’s Baron I want.

It’s Baron my body grieves for. Baron whose face I want to slap for conspiring with my dad without filling me in.

Knowing Baron, he could already be on his way.

Unless he really believed me–walking away was goodbye. Unless he thought I made my choice and was gentleman enough to let me make it. He does have that tendency to put everyone else’s needs before his.

Would he let me go that easily?

That thought makes my heart seize up cold.

Please don’t let me go, Baron. I send out the silent prayer up to whatever higher spirit will listen.

I hear the slide of the lock on the door, and Brash walks in. I sit up on the bed. There’s a smug smile on his face that makes me want to throat punch him, but I try to hide it.

The trouble is, I’m not very good at masking my feelings.

“Have you settled in, darling?”

I bite back the angry retort on the tip of my tongue. Deep breaths. Pretend to be pleasant. Or at least don’t antagonize him.

“It’s hard to settle without my things.”

There. That didn’t sound too surly.

Brash waves a dismissive hand. “We will get you new things. What do you need now? A toothbrush? There are some under the sink. Shampoo and soap is in the shower.” His eyes take on a dangerous glint. “You don’t need clothes.” He steps closer and reaches for me.

I want to knee him in the balls, but instead I sidestep and dart toward the window.

"I’d like to see that orchard.” It’s the first thing I can think to say, and I run with it. “Getting outside is helpful to adjust to the new time zone. The jet lag is already getting to me,” I babble.

“You’ll go outside when you earn it.” He closes the distance between us, shoving me up against the glass with his fingers around my throat. “Now take off your clothes.”

I clutch at his wrists, my nails scoring his skin. I can’t breathe. The pain of my crushed windpipe is excruciating. Stars dance before my eyes, and I start to black out. He abruptly releases his grip on my throat, and I gasp and cough as my body desperately tries to re-oxygenate.

He fists the bodice of my blouse and yanks, tearing the fabric.

“You can’t have sex with me!” I blurt. It’s the only thing that popped in my head. “I’m on my period.”

It’s actually true. I don’t know if it’s going to save me from being assaulted right now, but it’s worth a shot.

“And I need more tampons. Unless you have those under the sink, too?”

Oops. I might have put too much snark in my voice because his arm flies back, and he backhands me. Pain explodes in my face, and my body bounces off the window and crumples to the floor. Mercifully, I black out.

Baron

I check the ammunition in both pistols.

Adrian and his team met me at the private airstrip and bustled me into a passenger van outfitted with everything we needed for a siege.

Dima and Anya got the address for the Rostov property, along with the floor plan. They’ve hacked the security system.

I should wait until it’s dark, but I’m going in now.

Lara’s phone tracker went offline close to the airport, but the one in her purse and the one in her shoes both show her in the master bedroom.

That fact alone makes me violent. I know Abrasha Rostov. He tortures the weak for the fun of it. He’s going to force himself on Lara–do terrible things to her. Maybe not tonight. Maybe he’s still on his best behavior, trying to trick her into marriage.

But I doubt it. If that were the case, he would’ve taken her back to Paris. But he brought her here to his stronghold. She’s a prisoner. I’m sure of it.

I have to get her out of here before he does unspeakable things to her.

I had my choice of weapons—the van has everything. I have two grenades tucked in the pockets of my cargo pants. An olive fitted shirt covers my Kevlar, and I have a camo skull cap on to hide my blond hair. Instead of an automatic weapon, I picked revolvers with silencers.

My plan is still to go in stealth to get her out. According to Dima’s reconnaissance, we’re outnumbered four to one.

“I’ll go in with you.” Adrian snaps his own Kevlar in place.

“No. I go in solo. You only come if I fail.”

Adrian’s upper lip curls in a snarl. I’m sure that look makes men piss themselves in fear when he’s torturing them.

He’s got the tough guy air, for sure. There’s more street in him.

He’s less refined than my dad and the rest of the Chicago Bratva.

Despite having a wife and daughter, he seems hardened by running a crime ring in Russia. “This is not your operation.”

“The fuck it’s not.” It’s no way to talk to my father-in-law, but I don’t care. “She’s my wife. I’m going in to get her. Hopefully without starting a war.”

Adrian glowers at me. I’m sure he’s deciding whether to snatch the hair right off my balls.

One of his men hands me a comms unit, and I pop it in my ear. “Testing.”

