Page 3 of Claimed By River

I was the one who found her. I was also the one who found the empty bottle of sleeping pills under the bed, and I’ve never told anyone. A fresh wave of tears burns my eyes. If I marry Ivan, my future will become my mother’s past. I’ll spend the rest of my life trapped beneath another cruel man until there’s nothing left of me.

No. I refuse.

For years, I’ve quietly prepared for this possibility. I’d planned to leave after my eighteenth birthday with money I’d secretly saved, fake identification I’d painstakingly obtained, and a destination known only to me.

My father has forced my hand. Three months early. I wipe my face, forcing myself to breathe.

It’s time.

Chapter One

River

I know the second I walk into the breakroom and find Nadia in there that we’re going to spar. Every time I’m around her, I either want to kiss those unsmiling lips or make her melting chocolate brown eyes burn with anger.

The former, I try to ignore, while the latter, I thoroughly enjoy. She’s just too guarded, and I can tell that she’s hiding something. But the guys seem to find her harmless. I don’t.

I look around. The shelves are stocked. The coffee is full. The fridge has fresh creamer. Every cabinet is organized with the kind of precision only one person in this shop is obsessive enough to care about.

Nadia.

She’s standing on the small step stool near the top cabinet, reaching to slide another box of tea onto the shelf. Her long dark hair falls over one shoulder, hiding part of her face, and she doesn’t even glance in my direction as I enter the room.

Then I notice what’s missing. I stare at the empty basket where my protein bars should be.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Without looking at me, she says, “Good morning to you, too.”

“My protein bars.”

“What about them?”

“They’re not here.”

She finally climbs down from the stool, dusting her hands together before giving me the most innocent expression I’ve ever seen.

“Looks like they aren’t.”

I narrow my eyes. “You didn’t buy any.”

She shrugs. “You didn’t put them on the shopping list.”

“The hell I didn’t. I absolutely did.”

“Nope.”

I let out a sharp breath. “I write the same thing every damn week.”

“Oh, you do? Well, if you want something, write it clearly.”

I march over to the clipboard hanging beside the refrigerator and yank the shopping list free. “Look.”

She calmly takes it from my hand. “I have looked.”

I stab my finger halfway down the page. “Right there.”

She squints dramatically before tilting the paper sideways. “Huh. I honestly thought that said, ‘pickled pears.’”