Page 83 of Prey of the Bratva

I turned, entering another hallway, and that is when I heard voices. They were distant but quickly approaching.

“Fuck, fuck, no,” I whispered to myself, needing to be out of here before it was too late.

I flattened myself against the wall just before the corner, making sure my breathing remained in control. I did not need them to find me before I could get to them. They came closer, and two men passed by without looking. I let them. I couldn’t attack right now. Not yet. It would not at all be wise to do so.

I waited three seconds, and then I moved again, much faster now. Because there was something that I knew now. This place was not meant to be escaped, which meant every second I had was borrowed.

I needed to be smart and I needed to give my all to at least try to get out of here.

I could not keep track of time, but when I finally found the first exit, it felt as if hours had gone by. To my disappointment, it was sealed. The lock was electronic, and there was no visible manual override. I tried the panel anyway, but in my heart, I knew it would be useless unless I knew the password.

Nothing happened.

I turned, finally getting the hang of the maze, and finding other exits became easier. However, the second was the same and the third was locked as well. My jaw tightened, making me realize this was not a holding facility but a containment strategy. And containments always had a central control point. I just had to find it before they realized I’m no longer where they left me.

I took another turn but then stopped because right at the end of the corridor, I could see that they were waiting patiently. There was no panic in their gaze or any reason to rush. To my horror, they didn’t even look surprised, which only told me they had been waiting.

Let the stupid girl try out the locks before we get her. Let’s dash her hopes slowly.

Three men stood with their rifles raised, blocking the fourth exit, which was also electronically locked. Right behind them was Sergei Volkov. I had never seen the man before, but despite that, I knew it was him the moment I saw him. Something in his face was enough to explain it. He was older than I had expected, but still did not appear weak or frail. Just sure of himself. Like a man who has already won every fight he intends to fight. His gaze settled on me with quiet interest, and then he smiled, as if this was just another Tuesday and the two of us were long-lost friends.

“Well,” he says, his voice smooth, almost conversational. “That was faster than I anticipated.”

“What was faster?” I asked, not making any attempts to move towards them. My mind was still calculating exits, finding yet another place to run, even though I knew it was not possible. It felt as if the doors were closing in on me and I was holding them with both hands, trying to push them apart even though I knew the action was futile.

“You found the exits rather quickly through the hallways. Impressive.” He glances past me briefly, towards the hallway I came from. But now you have two rather efficient and fully armed guards in front of you, so you should calm down a little bit.”

I don’t answer or move, and he studies me like I was something rare. Something valuable. Given the money that was riding on me, I was most certainly rare and valuable to him.

“I have heard a great deal about you, Misha Chernykh,” he said, making me feel worse.

Of course, he had. At this point, everyone had heard about me in the Bratva world.

“You disrupted months, no, actually, I believe it would be years—of work in a matter of weeks,” he continued. “That is impressive.”

His tone did not carry anger, but that was what made it worse. I could see that he did not even see me as a threat. Not right now. Not like this. And that was far more annoying than anything else. He knew I had no room to escape, and that was what mattered.

“I appreciate and admire boldness,” he said lightly. “Even when it becomes inconvenient.”

I continue looking left and right, still assessing. Still planning.

“And I can see you are still thinking of ways to escape,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Good.”

I moved before the thought fully settled, as if on instinct. Pure and immediate.

I lunged and grabbed the gun off the holster of one of the guards and raised it at them, aiming it straight at Volkov. The guards snatched out their rifles and cock it in unison at me. The sound snapped through the corridor like a warning and I stopped.

Not because I wanted to. Because I had to.

Volkov tilted his head slightly, watching me with something that almost resembled approval.

“You are predictable,” he said softly. “But admirable.”

I lowered the gun slowly, not in surrender but in calculation. The guards could easily injure me, and that would only make things worse when it came to escaping. Volkov stepped forward once, closing part of the distance between us.

“Tonight,” he says, “is a significant evening.”

My stomach tightened, knowing fully well what he meant. It had to be the auction.