Dima’s voice sounds in my ear. “You’re all set. The security system is down. I have eyes on all the cameras and can talk you in.”

I swing the van’s back door open and drop softly to my feet. “I’m going now,” I mutter.

“The back entrance is on the east side,” Dima says.

I hug the block wall and head east, not waiting to see if Adrian will follow.

“I’m unlocking the gate there. There’s one guard inside the guard booth scrolling on his phone.”

The wrought-iron gate barring cars from entering softly unlatches as I walk up.

Thank you, Dima.

I palm the pistol in my right hand and push the gate open with my left just enough to slip through. I stay in the shadows, keeping my gun pointed at the guy in the booth, but he never looks up.

“Stay close to the shrubbery until you get to the house, then take a right to go through the gate there into the walled garden. There’s a security guy just inside.”

I slink into the garden and look around. A small orchard with walking paths and benches lies in front of me. There’s a security guard patrolling at the opposite end.

“First door on your left. I’m opening the lock now.”

I keep my gaze and gun pointed at the security guard as I slip through the open door, but he doesn’t look over. Part of me is almost sorry. I wanted blood tonight.

But Lara’s safety is all that matters. Until I have her secure, I need to be cautious.

“There aren’t any cameras in the residence, so you’re going blind now.”

“I got it from here,” I say. I memorized the floor plans. I know all the routes that lead to the master bedroom. There’s a back staircase this way.

I round the corner and come face to face with an armed guard.

Fuck.

I shoot before he can react. He goes down in a silent heap. Thank fuck for silencers.

Now I have to move fast before someone discovers him.

“I heard a shot,” Adrian says. “Report.”

“I killed a guard,” I mutter.

I find the stairs and take them two at a time. There’s another guard at the top. A single bullet puts him down, too.

“Another guard,” I report before Adrian asks.

The door to the master bedroom is at the end of the hall. There’s a sliding lock on the outside, like Brash has imprisoned women here before, but it’s not locked. Which means she’s either not in there, or he’s with her.

A scream sounds from inside.

Lara.

Adrenaline rushes to my limbs. My mouth washes in saliva, like an animal preparing to bite its foe.

“Where is she?” Adrian demands in the comms in my ear.

I ignore him and push the door open, gun pointed.

No. Fuck no. Not my Lara.

Goddammit!

I shouldn’t be shocked by the scene in front of me. I fully expected something horrific. But seeing my wife strung up by her wrists from a hook in the ceiling ignites a rage in me so fierce I could tear him apart with my bare hands. I will tear him apart with my bare hands.

She’s in nothing but her panties. There are bruises on her cheek and throat. Brash points a dagger at one of her nipples.

Her eyes meet mine and widen. “Baron!”

Brash whirls and takes in the gun in my hand.

One bullet. One bullet is all it would take to kill him. But not with Lara behind him. Besides, a swift shot would be too kind for this animal.

These thoughts happened in a split second because I’m already in motion.

Brash dives away, thinking I’m going to shoot. I follow his movement with the gun, and as soon as he’s clear of Lara, I cap him in the thigh.

He yelps and drops behind the bed.

“Report!” Tension radiates in Adrian’s bark.

I don’t have time to give him the play-by-play. I leap onto the bed in a single stride. With the next step, I drop onto Brash’s sprawled body, stomping into his solar plexus to knock the wind out of him. My next step is onto his throat, then I drop down and straddle him.

He fights back, but I punch the muzzle of the gun into his mouth, knocking out a tooth. I want him to look in my eyes when I kill him.

He reaches for the lamp by the bedside table and swings it at me. I angle my back to take the blow as I fire.

He gurgles blood.

Too fast, dammit.

I wanted to make him suffer for touching Lara. For all the pain he’s caused in this world.

I holster the gun and punch his face, satisfied by the sound of his nose breaking. Then his cheekbone. I knock his teeth out.

“We’re coming in,” Adrian says.

Fuck.

“Taking all cameras offline,” Dima says.

I hear the rat-a-tat-tat of machine gun fire out in the orchard, and it brings me back to reality.

Brash is dead. I shake myself and put two fingers against his throat to make sure.

I need to get Lara out of here. I whirl and rush over to her, pulling a knife out to cut her down. “Lara. Malyshka. Fuck.”

I realize I’ve lost the right to call her malyshka , but she throws her arms around me, and I want to weep.