AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Fucked up. I’d fucked up.
I’d wasted the one opportunity I had for killing Yuri on my father. Now, I had to hope that Viktor, Andrei, and their men could finish the job. I didn’t give a shit who won this battle. All I cared about was getting the fuck out of this city.
This country.
I pushed my way through the mass of guests, ignoring the shouts of my name coming from the altar. I couldn’t tell if it was Maxim or Yuri calling out after me, but the calls faded into the background as I surged through the double doors, making a sharp turn to rush down an abandoned hallway, and slammed into a hard body.
“Fuck, are you okay?” a deep voice rumbled in English as he steadied me.
I peered up, blanching at whose hands held me.
I knew the face in front of me.
Nikolay Volkov, second son to Dmitri Volkov, the head of the Bratva faction in New York, and an ally of my new husband.
My body refused to budge, no matter how loudly my mind yelled at my limbs to move. His oceanic eyes drilled into mine, and I was struck by how young he was. Probably close to my age, maybe a few years older, but those eyes held a jaded edge to them—something I was very familiar with.
Was that what I looked like now?
Rumor was his father beat him for the simple fact that he hadn’t been born in Russia.
“Are you running from him?” he asked, his firm voice carrying over the noise spilling out of the sanctuary.
My heartbeat kicked up in my chest, fluttering like a bird attempting to flee its cage. My throat felt rough, unable to form words. All I could do was nod my head, before dropping my gaze to the floor, fear flooding my body of what the spare heir would do.
Would I ever be given another opportunity to run from Yuri? He’d have me under a fucking microscope, locked up in my ivory tower. I was probably destined for a cell when he discovered it was me who’d helped plan the ambush. Or a grave.
“Go.”
My head snapped up at the gruff command, the heat from his hold disappearing. I didn’t understand—turning me in would mean a raise in his station, and as a hated second son, that must’ve been enticing.
Nikolay’s brows furrowed, sneering at me when I didn’t move. “Do you speak English? I said, fucking go.” He jerked his head toward the abandoned hall. “Leave while you still have the chance. Yuri and my father’s men are winning. You won’t have much longer before he sends someone to find his bride. I’ll tell them I saw you being shoved into a car. That should buy you some time.” He ran a tattooed hand over his head, mumbling to himself about learning Russian.
I was stunned, not stupid.
I turned and sprinted, having no clue if Nikolay Volkov would keep his word or not. And I wasn’t about to fucking stand around and find out. My hand shook with adrenaline and fear, slipping off the smooth brass doorknob.
“Fuck,” I called out as I tried to open the door again.
The word felt clunky in my mouth, but there was something so satisfying about saying it with every ounce of frustration flowing through my body. I’d been bilingual from a young age, but over the last few months, I’d pushed myself to refine the language. If I made it through today alive, English would be the only language I’d speak from now on.
A loud bang rang out as I fell into the supply closet, my knees slamming into the old cobblestones. The layers of tulle did little to absorb the blow. I scrambled across the floor, not even bothering to stand as bile pooled in my mouth. The distant shouts grew louder. Time seemed to slow as I attempted to rip off my dress, not caring that I was taking chunks of skin with it in my haste.
I barely registered the chill in the room as I stood there stark naked, staring at the virginal white lace set that lay in tatters on the ground. The first thing I was doing when I made it to the States was getting laid. This stupid, arbitrary idea of being valuable because of myinnocencewas going out the damn window.
I wasn’t innocent.
They may have dressed me in white, but my hands were now stained in blood. These men had expected me to just lie on my back obediently? Fuck obedience.
The rough fabric of the men’s hoodie scraped against my skin as I yanked it over my head, pulling some blonde strands free from my updo. Thankfully, they hadn’t chosen something with a zipper because I was too shaken for that kind of precision. I dug into the black backpack that had been hidden in a darkened corner, holding my breath as I searched for the forged documents that were supposed to be in it. My shoulders sagged in relief when my fingertips met the hard ridge of the fake passport.
No more than five minutes had passed since the chaos had broken out, but I knew my window was closing quickly. I threw the bag over my shoulders and climbed over the precariously-stacked furniture. I’d picked this closet because there was a window that faced away from any of the main exits.
I clambered out, cool air kissing my flushed skin as, steeling myself for the small drop. Air whooshed from my lungs, my feet sinking into the damp earth. I turned, searching for a familiar figure, smiling when I spotted a man crouched. His lithe body pressed against the stone of the building as he peered around the corner, reminding me of a jungle cat.
Sleek. Precise. Deadly.
As if sensing my thoughts, he turned his head to face me. The sharp lines of his handsome face seemed harsher than usual, his blue eyes cold.
