Page 53 of The Bratva's Auctioned Bride

“What a pity. Maybe, if you want to make some extra money tonight, come find me later,” he suggests.

“I might just do that, honey. Now, what are you drinking?”

“Vodka. Straight. Three ice blocks. If there are two in there, I’ll have your throat.”

She giggles again, but even I can hear the agitation in it.

“You ok?” I ask, after holding my breath.

“Perfect.” Her reply is tense.

“You sure?”

“I am. I promise. I just planted the last bug. I’m heading for the exit.”

“I’ll meet you there. I bugged one of the store rooms. But I reckon we’ll hear more from the offices.”

Seven minutes later, we’re both back at the car. My heart is racing when I see her, and relief tugs at me, closing my throat. She climbs in, and I don’t waste a second getting the fuck out of this shit hole of a place.

“My heart is beating so fast,” she says, breathless and quiet, as we turn the corner onto the main road and leave the hell hole behind us. It’s the first time she’s spoken since we left.

I reach over and take her hand. “You did really well. Level-headed, calm, I’m really proud of you, princess.”

She looks down at her hand in mine. Hers is shaking.

Her smile is tight.

“Do you think the bugs will work?”

“If they plan another human auction there, we’ll know about it. Then we can decide how to deal with it, ok?”

She nods.

Glancing at my dashboard, I smile. “It’s still early.”

“Eleven. It is early. That went a lot quicker than I expected.”

My grin grows wider. “That means we have a little bit of time before I need to get you home,” I say, turning toward the city. I’m in no rush to let her go just yet. Any moment I can steal with her is a moment I’m grabbing.

The restaurant is quiet, with a romantic atmosphere. It’s a popular place, but not at this hour.

“Dio, here for your usual late-night feast?” the chef asks, standing next to our table, wiping his hands on his crisp white apron.

“Hey, Dimitri, this is a friend of mine, Angel. I thought you’d be able to make us some of your seafood stir fry?”

“Aah, of course I can. Spicy? Lemon butter? Garlic?”

I glance at Angelika. She smiles at Dimitri. “Lemon butter,” she chooses.

When he’s left our table, she giggles and shrugs. “Usually, I would have opted for one of the other two, but smelling of garlic might be suspicious tomorrow morning.”

I chuckle. “Good thinking,” I say, taking her hand in mine for a second time tonight.

“You’re not shaking anymore. Do you feel better?”

“It was so weird being back there, but being in control. Like, the fear was still there, but I somehow felt that they couldn’t touch me.”

“Except for creepy three-ice-blocks asshole,” I mutter.