Page 72 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“We haven’t received any news yet, Fia. Please remain inside.”

Being given orders by Emil’s minions leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Regardless if my husband is paying these men, they are not in control and do not have a say in where I should go.

I grind my jaw, loitering in the doorway as I weigh up my options. Staying here will drive me insane if I continue looking out of the window, waiting for Emil to return.

The sun is only rising higher in the sky, spreading light across the forest. If I stay here, I’ll remain stuck in tomorrow, grieving my husband. And then when he finally returns, I’ll fling my arms around him, emotions taking precedence over rationality after being stuck in his house, with nothing else to do but think about how much I miss him.

I have to get out of here before the vicious cycle begins anew, forever trapping me in its cage. And I’m the one holding the lock and key. I’m in charge of my own destiny as well as my children’s. Bringing the twins up in a dangerous Bratva world, surrounded by enemies and an emotionally reckless mother, will damage them beyond compare.

Now is the time to get the fuck out of here, putting this Emil nonsense behind me for good.

I take a deep breath and charge outside, beeping to the front gates, my legs spinning under me, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

“Fia!” shout the guards, stones crunching as they race after me.

Although I had a head start, they soon catch up. The sky is more likely to change color than an exhausted pregnant woman is likely to outrun a team of trained guards. I make it as far as the gate, curling my hands around the steel, shaking the foundations, begging for a miracle.

“Fia, you need to get back?—”

I knee the guard in the balls, hoisting myself up onto the gate, preparing to climb over. The three remaining guards reach out and grab me, but I boot another in the face, climbing higher, pouring all of the strength I have into making it over this fence.

“Fia!” shout the other remaining two, guns at the ready.

I look down the end of the gun, the black hole more terrifying than the gaping darkness in Luka’s eyes yesterday. But I swallow my fear. These men won’t shoot me.

I climb to the top of the fence, clutching onto the steel. I scramble over to the other side, sucking in a deep breath before launching myself over the other side.

Being five months pregnant throws a few spanners in the works. One of the babies starts kicking, making this situation feel even more impossible. But I focus on what matters most in this world, the babies, their safety, living a life where nobody can hurt us, and launch myself over the gate, thankfully landing on both feet.

I turn around, locking eyes with the guards. The fear written across their faces should encourage me to think twice about this situation, but overthinking is what keeps me trapped in the cycle.

I turn around and refuse to look back, walking to the bus stop for what could be the last time ever.

Sadness deflates my heart as I take in my surroundings, the little birds hopping across branches, the rich smells of pine wood permeating the air; the peaceful sounds of nature. Living out here was fun while it lasted, but happiness and peace can never exist in isolation. Something always has to give.

I flag the bus down when it arrives, paying for a ticket and dumping myself in the back.

A harsh weight digs into my chest as I stare out of the window, trees flying past. After staring for a while, the forest blurs intoEmil’s face, memories of us together playing through my mind of us in bed, dancing at the gala.

The profound look on his face that night told me that I was all he had time for. People were begging for his attention all night, entrepreneurs fishing for conversations, women attempting to make eye contact, but the way he looked at me made it felt like I was everything he needed, that no external force could change how he felt about me.

Revisiting that night causes my heart to split in multiple directions, my heart strings being tested to their limits as the bus travels further away from his house.

By the time I land in the city, my legs feel like jelly, like I’m walking on a boat deck. The ground feels unstable, my knees threatening to buckle at any given moment.

Horns blare, vehicles shooting down the road. The city never changes, always staying the same, but I look up at the sky and instantly feel broken.

The sun fights through the clouds for the first time in weeks. Things are changing, spring right around the corner. I pass pedestrians on the sidewalk wearing T-shirts instead of thick coats, their umbrellas stored away in their purses, sunglasses covering their eyes.

I want the rain back. I want to run into the Four Seasons, check into a room and stumble out of the bathroom, stark naked, seeing Emil kill someone.

I squint, begging for the thoughts to disappear. I push them aside, shoving them into a container, sealing the lid extra tight so that the rational side of my brain can switch on and show me the way.

My intuition tells me to continue walking down this street. I follow that internal GPS, feeling like a robot as I walk aimlessly down the sidewalk, surrounded by people who have agency over their life. I had that too for a time.

I used to wake up at 6 a.m. sharp, headed straight to a workout class and took my lattes with only one espresso shot. I wore the sleek blouses, the pants to match and the kitten heels. My feet used to clop powerfully against the concrete too as I rushed to the office every morning.

But I stumbled upon those shipping reports on my desk, and it changed everything. I never told my boss, my coworkers. The same internal GPS that is guiding me now, also told me to keep my lips sealed about the case at the dockyard.