Till Death Saves Me (Forced Mafia Marriages)

18. Ginny

18

GINNY

I grip the handle of my shopping bag tighter as Anya and I stroll down the bustling street. The sun beats down, but a chill runs through me. I can't shake the feeling of eyes on my back.

"You okay?" Anya asks, touching my arm.

I force a smile. "Yeah, just jumpy I guess."

She nods, understanding in her eyes. "We can head back if you want."

"No," I say firmly. "I refuse to let fear rule my life."

We continue browsing, Ivan's security detail never far behind. I try to lose myself in the normalcy of shopping, but my mind keeps jumping between the last time I was out shopping and Ivan. I willingly lose myself in the feeling of the way his hands felt on my skin, the intensity in his eyes just last night when he-

A commotion erupts behind us. I whirl around to see our guards engaged in a brutal fight with a group of men. My heart leaps into my throat as I spot the red snake tattoos on their necks.

"Run!" Anya grabs my hand, yanking me forward.

We sprint down the sidewalk, weaving through startled pedestrians. My lungs burn as I push myself harder, faster. A van screeches to a halt in front of us, blocking our path.

Before I can react, rough hands grab me from behind. I scream, kicking and thrashing as I'm lifted off my feet. My hands are quickly tied behind my back before I can fight my way out of this. Anya's shouts mix with mine as we're shoved into the van.

The door slams shut, plunging us into darkness. My heart pounds so hard I think it might burst from my chest. The van peels away from the curb, tires squealing.

"Ginny?" Anya's voice trembles beside me. "Are you okay?"

"I'm here," I manage to choke out. My wrists ache from the zip ties digging into my skin.

A gruff voice cuts through the darkness. "Keep quiet if you know what's good for you."

I swallow hard, trying to steady my breathing. I try to calm myself, to think of a way out of this. What would Ivan do? The thought of him sends a fresh wave of panic through me. Will I ever see him again?

The van takes a sharp turn, throwing us against the side. I bite back a whimper of pain. Focus. I need to stay alert, look for any opportunity to escape.

As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I make out the shapes of our captors. Four men, all armed. My stomach churns with fear, but I force it down. I can't let it paralyze me.

The van lurches to a stop, and my heart races. I squeeze Anya's hand, trying to convey strength I don't feel. The door slides open, flooding the space with harsh light. Rough hands drag us out, shoving us forward.

"Move," a gruff voice orders.

I stumble, blinking against the brightness. We're in some kind of warehouse, all concrete and shadows. The zip ties bite into my wrists as I'm pushed along.

"You okay?" I whisper to Anya.

She nods, her eyes wide but determined.

Our captors force us into chairs, tying us down with more zip ties. I wince at the tightness but keep my face neutral. Don't show weakness.

"The boss'll be here soon," one of the men sneers. "Then we'll see how tough Kozlov's little wife really is."

I meet his gaze, channeling every ounce of Ivan's icy stare. "I look forward to it."

He blinks, taken aback by my calm. Good. Let them underestimate me.

As they move away to confer, I lean closer to Anya. "We need to get out of here," I murmur.

She nods slightly. "I'm working on it. Keep them talking if you can."

I watch as Anya subtly works at her bindings. Smart girl. I need to buy her time.

"Hey," I call out, drawing their attention. "If you're trying to send a message to Ivan, you should know he doesn't give a damn about me."

One of them laughs. "Nice try, sweetheart. We know better."

I arch an eyebrow. "Do you? You clearly don't know Ivan very well."

As I keep them engaged, I feel Anya's movements beside me. My heart pounds, but I keep my voice steady, goading them just enough to keep their focus on me.

"I can't get out of these fucking ties," she mutters, growing agitated. I've never heard that edge to Anya's voice before, and for some reason, it sends a sense of urgency through me.

"Shut the hell up," one of the guys says when I try to talk to them again.

"Anya?" I whisper as he starts toward us. "Update?"

"I'm trying," she grits out, but it doesn't sound promising.

The first blow catches me off guard, snapping my head to the side. Pain explodes across my cheek, but I grit my teeth, refusing to cry out. I taste blood in my mouth.

"Not so tough now, are you?" One of them sneers, grabbing my chin roughly.

I spit blood in his face. "Fuck you."

