47. Chapter 47
47
Bella
F ingers dig into my arms—bruising, savage. I barely have time to scream before I’m hauled backward, off balance.
The world blurs.
The car door yanks open. Windows tinted so dark they look solid.
A grunt. A shove.
I’m thrown inside like luggage, my shoulder slamming into the seat, then the floor. Pain bursts across my ribs.
No, no, no, no, fucking no!
The door slams behind me with a final metallic clang.
I twist, kicking out, but a boot pins my legs down hard. I thrash, fighting, but there are too many hands—grabbing, tearing, forcing my arms behind my back.
Plastic bites into my wrists, cruel and fast.
“Don’t move, bitch!” A zip tie bites into my wrists, yanking my arms back and up. Plastic digs deep into my skin as they anchor my hands to the metal frame of the seat, stretched so tight it wrenches my shoulders.
Too tight. Way too tight.
Blood stops moving. My fingers tingle, then go numb.
I yank instinctively, but the plastic only digs deeper, slicing into my skin like a promise: you’re not getting out.
This was not the plan.
The plan was stupidly simple: meet Irina, hear her demands, protect my siblings, maybe run. Just until I figured something out. Just until Julian and Lila were safe.
The plan was never to end up zip-tied in the back of a Dodge Charger with four men who smell like gunpowder and expensive cologne.
“I’m gonna fucking kill her!” The man next to me hisses through clenched teeth, clutching his leg where my bullet found its mark. His ski mask is pushed up to his forehead, revealing a face twisted in pain and fury.
“She fucking shot me.” His accent is thick, his eyes fever-bright.
Before I can react, his hand flashes out—a blur of rage—and slams into the side of my head.
Pain detonates behind my eyes. I crumple sideways, cheek scraping against the torn leather seat, vision exploding into white noise.
Another shove—harder—rocks me against the car door. The handle jabs into my ribs, stealing what little breath I have left.
“Fucking suka ,” he spits, grabbing a fistful of my jacket and yanking me upright just to shove me down again like I’m some broken doll he can toss around.
A hand snaps out—grabbing his wrist, shoving him back.
“ Dostatochno! Enough,” another man snarls, voice sharp with panic.
The man who hit me glares at him, nostrils flaring, but doesn’t push his luck. His face is red, breathing ragged.
They’re nervous now—it’s in the way their eyes flick to the windows, the way their hands fumble for weapons they already have.
“Yerik! Nyet, ” the man closest to the window growls, shoving the first guy harder into his seat like he’s barely holding it together himself.
“Drive, Aleksei!” someone barks from the front.
My stomach lurches as the car rockets forward, tires screaming against asphalt. We take a corner too fast. My body slides across the cracked leather seat, shoulder slamming against the door hard enough to rattle my teeth.
The SUV jerks again, a wild, panicked swerve.
The men inside are twitchy—paranoid. Their heads keep snapping to the windows, shouting over each other.
“ Suka blyad! ” one of them curses, slamming a fist into the dashboard.
“She’s been tracked!” another snaps—in English this time, rough and sharp.
I am?
I twist against the zip tie, blood roaring in my ears.
Through the rear window—blurry and bouncing, I catch it—three black SUVs, tires screaming as they tear down the ramp behind us.
“Faster! Faster!” the driver shouts, pounding the wheel.
The man next to me—bigger, broader—curses low, breathing like he’s about to hyperventilate.
“Fuck. It’s him. It’s Belov.”
Panic thickens the air inside the car, bitter and sour.
Relief slams into me so hard my knees go weak, even bound as I am.
Konstantin’s coming.
He’s here.
I choke back a sob—barely—but a small, sharp sound still escapes me.
One of the men whips around, furious, and slams the butt of his gun into the seat next to my head.
“Shut up!” he barks.
But it’s too late.
I know they’re losing control.
Konstantin.
The thought of him hits me like another slap—harder, deeper. He knew, didn’t he?
He always knows. Those eyes see through every lie, every secret. He’d been watching me pace this morning, waiting for me to come clean. And I’d run instead.
Now look where I am.
The car jerks suddenly, violently, as the driver swears and swerves onto a narrower road. We’re somewhere along the coast now, a winding route that hugs the cliffs overlooking the Pacific. No traffic. No witnesses. Just steep drops on one side and rock face on the other.
Perfect for a chase. Terrible for survival odds.
I steal a glance out the back window, my heart hammering against my ribs. Three black SUVs follow us, gaining ground with each curve in the road. Even through the tinted windows, I can make out the silhouettes of men in the lead vehicle. Suit jackets, sunglasses.
Viktor. Timur, and Konstantin.
Relief and shame flood me in equal measure, making me dizzy with their contradictions. Relief that maybe I won’t die on this coastal road. Shame, because now we’re in the middle of a life-or-death car chase with guns and professional killers and people bleeding in the backseat of a Dodge Charger.
