His Demands: An Age Gap, Billionaire Boss Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)
Chapter 34

An explosion of anger and anxiety overtakes me as I lay in the back of the van. The blindfold over my eyes envelopes me into darkness, ropes now binding my wrists replacing the handcuffs. Boris’ goons also tied my ankles, making me feel even more vulnerable and helpless.

I can’t believe I fell for Calvin’s trap. The thought that he went so far as to lying about Barb being in danger stings, but what hurts even more is knowing I walked right into his scheme. I should have been more cautious, more skeptical. But the possibility of Barb being hurt blinded me to the risks.

I’m angry at Calvin, of course, but I’m even more furious with myself. I let my emotions get the better of me, rushing off without a second thought. And the worst part? I left my phone behind. Ivan can’t track me, making it more difficult to replace me quickly. It’s a rookie mistake, and now I’m paying for it.

Alone with my thoughts, I try to wrap my head around everything. Ivan must be out of his mind with worry by now. I curse myself for not thinking things through, for putting myself and ultimately him in this dire situation.

The van has been moving for what feels like an eternity, jostling me around with every turn and bump in the road. The lack of vision is disorienting, making the passage of time feel even more drawn out. My mind races with possible scenarios of what awaits me, none of them calming.

Finally, the van comes to a halt. The back doors swing open, and a rush of cool air hits me, a stark contrast to the stuffy interior I’ve been confined in. Rough hands grip my arms, pulling me out of the van with little regard for my comfort. I wince, biting back a cry of pain as my knees hit the hard ground.

Something primal and fierce surges within me as hands grasp my arms again. I’m not going to let them take me without a fight. My body coils, every muscle tensing as I prepare to strike. My heart is racing, adrenaline pumping through my veins like determined fuel.

With a burst of energy, I lash out, my leg shooting up in a swift, powerful arc. I can feel the contact, the solid thud of my foot connecting with the assailant’s chest. The satisfaction of landing a solid blow courses through me, a fleeting triumph.

Almost immediately, a crushing force slams into the side of my head. The impact is staggering, a brutal, blinding pain that radiates through my skull. It feels like my brain has been jolted, my senses thrown into chaos.

The sudden sharp pain that explodes in my head is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It’s a searing, blinding agony that sends my senses reeling. I’ve never been struck before, and the shock of it is almost as bad as the pain. The world tilts and spins, a dizzying rotation of light and shadow.

I’m reeling, fighting to stay conscious, refusing to give in to the darkness that threatens to engulf me. My head throbs with every beat of my heart, a relentless drumming that makes it hard to think, hard to focus. But I know I can’t afford to pass out. I need to stay alert, need to be ready for any chance I get to escape or fight back.

Despite the pain, a part of me is fiercely proud of the blow I managed to land. It might have been a short-lived victory, but it still feels significant.

Lifted roughly to my feet, I’m disoriented and stumbling, my balance thrown off by the blindfold and the blow to my head. Every step is a precarious dance, a struggle to stay upright. The fabric over my eyes feels suffocating, a barrier not just to my vision but to my understanding of everything happening around me.

Determination surges within me, and I manage to work the gag out of my mouth with a defiant spit. My voice rings out, raw and loud, screaming for help.

‘Help! Somebody help me!’ I scream at the top of my lungs, my voice echoing with terror and urgency. ‘Please, anyone! Help!’

I continue to shout. ‘I’m being kidnapped! Please, help me! ‘

But my cries for help are met with a brutal response. A hard strike lands on the side of my face, a force so sudden and intense that it knocks the breath out of me. Pain explodes through my jaw, a deep, wrenching agony that causes me to double over. I want to keep screaming, to keep fighting, but the pain is too much.

“Hush up, you little bitch.”

My hand instinctively goes to my stomach, a protective gesture for the precious life growing inside me. I have to protect this baby, no matter what. I can’t risk another blow like that, there’s no telling what it could do to my unborn child.

My screams die in my throat, replaced by a silent, steely resolve. Every instinct in me shifts to preservation, to shielding the tiny, fragile being depending on me.

As the blindfold is abruptly yanked off, my eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. I replace myself in an environment I didn’t expect, a deserted strip club. It’s a bare, eerie place, devoid of any club-goers, waitstaff, and dancers.

The club has three stages, each with its own pole standing tall. The space feels haunted, a shadow of its usual vibrant self. The air is thick with the distinct smell of cheap perfume mixed with the lingering scent of sex, a combination that makes me cringe internally. The whole ambiance of the place is unsettling, a blunt reminder of the predicament I’m in.

Every surface seems to hold memories of countless nights, and there’s a part of me that recoils at the thought of touching anything. The floors are sticky underfoot, and the chairs around the stages are haphazardly arranged, as if left in a hurry.

Settling uncomfortably onto a couch that reeks of alcohol and bad decisions, I grimace, trying to replace a spot that feels less disgusting. It’s like being on the set of a sleazy movie, and all I can think about is taking a long shower. I glance warily at Boris sitting across from me with an air of smug assurance.

