Page 95 of Bought By Sin

The fear of being stuck in here and experiencing more of this rabid, raw agony.

Lev…

I kept crawling, on both my knees and one hand slapped to the blood-stained floor. Inch by inch, I kept retreating for the side door, the connection to the next room. I hoped it was empty. I wanted to pray that the Bratva men weren’t hurt and that they could come and back up Lev shooting back at the guards.

He ordered me to go. To run. To escape. To get the fuck out of here as he held the men back.

That was who he was. The man who bought me, who owned me, who instructed me what to do.

If he gave an order, I followed. It was the simplest submission to adhere to as an employee in the Volkov Bratva.

But he was also the man I loved, the one I wanted to keep by my side always.

And so I did as he ordered.

I crawled and dragged myself out of there, counting on him not to be hurt.

I forced myself to cross the room and aim for the clearest route with the fewest obstacles.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t make it.

The edges of my vision turned dark. Black wisps of blurred images made up the perimeter of my view. The doorframe waved and curled. The floor rose up then shot back down. The ceiling split into two, double-mirrored images that yawned apart then snapped back together like an overlap of my eyeballs.

Dizziness swept over me. Nausea churned my stomach. My lungs burned, so desperate for more air even though I was breathing.

I staggered and toppled to the ground. Face-planting tipped my ass into the air. Lopsided like this, I grunted at the increase of pain. I’d dropped and smashed my cheek into the carpet, but the angle also ensured my wounded shoulder and arm were shoved onto the hard surface.

“Oh, fuck…”

My words came out slurred, a mess of sluggishness as my world threatened to turn black again.

And again.

Breathing felt like it was too much to concentrate on, but the thudding bass of my pulse roared too loudly for me to think straight.

“Mila!”

Lev’s voice sounded clearer right as I plopped forward, sprawled out on the carpet. I’d reached the doorframe, dragging a trail of blood in my wake, but I couldn’t go on.

Hope rooted in my heart at the sound of his voice. He was so frantic, furious and fearful. He stooped low and slid his arms around me.

I knew this embrace.

I remembered this warmth.

As he hoisted me into his arms, I felt like a limp rag doll, unable to speak, helpless to move.

“Mila!”

Keeping my eyes closed felt like a crime when all I ever wanted to do was see that this rugged protector was nearby. Opening my eyes was too difficult to fathom. With the blurry vision I was experiencing, that dizzying imbalance, and the loudness of all the shouts and gunfire, I couldn’t ground myself at all. Not even on him.

Jostled and in motion, I knew deep down in the recesses of my mind that I was being carried. That he was taking me out of here.

No more bullets hit me. No more adrenaline rushes came at me with another strike.

I was floating.

Wait. No.