Chapter 15
Darkness surrounds me, and I use my phone’s flashlight as a guide. I sigh every time I step on a twig, remembering what happened the last time I ran through these woods.
Sneaking out is stupid, but it’s a risk I have to take.
Dasha said she needed my help.
Emilio thought he had me held as a prisoner, but he forgot about the advancement of technology. All it took was the Find My Location feature on my phone to learn the address of my new home.
I shared my location with Dasha and told her I’d start walking and that we’d meet somewhere in the middle. It’s not like she can drive right up to the front door and pick me up, and Uber isn’t an option.
I glance back over my shoulder at the sound of an animal howling in the wind.
Is it a wolf?
Coyote?
Keep going, Liliya.
I nearly drop my phone when it rings.
A number I don’t recognize flashes on the screen.
While Dasha’s calls have been coming up as Unknown Number, maybe she’s calling me from a different phone.
I immediately answer the call. “Dasha?”
“You’d better get your fucking ass back to the house.”
I stop dead in my tracks at the harsh voice on the other line. The hairs on the back of my neck stand, and a breeze knocks through the air, causing leaves to fall around me. It’s like Emilio’s command was a threat to everyone and everything around me.
“I’ll be at our home in ten minutes, and your ass had better be there,” he sneers.
I release a shaky breath, hoping I sound more confident than I feel. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m sitting in bed—”
“Bull-fucking-shit,” he hisses.
“I’m sitting here, journaling about how much I don’t like you.” I inhale another breath and change my tone, sounding almost whiny. “Dear Diary, I feel like a princess locked in a tower. Maybe I need to grow out my hair to escape this place.”
“Get your fucking ass back in the house,” he says, each word leaving him slow and clear in warning.
“I am in the house,” I huff out.
“You’re in the woods.”
I do a circle, searching as if he were looking down on me from somewhere. “Honey”—I force a laugh—“did you have a little too much to drink tonight?”
“What did I tell you would happen the next time you ran off?”
Fuck, the toes.
He threatened the little piggy that went to the market.
He’s also made, like, a hundred other threats, so it’s hard to keep track. I should make a list, starting with the one he made at Dasha’s engagement party.
I decide not to reply. If he did forget, don’t want to give him any torture ideas.
“The house now, Liliya.”
“I am in the house, Emilio.”
My phone beeps, another call coming through.
“Crap,” I mutter, pulling the phone away from my face to find Unknown Number flashing.
It has to be Dasha.
“Hold that thought, sir.” I switch the call over without waiting for his response.
Emilio may know I’m not at the house or that I’m in the woods, but he doesn’t know where in the woods. It’ll take him a while to search it, and hopefully, I’ll be long gone.
“Dasha,” I say into the speaker. “Where are you? Did you get my location ping?”
“Yes, but we’re having a little delay.”
“What?” I shriek and keep walking.
There’s a road up here soon. I’m almost sure of it.
“Don’t worry,” she says, along with a heavy sigh. “Our ETA is thirty minutes.”
Thirty minutes?
I could be toe-less or dead in that time if my husband finds me.
“I’m in the middle of the woods, waiting for you!” I grip the phone, feeling my throat tighten. “Emilio knows I left and is looking for me. Now isn’t the time for delays!”
Dasha had called because she needed help ASAP, and there was no mention of any delays. She told me I needed to go now and there was no time to waste. I threw on my sneakers, grabbed my purse, and took off through the woods with no plan in mind.
She said she needed money. I told her I could give her the cash in my wallet and then we’d go to the ATM to empty every penny I had.
I also have another plan I’m keeping to myself until I see her.
I’m tagging along wherever she’s going.
She escaped Emilio, and now, it’s my turn.
“I’m trying to hurry, Liliya,” she replies, sounding annoyed. “Give me some patience here. I’m a girl on the run.”
“Yeah, and right now, so am I. We’re both running from the same psychopath.”
I bend at the waist in relief when I reach the road. It’s pitch-black, not a streetlight, car, or home in sight. I pause, giving myself time to catch my breath and recollect my thoughts.
