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Rage boils beneath the surface as I think about her captors. The animals clearly didn’t concern themselves with her well-being enough to notice that she’s probably been on the verge of hypothermia for hours. Or maybe they just didn’t care. Either way, it makes me hate them all the more.
And I can’t help but wonder just what they did to her in the time that they held her prisoner. My stomach knots, my heart hammering to match the rhythm of her own, and my arm tightens instinctually around her.
She’s so shaken up, I can’t bring myself to ask.
13
ALINA
Mishka’s masculine scent, earthy with a hint of leather and citrus, surrounds me in warmth, calming my fragile nerves. I want to be brave, to sit tall and pretend like what happened hasn’t affected me. But every time I think about it, the shaking starts again.
I clung to my sanity while tied to that chair for the sake of my baby and the prayer that I might find a way to escape. But now that I’m out of danger, the trauma is really starting to sink in. The images that flash before my eyes haunt me, and that rasping rattle of a voice sends shivers up and down my spine.
So, I cling to Mishka, willing my heart to slow enough to dislodge itself from my throat. Maybe then I can speak again. But all I want to focus on is the man who holds me close—the steady comfort of his breathing, the soft circles his large hand forms on my back.
My intense relief at seeing Mishka in my time of desperate need has wiped away all my anger. The sight of him standing over me, in all his fearsome glory, made me want to cry. Because, for a moment, I thought I’d lost my one chance to survive. And then the man I needed more than anything in the world appeared before me.
I’m terrified at the thought of letting him go now. I only feel safe in his strong, comforting arms. I know Viktor probably wants me to grow up and answer his questions. I feel them burning in the silence, but I don’t lift my head because Mishka is the only thing rooting me to my sanity.
After what feels like an hour of driving, the Escalade rolls to a stop, and with a soft rock, it’s thrown into park.
“You’re home, love,” Mishka whispers so gently against my ear that only I can hear.
I tip my head to glance out the side window and spot the front door opening, my parents striding onto the front porch. Several car doors open as I tuck my face back into the curve of Mishka’s neck and tighten my arms to silently tell him I’m not letting go.
A moment later, he lifts me from his lap, carrying me like a bride out of the vehicle.
“Alina!” my mom calls, her voice dripping with worry.
“Why are you carrying her? Is she hurt?” My father’s booming voice is laced with anger, and my heart stutters as I realize my behavior has likely put Mishka in a difficult position—especially after what my father and Viktor walked in on the other night.
“Physically, I don’t think she’s injured, though she was half-frozen when I found her. She’s likely hypothermic,” Mishka says, his deep, steady voice easing my climbing anxiety. “I think she’s in shock and probably in survival mode—holding onto me because I’m the one who found her.”
He sounds so reasonable, so self-assured, I wonder if he might not actually be onto something. But the truth of the matter is I wouldn’t be clinging like this to anyone else. Mishka is my rock, my safe zone, and the thought of letting him go makes me shudder.
But I need to. For Mishka’s own good. Because every second I refuse to release him, it will be more and more apparent to my family that he means something more to me.
He means everything to me.
Slowly, Mishka lowers my feet to the ground. He doesn’t remove my arms from his neck, though, and his touch is so gentle it breaks my heart. When my father’s heavy hands fall upon my shoulders, I know that’s my signal to release him. It takes every ounce of courage I possess to unwind my arms from around his neck, and I dare to glance up at him through my lashes as my father guides me back a step.
Mishka’s face has an impressive bruise on his left cheek, and I wonder what happened to him. I was so overcome with fear in the condemned house where I was being held that I didn’t even notice it in the dim light. His storm-blue eyes rage with a tumult of emotion, mirroring my own, and it feels like he didn’t want to let me go any more than I did him.
“You’re home, Alina,” my father says, and I let him collect me against his chest.
Though it hurts to separate myself from Mishka, I turn and bury my face in my father’s chest. His massive figure allows the torrent of tears to rise to the surface now, like a dam breaking.
My throat is on fire as I sob, my body shaking with the force of my emotion. I feel the tension drain from his shoulders as he enfolds me in his beefy arms.
“Shh, solntse. Shh,” he soothes, his large hand stroking my hair as I keep my face pressed against his chest.
It feels good to cry, to release all the fear and anxiety I fought back so forcefully to prove my kidnappers couldn’t intimidate me. But they did. I’ve never been so terrified—more so of the intensity of their hatred than anything else. I felt so utterly helpless, so vulnerable, so unable to protect the tiny life I care about more than my own life.
Finally, the racking sobs start to subside, my crying quieting as the tension washes from me, leaving me breathless, weak, and utterly exhausted.
“Let’s get you inside,” Papachka murmurs, his hand never pausing in its steady track from the crown of my head to my midback.
I nod, sniffling softly now, and let him steer me awkwardly up the steps and into the foyer. Viktor and the men who accompanied him and Mishka to find me follow us in, my brother speaking to my father in hushed Russian.
