Page 23 of Hunted Bride

12

MILENA

Standing at the top of the stairs that lead into the basement, I hesitate.

If my suspicions are correct, my khishnik told me to come down here because he wants to amp up our game. He’s already caught me twice. Three times, really, though he didn’t fuck me the first time. He could have.

I think this is a ploy. He wants me down here because there’s no way out. This space was designed to be a bunker in the event of an intra-faction shootout. There are no windows except for one tiny hatch, barely big enough for a grown man to slide out of in an emergency. This house is a fortress, and he has it locked down tight.

I could have tried to run out of the garage if he came in that way. I don’t think he will, though. The lift would make too much noise.

He’ll sneak in. Take me by surprise. Try to catch me off guard.

I want to be caught.

Besides, down here in Alisa’s props stash is my best chance of finding better clothes to wear. I’d rather not be caught here without any underwear on. I’m not taking hers, that’s too weird. I flick on the lights and make my way down. A terrifying shape looms in the dimness—but it’s only a fluffy purple monster costume from a kid’s show she did as a teenager.

A grim smile curls my lips up at the corners. I could put this costume on and frighten my khishnik right back. Plus, he’d have a heck of a time ripping it off me for sex.

That thought alone makes me set it aside. I liked the sex. I want more of it. Sure, it’s probably Stockholm syndrome getting the better of me. I find a rack of normal clothes that were used as costumes in film productions, including a real shirt and skirt that actually fit. I put them on, delighted to finally have real clothes again.

A shiny mermaid tail hangs on one wall. At first glance you could be forgiven for thinking it’s an entire taxidermy fish, but I remember the movie my sister wore it in. They added glitter to it to make it reflect light better in the water when they were filming.

Above me, footsteps thud. My head jerks up.

Voices?

“Alisa?” I call out. But it’s not her.

Men’s voices.

Fear cuts a cold path through my body. I strain to overhear. I creep up the stairs and try the knob, straining to listen through the door.

“The Volkovs have Alisa. They want a ransom and they don’t care which family pays it,” says the first man.

“So give them the money,” says a second voice, reasonably. Surprise jolts through me. That’s my khishnik. I’m certain of it.

“Absolutely not,” the first man growls. “Orlovs don’t pay ransoms. I’ll get her back. I need to think.”

Orlovs? What is going on?

“Now that Nik’s wife is safe, he and Sierra should go back to Las Vegas,” says my captor. I sink down, my back pressed against the door, as shock rolls through me. Of all the possible people who might be my stalker, I never once considered that he might be from my sister’s fiancé’s own family.

Why? He doesn’t need me to cement a closer alliance. Marriages within the bratva are usually arranged for political purposes. Duplication serves no purpose. Alisa and Maxim Orlov have been locked into an arranged marriage that neither of them wants ever since they were teenagers.

“I don’t trust this house,” says my khishnik.

“You said you’ve had it bugged for years.”

“I did. I do.” He sounds frustrated. “I just—I think we should leave. Today.”

He wants his family gone. He doesn’t want them to know what he’s done to me.

Anger and heartbreak send me slumping to the floor.

Suddenly, I know who my captor reminds me of. Konstantin Orlov, the patriarch who died in a car bomb a week ago, sending shockwaves through the bratva.

Now I know why he hid me all these years. He’s ashamed of me. Doesn’t want anyone to know he’s been spying on the undesirable daughter.