“There’s a car—“ He’s out of breath and grimacing in pain. His whole side’s drenched in blood and I notice his wound’s worse than he let on. “Black Ford truck. Keys in center console. Get to it. Drive fast.”
“What? Where’s everyone else? I can’t leave!”
“You have to,” he snarls, eyes wide. “You’re the Pakhan’s wife. You have to go!” He grabs me, yanks me to a stop at the edge of the building, scanning for a second. “Find the truck. Keep going. You can?—“
His head explodes.
Gore splatters my face. It gets in my mouth, in my eyes. I scream, staggering back. His corpse remains upright for a beat before falling to the ground in a heap. I retch, spitting and wiping his blood from my lips and eyes. I stumble backwards and fall onto my ass.
A man’s coming toward me. I know him. The forest, burning, his horrible form coming out of the smoke. He pulls off his mask and he’s grinning at me, beaming like he’s having the time of his life, as I scramble backwards, covered in blood and vomit. I sob and turn, try to get up, try to run, but I lose balance and smash my face on the concrete. I bite my lip and moan in pain.
I try to get up again. I puke, sobbing, choking on it, and manage to make my knees.
When I feel his hand grip my hair.
“Got you, cousin.”
I scream as he pulls me to my feet. Artyom laughs, genuinely happy. I twist and try to get away, but he holds me tight before pressing a gun to my head.
“Please, let me go, please don’t—“ I’m babbling, losing my mind from fear. Where’s Gabe? Where is Gabe? Where the hell is my husband?!
“Oh no, no, no, cousin of mine.” Artyom practically purrs as he drags me back toward the parking lot. “You’re too valuable.”
“What do you want? Why… Ilya…” I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
Artyom snorts. “That dead fuck back there was named Ilya? Doesn’t really matter. You’re safe now.”
I gag and try to elbow him, but it’s like hitting a mountain. “Gabe’s going to find me… he’s going to find you… he’s going to kill you…” I don’t even know what I’m saying. All I can think about is my husband, how badly I want him, how afraid I feel, and I’m trying to find what’s left of my strength.
But it’s fading quickly.
Artyom scowls. He looks me over with pure disgust and throws me down to the asphalt. “Why the fuck do you think that Italian piece of shit is going to help you?” He kicks me, glowering. I roll onto my side with a groan. It’s strangely quiet, and I realize the fight is over.
We lost.
“He will… I know he will…”
Artyom kicks me again, vicious. I moan and curl into a tight ball. It’s all I can do now as the fear wins over and I resort to my instincts.
Be small. Be quiet. They’ll go away if I’m not a threat.
He crouches over me and grips my hair again. He wrenches my head back and forces me to look at him. His smile is gone. “Your husband destroyed your family. Do you have any idea what he did? What the fuck did he tell you?”
I whimper, not sure how to answer. “Aunt Yelena,” I whisper.
Artyom spits on the ground. “Traitor bitch. They’re all fucking traitors, your husband worst of all. We thought he was coming to rebuild the Bratva. He had big plans. Your father believed him, thought that Gabe’s access to his sister’s Dragon husband and their former Dragon grandfather made him a worthwhile ally. Your father backed Gabe and was even going to marry you to him.” Artyom’s smile is sickening. “Guess Gabe liked that plan.”
“I don’t… understand…” I shy away, heart racing so fast I can barely think.
“Gabe betrayed us, Veronika. Your husband murdered your father in cold blood. Didn’t you fucking know?”
I can’t make sense of what he’s saying. Gabe killed my dad? But how did my dad die? Nobody told me how it happened, only that my father was dead and the Bratva was Gabe’s. If it’s true, if Gabe really did murder my father, why is Aunt Yelena his ally?
“I don’t believe you.”
“God, you stupid bitch, he really did brainwash you, didn’t he? You married the monster, Nika. He killed your god damn father. But don’t worry—“ Artyom hauls me to my feet by my hair. “I’m going to put it right.”
He drags me toward several cars. His men are waiting, all big and bristling with weapons. The motel is a warzone, bulletssprayed all over the facade, glass blown out and shattered to bits. I stumble, almost fall, and my head’s a sludge-filled mess as I try to make sense of this.
