Page 88 of Bought to Bear Bratva Heir

Well, not everyone; Ilya was still in there, comforting our son. His son, because I knew deep down that he wouldn’t allow me to be in their lives any longer. I don’t know what made me think so, but I knew.

And that’s why I had to leave. My heart, my very soul, couldn’t take being rejected by him again. I couldn’t live through the pain; it would break me entirely. Better that I leave now and quietly disappear.

No one looked up as I stepped outside. Wrapping my arms around myself because I was shaking so hard that my teeth chattered in a way that had nothing to do with the weather.

My clothes were ripped and unkempt, and my feet were bare, but I didn’t care. Just like I didn’t care that shards of glass and God knows what else were currently cutting into my feet.

The street was empty, the buildings on either side of the road boarded up. I had no idea where the hell I was, and in a way, that was okay as well.

It was kind of apt that I was lost.

Head down, arms wrapped around myself, I kept walking. A slow, methodical plod, and with each step I took, tears slid down my face.

It would have been better if I had never come back. If I hadn’t been at my father's grave that day, then—

I sobbed, biting my fist as the sound ripped its way out of my throat and into the silence of the street.

No, I wouldn’t let myself think that way. I would never regret coming back because it had given me a chance to get to know my son. I’d had a chance to love my son, and even though it felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest because I was going to lose him again, I would not ever take that back.

Even if the pain I was feeling now was worse than when they had ripped him from my arms the first time. It hurt so bad that I wasn’t sure I would ever get over it.

"Daisy."

I froze because the voice was unmistakable.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted his car. The massive, black armored thing, not his usual sports cars.

How the hell had I not heard that coming up the street?

"Daisy," Ilya said again, his voice much closer than I expected. Like it was almost right behind me.

Panic slammed my heart into my chest, and I took off like a hunted deer. My torn-up feet pounding on the pavement.

Almost instantly, he gave chase.

I knew I couldn’t outrun him, but I had to try. I had to get away because if I didn’t, he would probably kill me, which I might actually prefer over being ripped away from my child again.

"Daisy!" Ilya's strong hand latched onto my shoulder and spun me around. I struggled just for a second before he pushed me against the grimy brick wall and trapped me there with his enormous body.

"Let me go," I sobbed, beating uselessly at his chest with my tiny fists. And even if I hadn’t been starved into weakness, I wouldn’t have stood a chance against him.

"Please, Ilya," I begged. "Please let me go."

He caught my wrists easily, pinning them against the rough brick. "No," he growled out. "No, Daisy," he said more firmly. His voice dropped into a gravelly whisper. "I will not ever let you go. And you need to stop running."

The fight went out of me, my knees buckled, and it was only his quick instincts that stopped me from hitting the floor.

"Shit." He heaved me into his body but kept me trapped against the abandoned building. "Are you hurt?"

His big hands began to rove over my body, but not in a sexual way. "Are you hurt, Daisy? Answer me," he ordered.

"I’m not." My voice didn’t even sound like me. Clearing my throat, I tried again. "I’m not hurt."

Finally, his hand came down to settle on my flat stomach, and he sighed in relief. "Thank God." He dropped his forehead against mine. His eyes were so close to mine that I could see the flecks of all the colors in them.

Silence fell between us.

"Why did you run?" he asked finally.