Page 17 of Hunted Bride

I spike my fingers through my hair. What the hell am I going to do?

Milena

Once I’ve put on Alisa’s bathrobe—the only item of clothing in her entire closet that fits my curves—I try every door in the house. None of them open.

In a fit of frustration, I take a folding chair and try to bash my way out of the lower level. It bounces off the bulletproof glass and bonks me on the forehead, raising a purple welt. Defeated, I return to the kitchen to put ice on the knot.

Welp. I guess I’m not breaking out of this house. Damn my khishnik for being right.

I retrieve the knives I’d hidden earlier and put them back where I found them while Alisa’s fancy coffee maker is brewing my vice. I clean up the bread I’d dumped out of its bag earlier, partly by stuffing several slices into my mouth. Can’t fight on an empty stomach.

Or think, for that matter. Which is the only way I can fight him. With my brain.

Physically, I’m no match for him—that’s clear after this morning. Can’t outrun him. Can’t fight him.

It doesn’t seem like he wants to kill or maim me. He’s turned on by our fucked-up power dynamic. He likes the power trip of chasing me—and I have to admit that part of me enjoys the excitement of being hunted.

In every other aspect of my life, I capitulate. I fold. I cower.

With him, I don’t.

Well. Mostly. I did fawn at first, but I won’t do that again. I’m badly outmatched, but I’ll run. I’ll fight back. Even if it’s fruitless, I want to show him I’m not his meek little mouse.

I sucked his cock when he demanded it, and worse, I liked it. I enjoyed what he did to me the second time he caught me even more.

This is like my favorite scenes from my books come to life.

Granted, there was his all-too-real threat, If I catch you, I breed you. Understand? I’m not on birth control. I never had a reason to be. Until now. I am not having a child with a stranger. I don’t even know who he is.

Figuring out his identity is the key to getting out of this situation and getting my life back. So what if it’s pathetic? It’s mine. I built it, crappy job, shitty apartment and all.

Clearly, my khishnik knows I’m connected to the Russian mob.

Logically, he must have chosen to stalk me because he knew I couldn’t go to the police without risking my family. I might not get along with my sister or my mother—my father has always been a distant figure in my life—but I was raised under a code that says you never endanger your family. No matter how badly they treat you or how angry you are with them.

Unlike the heroines in my books, I’m no rebel. I know what happens to you if you break this unspoken rule. You die. Painfully. Your body disappears as if you never existed.

As long as I keep my head down, I can count on them to protect me from our enemies, both within the bratva, and outside of it.

If I ask for help, they’ll rescue me.

“That’s it!” I drain my coffee and leave the cup beside the sink. I just needed proper caffeination to think of a way to contact my family that doesn’t involve a phone. Mine was left for dead at the side of the road when khishnik took me.

I boot up Alisa’s computer in her study. The message on the screen is straight out Jurassic Park: NO INTERNET FOR YOU, MOUSE.

The computer immediately shuts down.

Right then. No help coming from that quarter. Unless my boss calls them, I doubt my family will even notice I’m missing. Especially not with the golden sister on the run from her arranged marriage.

“Who are you?” I mutter, staring blankly at the dead computer screen. Clearly, my khishnik has top-notch technical skills. Someone from my parents’ world, then.

A sound comes from the hallway. Hairs prickle on the back of my neck. A rush of adrenaline has me bolting out of my Alisa’s desk chair.

Footfalls on the hardwood floor.

“I’m back, Mouse. Come out and play with me,” a male voice says.

Instead, I slink back.