Page 14 of Kidnapped Bride

I pressed my forehead against the wood and closed my eyes and tried to think logically about a way out of this.

But every thought circled back to the same thing.

I had made a horrible choice to hide this from my father.

He had security for a reason.

He had protocols, rules—a whole system designed to keep his family safe, and I'd walked right around all of it because a man with nice eyes texted me sweet things for two weeks.

I didn't tell anyone where I was going.

I didn't bring security. I didn't even tell my best friend which restaurant we'd be at. I just got dressed up and floated out the door like some lovesick teenager who thought the world was safe.

I hit the door one more time and then stepped back, breathing hard. My hand throbbed and I pressed it against my stomach and held it there.

If I kept this up, I would need pain medication and since I hadn't gotten much interaction as it was for hours, I didn’t figure Nikolai would be kind enough to care that I had hurt myself.

When the lock on the door clicked, I straightened up and wiped my face with the back of my wrist.

The door opened and a woman walked in holding a tray.

She was maybe fifty, short and soft around the middle, with her gray-streaked hair pulled into a bun.

She wore a plain black dress and an apron and pity on her face, like I was a stray animal she felt sorry for.

Behind her, filling the doorframe, was one of Nikolai's men.

He was thick through the shoulders and had a bandage wrapped around his left arm.

He didn’t look kind, either.

More like he was waiting for me to mess up so he could hurt me.

"I've brought some lunch," the woman said softly. She had an accent that matched Nikolai's but hers was gentler. "You should eat something." Her eyes flicked to the plate of eggs I hadn’t touched. I didn't know if they were poisoned or something, so I didn't touch them. But my belly grumbled at the sight of food. If he kept me here any time at all, I was going to have to eat.

"I don't want food," I told her. "I want to go home."

She stepped into the room carefully, like she was navigating a minefield, and set the tray on the edge of the bed.

I saw a hot sandwich with sliced tomato and pesto dripping down the side, and a few pickles with chips.

The worst part was, it was plated nicely, like she actually gave a damn, and that made me angrier.

"Ms. Markin," she said, "my name is Anya. I'm not your enemy."

I looked at the tray then the open door behind her.

The guard stood there with his arms crossed, but he was barely paying attention.

His head rested against the door jamb with his eyes shut.

Either he was on something or he'd gotten less sleep than I had, because he looked exhausted.

And I saw my opening.

I moved before I thought about it, shoving past Anya hard enough to knock the tray off the bed.

The food went everywhere, including down my leg, and for half a second I thought I had it.