His fist connects with my stomach, driving the air from my lungs. I double over as far as the restraints allow, gasping.

"Leave her alone!" Anya shouts.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh, followed by Anya's pained grunt, makes me struggle against my bonds. "Don't touch her!"

Another hit, this time to my ribs. I bite back a whimper, trying to channel Ivan's icy control. Don't show weakness. Don't give them the satisfaction.

"We've got a bit of time," one of them says, checking his watch. "We could soften them up a bit."

Hours crawl by, punctuated by sporadic bursts of violence. They're careful not to do too much damage - they clearly want us alive for something. Or someone.

As the adrenaline fades, fear creeps in. Where's Ivan? Why hasn't he found us yet? The thought of never seeing him again makes my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with my injuries.

I close my eyes, picturing his face. The sharp line of his jaw, the intensity in his gaze. The rare softness in his eyes when he looks at me. I never thought I'd miss his gruff voice, his commanding presence. But now, I'd give anything to hear him bark orders, to feel the safety of his arms around me.

"Ginny?" Anya's whisper breaks through my thoughts. "You okay?"

I nod slightly, wincing at the movement. "You?"

"Been better," she mutters. "Any bright ideas?"

I scan the room, searching for anything we could use. But our captors are too experienced, too careful. There's nothing within reach, no loose bindings to exploit.

"Just... hang on," I whisper back. "Ivan will come."

The words surprise me as they leave my mouth. When did I start having such faith in him? When did he become my beacon of hope?

As another hour ticks by, doubt gnaws at me. What if he doesn't come? What if this is it? The thought of dying here, never telling Ivan how I feel, makes my chest tight with panic.

I'm not disillusioned enough to hope this is a ransom. My husband is Bratva. They don't exactly hold prisoners. And I've heard Ivan has quite the ruthless reputation.

God, what I wouldn't give to see that in action right now.

The sound of approaching footsteps snaps me back to reality. This is it. Whoever they've been waiting for is here.

I steel myself, channeling every ounce of strength I can muster. Whatever happens next, I won't go down without a fight.

But the footsteps outside quickly turn into the sound of a scuffle. Our captors tense, hands reaching for weapons. Hope surges through me - could it be Ivan?

"…fucking. Told. You." More grunt follows the shouts that filter into the room, and the accent is not my husband's. I'm not even sure it's Russian. "…always fuck it up!"

It's clear the other guys aren't sure what to do. Glancing at us and seeing us tied up and helpless, they decide to head for the door.

Once they are gone, I spot my chance. There's a nail sticking out of a nearby board of the shoddy warehouse wall. As fast as I can manage, I drag myself to it, working my bindings against it until they fray and break. I feel them loosen slightly, along with the bite from where the damn thing cut into my skin. But I can ignore that for now.

Heart pounding, I work my wrists back and forth, ignoring the pain as the zip ties dig into my skin.

"Anya," I whisper urgently. "Can you move?"

She shakes her head, frustration evident in her eyes. I redouble my efforts, twisting my hands and using the nail until I feel something give. With a final, painful wrench, I'm free.

I don't waste a second. Lunging forward, I grab a knife from a nearby table. My hands shake as I saw through Anya's restraints.

"Go!" I hiss, hauling her to her feet.

We sprint towards the back of the warehouse, ducking behind crates and machinery. The sounds of fighting grow louder, but I don't dare look back. All I can think about is getting us out of here, getting back to Ivan.

Because I'm not going to sit around and find out who that was or why they are pissed.

My legs burn as we run, every step jarring my bruised ribs. But the pain barely registers through the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I clutch Anya's hand tightly, pulling her along when she stumbles.

We burst through a side door into the fading daylight. The fresh air hits my lungs, and for a moment, I'm dizzy with relief. But we're not safe yet.

"This way," Anya gasps, tugging me towards a line of parked cars.

I follow without hesitation, my mind racing. We need to get as far away as possible, then find a way to contact Ivan. The thought of him spurs me on, lending strength to my battered body.

As we reach the cars, I hear shouts behind us. They've realized we're gone. Panic claws at my throat, but I push it down. We've come too far to fail now.

Anya makes quick work of hotwiring a car, and I send up a silent thank you for her less-than-legal skills. As we peel away from the warehouse, I allow myself a moment of hope. We're going to make it.