Page 26 of Hunted Bride

His muscular body is achingly familiar on mine—until he peels away. Steps over me.

Locks me in the basement. Alone.

I sit up and bury my face in my hands.

“Holy shit, what a cluster fuck,” I say to no one.

My sister’s arranged husband’s brother has been stalking me for six years. He knows what cereal I eat out of the box when I’m too stressed out to cook. He knows every book that’s sat on my nightstand—an alarming percentage of which have been smutty romances. He knows I’ve never had a boyfriend, haven’t kissed a man since I was in my freshman year of college, and that it was only because he was drunk and mistook me for another girl.

I could be pregnant with Rion’s baby.

I press my palm to my stomach. I want that. I need to keep a piece of him with me forever.

Abruptly, I stand. I rush the few steps to the door and try the knob, just in case I was wrong about him locking it. I’m not.

I don’t want Rion to die. Obviously, he’s managed to hide what he’s done, or my family wouldn’t have offered him the use of Alisa’s house.

Which means she’s still missing.

Alisa has a dramatic streak—she’s an actress for a reason—but she was legitimately afraid of being forced to marry Maxim Orlov.

I wonder…if I offer myself to Rion instead, would he let her go? Or will Max still need to exert his control over the bride who refused him?

Bratva men are built differently. They’re ruthless. Violent. It’s a matter of survival in our world.

I’m sure Maxim doesn’t have much experience with female rejection. I vaguely remember seeing pictures of him. He’s almost as handsome as Rion is. High cheekbones. Straight nose. Sensuous lips. Strong jaw. I’ve tried to distance myself from my family’s business, but I was in high school when they announced the engagement and still living at home. Mostly ignored, which was how I preferred it.

I really have earned my nickname. Mouse. I’ve tried to make myself smaller. Go unnoticed. Become invisible. But Rion saw me. Maybe, now that I’m not reeling from the shock, I can understand why he staked his claim on me the way he did. His brother already had my sister—whether either of them wanted the match or not—and there was no space for him to ask me out publicly. Not that dating is even a thing for bratva families. The whole situation is completely messed up.

I’m not going to let anyone hurt my khishnik. He’s mine.

If I’m actually pregnant, they might spare his life.

There has to be a way to escape this basement. My family wouldn’t create a bunker they could get into but not out of.

I rush down the stairs and start throwing things around, searching for a key. There has to be one somewhere.

Time for this mouse to roar.

14

RION

“What the fuck is all over your face?” Max asks, staring at me.

“Glitter. One of Alissa’s movie props came off the wall.” Technically, it’s not a lie. Milena took it off the wall and whacked me with it. My cheek stings where the rough surface scraped it.

“What were you doing in the basement?” He tilts his head, eyeing me.

Shit, shit, shit. Blyat. I scramble for an excuse.

“Just, uh, checking a camera,” I say.

“In the basement?”

“We’ve had this place bugged for years. You know that.” Trust is virtually nonexistent among the bratva. Even among your business partners. Especially with your business partners.

We Orlovs are fortunate. No matter whether we disagree on things, I know my brothers have my back. My sister, too, although it’s up to the four of us brothers to protect our baby sister, not the other way around.