Page 69 of The Bratva’s Stalked Pregnant Bride

We were in a standoff for about three seconds before both windows in the room shattered inward. The blinds rolled up with a clatter as glass went flying everywhere. I had been waiting for something like that, and it was about damn time my brother and the others made a move. But the guy with the knife jolted, his attention taken from me long enough so I could lunge forward and crack him on the side of the head with the butt of my gun.

He staggered, and as his grip on Laurel loosened, I knocked the knife out of his hand. As soon as he hit the floor, I had my gun turned back around, cocked, and ready to blow a hole in him.

“No,” Laurel screamed, grabbing my arm. She recoiled in fear as my men climbed in through the windows, masked up, and inadvertently brought back memories of the restaurant shootout to her.

“They’re with me,” I said, returning my aim to the man who’d been threatening to slice her throat open. Why she wanted him to remain alive wasn’t important to me.

Until she pleaded with me once more to stop. “He told me that my friend is being held hostage. You have to find out and help her.”

I kicked the guy as he rolled over, trying to get to his feet as if he had any chance at all against us. Luk and the others were securing the house, and Laurel looked a bit sturdier now that they weren’t crowding in on her in the small room.

“Please,” she said, sinking back into her chair, leaning over until her face rested on her knees.

“Where’s this other woman at?” I barked at the guy. “Take my men there, and if I get a good report, you might get to live.”

He wasn’t a complete idiot and eagerly agreed, probably thinking Drugov gave enough of a shit about him to stage a rescue operation. He’d be lucky if his boss paid a ransom if one of us didn’t still put a bullet in him before this was all over.

Once he was herded out of the room and on his way to lead some of my crew to get Laurel’s friend, I crouched down beside her chair. Seeing that her hands were zip-tied, I reached for one of the knives that had been tossed at me. She flinched when I held it out, only relaxing somewhat when I tucked the blade between the plastic bands and freed her arms.

The sight of the red welts rising on her wrists made me rethink the guy’s chances of living through this, but then I noticed that Laurel was looking at me in silence, utter contempt written all over her face.

Fuck.

“What else did that guy tell you?” I asked.

“Rand’s on his way,” she said, turning away from me. She was starting to check out, but I suspected it was more out of anger than fear. She must have learned a whole lot while that guy waited to collect his payday.

Luk stuck his head in, asking when we were getting out of there.

“We’re not,” I said. “We’re waiting for Rand. I’m dealing with him once and for all.”

Laurel sat up with a gasp. “No, you can’t,” she said. “He’ll kill you.”

“Not if I kill him first.”

Acting like she was uncertain how I would react, she reached for my arm. “Get out of here while you can.”

I laughed bitterly. “Not without you.”

There was no immediate plea to take her with me. She dropped my arm and pressed her hands against her cheeks. “Then take me somewhere safe and leave me there.”

“Not in a million fucking years, Laurel,” I said, starting to get pissed off. Luk retreated in a hurry.

“You don’t know how dangerous he is,” she said, her voice cracking.

She shrank away when I stood, looming over her and shaking my head. “But don’t you know by now that I’m dangerous, too?”

Chapter 41 - Laurel

There was no way to tell how much time passed while my captor filled me in on every criminal thing the Fokins were involved in. I learned more than I ever could have hoped, and it made me realize that the saying about being careful what you wished for was true.

And for the life of me, I couldn’t zone out. For the first time ever, I wasn’t able to disappear and make it all go away. Every gruesome and gritty detail made it past my defenses.

The wonderful people who took me in and treated me like one of their own were killers. Some kind of special, extra-sinister form of the mafia called the Bratva. Bandana boy was American and admitted he didn’t know what the word actually meant, but you had to have balls of steel to mess with them.

He seemed to spook himself a little and reverted to speaking about how badass the people that he worked for were. They were once under the thumb of the Fokins but managed to break free, and were now reclaiming what was theirs.

Most of it didn’t make sense. For one thing, the people on his side were brought over from various parts of Europe, so how were they reclaiming anything over here? What little I knew about Mik’s American family was that they were born and raised in Los Angeles after their father emigrated from Russia when he was still fairly young.