Page 11 of Bratva Stalker Kidnaps His Bride

“I noticed,” I say, folding my arms.

“They are tracking patterns,” he finishes, ignoring my quip. As if his words aren’t enough to raise the hair on my arms, he closes the distance between us. The space narrows until his presencedominates everything. Up close, he smells faintly of cold air, gunpowder, and bergamot.

“You think you can ever be alone from this point onwards?” He taunts, dark eyes flashing headily.

“I amnothelpless.”

His gaze drops briefly to my bruised wrist.

“You know damn well that they’ll kill you the next time they catch you alone and unprotected.”

The truth stings.

“I still cannot stay here forever,” I reply, quieter now but no less firm. “There is something I need to finish.”

His eyes sharpen, contempt clear in them.

I don’t doubt he already knows what it is, given that he has been watching closely enough. And again, this lack of distance between us, his heady scent, all of it makes me feel like I’ve been stranded in a maze of mirrors, with smoke clouding my vision.

His lips part as his tongue sneaks out for a second. “I have a solution.”

“What solution?” I mutter.

“Marriage.”

Huh?

His face is flat and unchanged, and I think I’ve heard him wrong.

“I’m sorry—did you saymarriage?”

I expect him to laugh, or give me a weirded-out glare, except nothing comes.

“Thefuckis wrong with you, Korovin? Did you get hit in the skull or something during the fight because—”

“You would be under Korovin protection,” he interrupts my choppy, shocked spiel.

“I amnotmarrying you. How is this even—”

“It solves the problem.”

“No, it does not, it creates ten more.”

“It eliminates the target on your back.”

“Oh my God, you’re genuinely fucking crazy,” I bark out a laugh, rolling my eyes. “You’re absolutely batshit—”

His toes come to line with mine, wide palms coming up to grip my biceps tightly, as if I’m falling apart. Or to remind me that I’m breakable under his hold. Every nerve in my body becomes aware of him.

“I wasn’t asking, Zara.”

Chapter 4 - Mikhail

Weddings, to me, always seemed like an obvious performance.

People have their sappy vows because truth is usually too sharp to say aloud. They dream about devotion and destiny and love as if commitment has anything to do with those things.

I have spent too much of my life watching men swear loyalty with warm smiles only to sell information the moment fear or greed came into play. Love, loyalty, marriage, blood—none of these things mean anything unless backed by action.