Page 17 of Savage Pakhan

I want her as close as possible.

“It’s just a term of endearment in Russian. That’s all.” I kiss the top of her head, wanting to tell her the truth.

I want so badly to let her know I have loved her for a few years now. It hit me one day when she was sitting on the couch, the sunlight pouring into the windows to illuminate her smile. She looked like an angel to me, a cruel gift the universe teased to me with knowing damn well I would never be able to have her.

Not when she was meant for my son.

If I would’ve intervened sooner, if I wasn’t so caught up in the contract and loyalty to her family, if I wasn’t so caught up in tradition, the abuse she took would’ve never happened.

I tighten my hold, my fingers digging into her body hard enough to leave bruises which reminds me to relax. I don’t want to leave one mark on her. That would kill me. The last thing I want is for her to see a bruise from me when she looks in the mirror.

Then, she will be reminded that I’m my son’s father and come to the conclusion we are more alike than she thought.

Over my dead body.

Giving the lake my back, I duck a tree branch and walk into the woods. It’s cooler in the shade provided by the canopy of the trees. A chill waiting in the dark sweep over Mia and she trembles in my hold.

My jacket is long gone. I had to take it off in the lake so I could swim faster.

“You’re okay. You’ll warm up soon, Mia. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Her fingers play with a button on my shirt, and we look at each other at the same time. Her wet lashes are spikes while her brown eyes are warm and inviting. Her teeth clatter together from the cold. Her dress is weighed down from being soaked and will take ages to dry.

I’m worried she’ll get sick, but I have to put that in the back of my mind and figure out a plan. We can’t walk aimlessly in the woods forever.

I can see the headlines now, “The alleged Russian Pakhan and his son’s runaway bride haven’t been seen in days.”

That’ll get the rumor mill going even more. I know how media and politics work. I’ve been in the game a long time and there are people who will use this moment to their advantage. I can’t stay missing for long or chaos will unfold. Enemies will flock to take my territory and dismantle everything I’ve built.

My worthless son won’t know how to handle the situation and will allow the Bykov name to follow.

I won’t allow it.

“What was your plan, Mia?” I ask her over the leaves crunching under my waterlogged shoes. “Did you have a plan?”

She shakes her head at the same time she says, “Yes.”

“That clarifies everything,” I tease, ducking my head under a long slender branch.

We have to get out of these woods soon. Night will fall sooner than we will expect. Bears, coyotes, and mountain lions live here. We’re in their territory now.

“I’ve had an abandoned car by the state line for a while now, hidden under a camouflage tarp a few yards in the woods. I didn’t know if I’d ever use it. It was there just in case if I ever decided to finally leave. I wasn’t even thinking of the car when I fled the church. I saw myself in the mirror, wearing a wedding dress I hated, noticing none of my friends or family would be there, knowing if I married Ivan, I’d be doomed. I wasn’t thinking at all. I didn’t really have a plan. I just knew I had to escape. I drove on pure adrenaline and then nearly killed us.”

A twinge of guilt consumes me knowing the accident is mostly my fault. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I should have spoken up sooner to let you know I was there. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to stop you from leaving. I spoke up at the wrong time.”

“I panicked when I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s okay.” I kiss the top of her head again. “It was an accident. It’s no one’s fault, Mia. Don’t blame yourself.”

She doesn’t say anything. She probably doesn’t believe me. My son has installed fear in her soul, the kind that warps her confidence and shapeshifts any reason for her to be at fault.

“You read my journal,” she says in between the sounds of broken twigs.

“I did.”

“That’s an invasion of privacy. You read words that weren’t ever supposed to be read by another person.”

I don’t feel guilty at all for reading it. I know I should feel bad. Guilty, even. I should apologize, but I have nothing to apologize for. My selflessness only goes so far.