A violent jolt rocks the Charger, tires squealing as we swerve hard around a blind curve. I slam into the door again, snapping me back to the now. No time to think. No time to breathe.
“They’re still coming,” the front passenger snaps, pulling a sleek handgun from his jacket. “We need to lose them before the next turn.”
My heart punches against my ribs, frantic.
No, please. Please, no.
The driver barks something back in Russian, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he pushes the Charger harder. The engine screams in protest. The man beside me, still bleeding from where I shot him, leans forward between the seats.
“Use her,” he snarls, nodding toward me. “Belov won’t risk shooting if she’s visible.”
The front passenger turns, eyes narrowing behind his mask. “Get her up. Make sure they see her.”
Before I can process what’s happening, the wounded man grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking me toward the window. Pain explodes across my scalp as he forces my face against the glass.
“Wave to your husband,” he sneers against my ear, his breath hot and metallic. “Let him see what his pretty wife has gotten herself into.”
Pride makes me struggle against his grip, even as fear makes me want to go limp. I’m not some damsel to be dangled as bait. I’ve spent my entire adult life protecting my family, making the hard choices, being the responsible one.
Except this time, my “responsible” choice might get us all killed.
“Fuck you,” I spit, blood from my split lip speckling the window. “He’s going to—”
The car lurches suddenly as a bullet shatters the back window, sending glass spraying across the interior. The man holding me curses, ducking instinctively, his grip on my hair loosening just enough that I wrench free.
“They’re shooting!” Alexei yells, the car fishtailing as he accelerates even more. “Are they insane?”
“It’s just a warning,” the front passenger shouts back. “They won’t risk hitting her.”
But there’s uncertainty in his voice now. These men don’t know Konstantin like I do. They don’t understand that while he might want me safe, he wants them dead more.
The coastal road narrows further, the guardrail between us and the ocean looking frighteningly flimsy. My stomach drops as we take each curve, the ocean a dizzying blue blur beyond the cliffs. I try to think, to plan, but my head is pounding, and my wrists are slick with blood from fighting the zip ties.
I see them now—the black SUVs, closer than before. The lead vehicle pulls alongside us, matching our speed on the narrow road. Through the tinted window, a familiar silhouette turns toward our car.
Konstantin.
My heart stutters. Even at this distance, even through bulletproof glass, I feel the weight of his gaze like a physical thing. Cold. Calculating. Furious.
The front passenger rolls down his window and fires twice at Konstantin’s SUV. The shots ping harmlessly off the reinforced metal, but Alexei uses the distraction to swerve sharply, trying to cut off the pursuit.
“Faster!” the bleeding man shouts. “We lose them here, or we’re dead!”
But we’re coming up on a hairpin turn—too sharp, too fast. Alexei hits the brakes too late, tires squealing as the car begins to slide. The world outside my window tilts sickeningly, the ocean and sky switching places as we lose control.
I think of Julian and Lila. Of how I was trying to protect them. Of how, instead, they might be orphaned again because their big sister thought she could outmaneuver a mafia war.
I think of Konstantin, of the way he looked at me across his office this morning, coffee in hand, waiting for me to trust him.
The car hits the guardrail with a deafening crunch of metal, the impact slamming me forward. Without a seatbelt, I’m thrown against the front seats, pain exploding across my chest. Behind us, brakes screech as the pursuing vehicles skid to a halt.
Time slows. In movies, car crashes are quick—a flash of movement, a scream cut short. In reality, there’s an excruciating eternity between impact and aftermath. Enough time to realize exactly how badly you’ve fucked up.
The guardrail gives way with a groan of twisting metal. For one suspended moment, the car balances on the edge of the cliff, teetering between road and oblivion. I catch a glimpse of Konstantin through the shattered window, halfway out of his SUV, his face a mask of something I’ve never seen before.
Fear.
Then gravity wins.
The car tips forward, front wheels finding nothing but air. My stomach lurches as we begin to fall, that horrible weightless feeling of a roller coaster drop without the safety bars. The wounded man beside me screams—a high, animal sound of pure terror.
“No, no, no,” I gasp, bracing myself against the seats as the world spins.
The car hits the rocky slope once, twice, the impact throwing me against the roof, then the door. Metal shrieks as the chassis crumples. Glass explodes inward. My bound hands can’t catch me as I’m thrown around the interior like a ragdoll.
A sudden, violent impact knocks the air from my lungs. The car flips, rolling over itself down the steep embankment. In the chaos, I glimpse snatches of sky, ocean, rocky ground—all tumbling together as the world turns inside out. Something warm sprays across my face. Blood. Mine or theirs, I don’t know.
My last thought, as darkness closes in from the edges of my vision, is of Konstantin’s face as we went over the edge.
Not the cold, controlled mafia boss. Not the ruthless businessman. Just a man watching his wife disappear.
I was trying to protect everyone.
I never thought I’d need protection from my own stupid decisions.
Something heavy crashes against my skull, and the world goes black.