Page 37 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
I slam into the office, the door rattling against the wall.
Mike looks up from his desk, eyes sharp, controlled. Sergei is there too, standing silent and rigid.
We stare at each other for a long moment, a tense silence hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Mike gestures toward Sergei. “Excuse us.”
Sergei is polite, but I have a feeling he doesn’t like me, so I don’t go out of my way to speak to or interact with him. He brushes past me, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.
I’m alone with Mike now.
I storm toward his desk. My chest burns with frustration, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.
“I want to go see Raelyn,” I snap, my voice sharper than I intend. Mike tilts his head, lips parting as if to answer, but I cut him off. “Don’t say no. If you do, I’ll find a way out of this house, and you’ll never see me again.”
His eyes narrow, sharp and unreadable, but the tension between us is electric.
“Ellie—”
I take a deep breath, pushing my anger into words. “Honestly, it’s better to be kidnapped and tortured than be a prisoner decorated as a wife. I refuse this. I refuse to let you control everything about my life.”
The words hang in the air like a challenge. His gaze drills into mine, calm but lethal, measuring every inch of me. I’m shaking, both from fear and defiance, but I don’t move. I won’t back down.
Finally, he sits forward, voice low. “Solntse,” he says, the single word loaded with calm and promise, “you’ll see Raelyn. But understand this: Every step you take outside the house carries risk. I’m not willing to take it.”
“You will let me go, Mike.”
He rises to his feet, walking across the desk to stand in front of me. “Yes. But on my terms. You will go with a heavy escort.”
I start to argue, but think better of it. As long as I get to leave the house. “But I want my own separate car. They can follow me. I need autonomy.”
“Very well.”
His easy acceptance melts something tight inside me. I turn and march outside before I do something stupid. Almost an hour later, I’m ready to leave. Mike follows me downstairs, running through security instructions I’m barely listening to. I think he’s overestimating my value. No one wants to kidnap methat badly. I’m not that special. Besides, no one even knows I’m leaving the house—how could they plan a kidnapping so quickly?
“Do you hear everything I’ve said to you?” Mike asks.
I nod. “Yes.”
He doesn’t believe me, but opens my car door and helps me inside, shutting it behind me. I can see he doesn’t want me to leave, but he says nothing else, just steps back. Two security cars are in front, two behind. I’m relieved I requested my own private car. I couldn’t imagine being sandwiched between so many armed men.
Once on the highway, the tension drains from my shoulders. The city stretches endlessly around me, and for the first time in weeks, I can finally breathe. Excitement and freedom course through me in waves I didn’t expect.
I flick on the radio, letting the music fill the car, and I bob my head, feeling lighter with each beat. The rearview mirror shows the escort cars, silent and precise, but I don’t care. I’m moving. I’m choosing. I’m alive.
The highway unfurls ahead, and I press my hand against the window, letting the wind hit my face. For the first time in weeks, the world feels like mine again, even if just for a moment.
All that matters now is Raelyn. Finally, I’m heading toward someone who feels like home.
Halfway through the journey, I notice another car trailing at a measured distance. My pulse quickens, but I tell myself I’m imagining patterns where none exist. But the vehicle doesn’t waver—it’s following me.
Then everything explodes into chaos. My car is forced toward the side of the road. Gunfire shatters the rear windshield, showering me in splinters of glass. I react on instinct, swerving sharply and narrowly avoiding collision. My heart pounds like a drum in my ears.
The escort car behind me immediately engages the attackers, exchanging precise bursts of gunfire. Bullets tear through the air around me. I duck instinctively, gripping the wheel with trembling hands. Adrenaline floods my system, every nerve alive with terror and focus.
For a moment, the world contracts to the narrow line of asphalt ahead, the attackers pressing from behind, my own vehicle a fragile cocoon between life and death. I tell myself:Keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t die.
The attackers aren’t letting up. Their car edges closer, forcing me further toward the shoulder. My chest burns, my vision narrows, and I feel the raw, biting fear of knowing that if I hesitate for even a second, it’s over.
The escort vehicle fires again, bullets ricocheting and sparking as they hit the guardrails. I hear the scream of tires and metal twisting, the chaos a living thing that wants to swallow me whole.