‘So, what’s the big plan?’ I ask, injecting a hint of sarcasm into my voice in an attempt to hide the terror I feel. ‘Ivan runs an errand for you, and I get a free pass out of this charming establishment?’

Boris chuckles, a sound that grates on my nerves. ‘It’s simple. Ivan follows the instructions I gave him, and you’re free to go.’

I snort, unable to help myself. ‘Ivan doesn’t do dirty work anymore. You’ve got the wrong guy.’

His laugh this time is more of a scoff. ‘You’d be surprised what a man will do for the woman he loves.’

I roll my eyes, trying to mask the unease his words stir in me. ‘Love’s great and all, but it doesn’t turn a legit businessman into a criminal overnight.’

He leans back, eyeing me with amusement mixed with something darker. ‘You clearly underestimate what people are willing to do under pressure. Ivan will come around; they always do.’

I shake my head, crossing my arms defiantly. ‘Well, I’m afraid you’re in for a disappointment. Ivan’s a lot of things, but he’s no puppet on a string.’

He smirks, clearly enjoying this little game. ‘We’ll see, Mrs. Stepanov. We’ll see.’

I sit there, trying to appear nonchalant, but my thoughts are of Ivan, our baby, and the fear of what could come next. But I’m not about to give Boris the satisfaction of seeing me sweat.

His earlier statement—that Ivan would do anything for me—echoes in my head. It sends a thrill through me, despite the grimy, unsettling surroundings. But I tamper down the flutter in my heart, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that anything he says has any sort of effect on me.

I turn my gaze away, staring at the gaudy neon lights of the club.

I wrap my arms protectively around myself, thinking of the baby and how much I wish I’d told Ivan about it. The thought of him not knowing and facing so much danger without the knowledge that he’s going to be a father gnaws at me. So I make a silent vow to myself: as soon as I get out of this, as soon as I see Ivan again, I’m going to tell him.

After what feels like an eternity but is probably more like half an hour, I decide to make my move. I can’t sit here passively, not when every second counts, not when there’s a chance, however slim, that I could replace a way out of this. The door to the bathroom catches my eye, a potential route to escape or at least to gather more information.

Trying to appear casual, I slowly stand up then perform a dramatic stretch. One of the men, startled out of his growing complacency, lurches to his feet, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. I roll my eyes at him, injecting as much disdain into my gesture as I can muster. Inside, my stomach is a chaotic flutter of nerves and fear, but I force myself to maintain a facade of confidence.

‘I need to use the bathroom,’ I tell him.

To my relief they relent, albeit grudgingly. One of them nods toward the bathroom door, and I walk to it, my steps measured and deliberate. As I pass the door to the backstage area, I steal a glance, my mind racing with possibilities. There’s got to be a back door, an exit they use for deliveries or emergencies.

The bathroom, a cramped space with flickering fluorescent lights, offers no escape. No windows, no hidden doors, just stark walls and a mirror revealing the tension and fear in my expression. I close the door partially behind me and peek through the crack, scanning the main room. The men seem relaxed, their attention diverted. It’s now or never.

I quietly slip out of the bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest. The backstage area is just a few steps away. If I can sneak in there maybe I can replace a way out. The musty smell of the club is stronger here, a mixture of perfume, stale smoke, and alcohol. I move as silently as I can, every sense heightened, every nerve on edge.

But luck isn’t on my side. One of the men is sharper than the others and catches a glimpse of me attempting to sneak into the backstage area. His shout of alarm slices through the heavy air, and my instinctive reaction is to run. Adrenaline surges through me, fueling a desperate sprint toward what I hope is freedom.

The backstage area is a labyrinth of shadows and curtains, a confusing maze to someone unfamiliar with its layout. I can hear heavy footsteps behind me, closing in fast. Panic sets in; I’m running blindly, turning corners without thought, prey trying to outmaneuver its predator in unfamiliar territory.

He catches me easily, his grip like a vice around my arm. I struggle, trying to wrench myself free, but it’s useless. He’s too strong, too fast. I’m dragged back to the main room, my hope of escape crushed under the weight of his hold.

Boris looks at me, his expression a mix of disappointment and something darker, more menacing. His eyes are cold, calculating, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. There’s a sense of danger about him that goes beyond physical threat, a psychological edge that makes him even more frightening.

‘Where exactly did you think you were going, little girl?’ he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

I muster as much defiance as I can, despite the fear gripping me. ‘Trying to get away from you,’ I snap back, meeting his cold stare head-on.

He chuckles dryly, a sound devoid of any actual humor. ‘There’s nowhere to run. You’re in over your head, sweetheart.’

I glare at him, struggling against the iron grip of the man holding me. ‘Let me go! You won’t get away with this.’

His smirk widens. ‘Oh, but we already are. Your little escape attempt? Just a minor inconvenience. You should realize by now, there’s no getting away from us.’

He nods at the man holding onto my arm, a silent command that sends a wave of dread through me. Before I can react, I feel a sharp blow to the back of my head. The world spins, pain exploding in a bright flash of light. My legs buckle, and darkness rushes in to claim me. The last thing I feel is the hard floor rushing up to meet me as I fall into unconsciousness.