Blanket.
Passports.
Cash.
Baby food and meds.
Basic clothing.
Toiletries.
Nappies.
Prepaid SIM card.
Phone.
I opened the laptop and dropped it into the partially filled bath. My phone was next. The GPS was off but the SIM needed to go. I opened the cabinet and rummaged through the small box for a safety pin.
Runa was beginning to register her own boredom. The sounds she made when she was approaching the end of her patience were distinct and I knew every variation of them.
I worked faster.
The pin ejected the SIM. I snapped it, dropped the pieces into the toilet and flushed.
No more time.
Everything done.
Rent paid.
They could keep our belongings.
Damn. Runa’s nappy.
I could change her in the taxi.
We had to leave.
They could have followed us.
Oh God. They could have been following us for days.
“Bratva,” I whispered—saying the word I was most terrified of so it couldn’t hold power over me. It wouldn’t stop me. Nothing would stop me from saving Runa from a life of bartering.
The thought of him selling my daughter off in marriage made my stomach turn.
“Fuck the Bratva,” I hissed and stormed back to the living area.
The sling was on in seconds. I unbuckled Runa and slipped her into it, securing her at my hip with the practiced efficiency of four and a half months of muscle memory. I extended the handle of the suitcase, kicked it into motion and mentally mapped the route through the back garden as I moved.
I flung open the door.
Froze.
Vadim.
The same cold eyes—only molten now, fury barely contained beneath the surface, the particular stillness of a man who had been patient for a very long time and had run out of patience entirely.
