Page 5 of The Pakhan’s Forced Bride (West Coast Bratva Pakhans #3)

Now, I want food, then a shower, and sleep.

Tamia is no longer in the kitchen, but my toasted sandwich is waiting for me. Extra bacon. Perfect. I eat, leaning against the counter, thinking about the logistics of having Belle in the house. You can’t plan for everything, but I have enough security around to ease my mind.

Shower. Sleep. Your head will be clear after you’ve rested. I walk upstairs, passing her room on the way. The door is closed. It’s quiet inside. Glancing at my watch, I note that it’s almost six. If I can get a few hours’ sleep, I’ll be happy.

The hot shower eases my muscles and relaxes my body.

But when I climb into bed, even with the blinds down and the light blocked out, I can’t sleep.

I’m thinking about her.

Right now, I’m not worried about her being a spy, or her strange mannerisms—I’m thinking about her. Her body in that dress. Her softness. The way the smooth fabric clung to her ass when she crawled into the car. The way her breasts bounce when she walks, and those lips—fuck me, those lips.

But of all the things about her that turn me on, her eyes are most dangerous. When I stand over her, looking down, and she raises those gorgeous dark lashes to look at me, my soul pauses. Her eyes are so blue they seem unreal.

I toss and turn. Frustration grows as I keep trying to block these thoughts of her. Just because she’s my wife doesn’t mean I need to think about her in this way.

But even as I finally fall asleep, exhausted, I still dream of her.

She stands up in the plane, looking down at me where I sit, her hands bound, but her eyes burning into me with a fierceness that tells me she wants me. Her smile teases me as she pulls the edges of her dress up, creeping higher over her thick, creamy thighs.

“I’ve been dreaming of you,” she whispers.

“But you didn’t even know who I was.”

“I knew. I always knew.”

I reach forward and brush my hand over the softness of her inner thigh, up into the sweet warmth between her legs.

I jolt awake and lie in bed with my heart racing and a raging boner lifting the blankets.

“Fuck,” I mutter, angry to be dreaming about her. She needs to get out of my head. This is going too far now.

I shove the blankets off, grabbing my cock and squeezing it, trying to ease the aching need.

If I keep letting myself be distracted by her like this, I’m going to slip up along the way. I have to stay focused on the plan. I’ve worked too hard for this.

I get up, get dressed in my usual black attire. Black pants. Black shirt. Black suspenders snapped over my shoulders. I have a lot to do today.

Leaving my room, I head straight to hers to check on my prisoner. Without knocking, I push the door open; somewhere inside me, I hope to catch her in an intimate position, but again, that’s just my mind taunting me.

To my surprise, the door is unlocked.

To my horror, her room is empty.

“Tamia,” I scream, furious that the housekeeper didn’t check it after delivering her food. I storm downstairs, screaming her name again. Tamia comes running towards me. “Sir?”

“You didn’t lock the door,” I shout.

“I did. I double checked it, sir. I was very careful.”

“Then where the fuck is she? Search the fucking house, get everyone to help you.”

I don’t wait for an answer from Tamia. I head straight to the security office. The man stationed in there is asleep in his chair. I slap the back of his head, and he snaps awake, panic bolting through him when he sees me.

“Show me the cameras for the perimeter. And where the fuck are the guards who are supposed to be watching the fucking back gate?” I growl.

His hands rush over the keyboard, typing furiously to bring up the feed I’ve asked for.

There’s no point searching the house. Belle is there, clear as day, sneaking out the back gate almost two hours ago. Jeans, sneakers, and a white t-shirt. Not exactly dressed to hide, yet no one saw her.

“You’re fucking fired. All of you. I want a new team in here within the hour,” I snarl, grabbing the security guy by his collar and pulling his face close to mine. “Do you understand me?”

“Y-yes, sir,” he stammers, falling over himself when I release him.

In a rage, I run to my car, muttering the whole time about incompetence and how you can’t rely on other people to do what you expect of them.

With no way to track Belle, all I can do is hit the streets and contact as many informants as possible to keep a lookout for her.

I drive out of the mansion and just keep going. I don’t know where she would head. To the airport?

I sent her photo out on a group chat I have with some trusted people.

But it’s been two hours already. She must be halfway back to Vegas by now.

“Fuck,” I scream, slamming my hands against the steering wheel as my eyes scan up and down the sidewalks, searching for her.

My phone chimes and I jump. I’m so tense I’m close to a blacked-out temper.

The message gives me some relief, though.

Killian: Saw that girl a minute ago—backtracking now. Will confirm when I have sights. Bay Mall shopping district.

Hurriedly, I change direction, skidding over two lanes and ignoring the cars honking at me. Fuck them. This is my city.

The engine growls as I press my foot harder into the accelerator, racing towards the mall.

Killian: She’s here, seems to be alone. I’ll track her until you arrive. Location sent.

He attaches a photo of her, from the side, wearing the same outfit she left the house in. Tight, high-wasted jeans hugging those wide hips.

She looks even better in jeans than she did in that dress.

I toss the phone onto the seat next to me.

Thank fuck.

It doesn ’ t take long to get to the mall, and once I’m there, I follow Killian’s location on foot.

He nods silently, acknowledging me, then leaves me to deal with her as I please.

Belle doesn’t notice me until I’m standing right behind her. I growl quietly, “What are you doing here, Belle?”

She jumps and spins to face me, her eyes shining with fright.

“I-I—" she stammers, looking left and right, searching for a way to escape.

“Don’t bother. I have men everywhere. You can’t run.”

She rolls her eyes. She fucking rolls her eyes at me.

I grab her arm and pull her close, our faces inches from each other. “What are you doing here, Belle?” I snarl again.

“Stop being such a bully. My wrists are already bruised, now you want to bruise my arm too?” She shoves me away from her, and I stare in disbelief. This attitude won’t be tolerated. But fuck me, she looks hot when she’s angry.

I grab her jaw and tilt her face up to mine. “Sweet little princess, don’t you dare speak to me like ever again. Don’t forget whose city you’re in,” I warn her.

The devilish smile that touches the corner of her lips spikes my anger and my desire. I pull her even closer.

“Is this a game to you?” I ask, my lips inches from hers.

“If it is a game, you aren’t doing very well,” she sasses. “I almost got away.”

“To a shopping district? You escaped to go shopping?” I taunt her. “If anyone is failing at this game , little bunny, it’s you.”

She huffs, scrunching her nose, embarrassed or annoyed. Either way, she looks cute.

“I was waiting for my contact. The one who was going to get me out of here,” she snaps.

I chuckle, a low, angry amusement rumbling through me.

“Pity I beat him to it.”

Ignoring the stares of other shoppers around us, I drag Belle back to my car, strap her into the passenger seat, and drive her home.

The new security team better be fucking prepared. How the fuck did she get out and manage to make contact with someone without any of the guards seeing? I almost lost her before the plan even started.

I won’t accept this lack of professionalism.

I glance at Belle, her arms folded over her chest, her lower lip pouted out as she sulks.

Or her attitude.