I stumble backward as a set of headlights appears out of nowhere. A vehicle speeds down the road. I flatten myself against a tree, watching the headlights come closer and closer.
When the vehicle reaches me, I wait for it to pass.
It doesn’t.
It slows for a second before jerking straight toward me.
Fuck!
I turn at the same time the driver’s door opens and take off running.
And just like last time, I don’t make it far.
A heavy body tackles me from behind. I cry out in pain, fear, and frustration.
I was so close—so damn close.
But also so stupid.
The smell of Emilio’s cologne rolls up my nostrils. He doesn’t pin me to the ground this time. One second, I’m in the dirt, and the next, he pulls me to my feet, jerking me upright. He snatches my purse, drapes it over his forearm, and then grabs my phone.
Fear trickles down my spine as he grips my elbow and tugs me forward. I dig my heels into the dirt, using all my strength to stop him from pulling me toward the vehicle.
Emilio curses, and with hardly any effort, he quickly releases my wrist to wrap his arm around my waist. I gasp when he hauls me over his shoulder.
I beat my fists against his back and kick my feet as he walks us out of the woods and back to the road.
There are no other headlights or cars.
No one else to save me.
Just me, my murderous husband, and an owl hooting in the background.
All that’s around me are predators, always prepared to scoop down on their prey and rip them apart.
Emilio carries me like I’m light cargo, almost weightless.
Is this how easily he carries dead bodies around before he buries them?
Surely, that’s how he disposes of them, right?
Is that how he’ll dispose of me?
He grunts when we reach his SUV, yanks the passenger door open, and tosses me inside. I’m out of breath as he slams the door in my face.
I immediately try opening the door, but it’s locked.
Scooting back, I attempt to kick it.
Nothing.
I kick the window next.
Same result.
So, I keep trying.
Persistence is always key.
I stop kicking when the driver’s door opens. I glance over my shoulder to find Emilio slipping behind the steering wheel and shutting the door.
“You kick my door again, and you’ll ride home strapped to the hood,” he warns. “I’ll be sure to drive fast and swerve too.”
His eyes lock on me, and he works his jaw, waiting for me to tell him how I’d like my ride back to my prison.
“Home?” I huff. “That isn’t my home.”
He takes my response as not wanting to ride on the hood and shifts the SUV into drive. I grip the seat belt, ready to wrap it around my body, but I am thrown forward when he punches the gas.
My head nearly whacks into the dashboard, and he only tsks as he veers back onto the road.
“Rude,” I grumble under my breath before strapping myself in.
“You say that isn’t your home,” Emilio starts.
“It isn’t.” I cross my arms as my back relaxes against the heated leather seat.
“Where is your home then?” He keeps his eyes on the road.
I recite the address of where I slept before my life was taken away from me and I was sold off.
“That house sold yesterday. Below asking price.” He shakes his head and tsks again. “Someone really wanted to let that place go.”
I rear back, pressing my hand to my chest. “No way. I’ve lived in that house my entire life.”
“Someone else will live there now. Your mother sold it.” His attention returns to the road, and he lowers his speed. “Looks like our home is your only home.”
I shut my mouth, the energy to argue dying inside me.
I never thought of my childhood home as sentimental. It hadn’t been passed down through several Morozova generations. I didn’t help my mother design or remodel it. But that home was all I ever knew. It was somewhere I felt safe, where I had a room and a bed, where I had my sister.
Now, that’s gone.
Another piece of me chipped away.
Another piece shoving me straight to Emilio.
Why would my mother sell our home and not tell me?
She’s growing more and more suspicious by the day.
“Whose call did you switch over to earlier?” Emilio asks.
“No one’s,” I blurt out.
“Whose, Liliya?”
“It was some solicitor.” I wave my hand through the air. “He was trying to sell me a new vacuum or something.”
Emilio doesn’t reply, only taps his fingers along the leather steering wheel as we drive back to our home.
The one I just tried to escape.
But what will happen when I’m back there?
Rumors have said my husband kills his enemies.
He took the life of his own father.
Will he do the same with his disobedient wife?