Page 23 of Forced Bratva Wife

“You’re…” her voice was small. “You’re a monster.”

The wide draw of Pavel’s eyes deepened, and his mouth cracked open in a furious show of his crooked teeth. Movement at his waist drew my attention, and I saw Pavel clench his hand into a fist.

He wouldn’t fucking dare.

But then he was jabbing forward, lining up to land a blow right into Parker’s face. And the asshole moved quickly, almost quick enough to succeed.

Still, I was faster.

Moving between them, I pushed Parker behind me, briefly noting the astonishment in her eyes, before I caught Pavel’s fist in my grip and jerked his hand backward. He screamed in pain at the abrupt yank of his wrist, falling to a knee in front of me.

“I think you’ll find Pavel,” I wrenched it further, the sound of his mewling a delight, “that touching what’s mine will cost you your life.”

His elbow was up in the air, and I yanked his hand further back, dislocating his shoulder with a satisfying pop.

“Try my patience again, and you won’t be so lucky.” I looked to my guards. “Get him out of here.”

Chapter 12 - Parker

The world was a blur, and nausea crawled up from my stomach like the worst hangover. I was just standing there. My dad…had just tried to hit me—again. Lev had…

My mind spun, and I fell to my knee, the pain rebounding up my legs as I hit the marble floor. It was all too much. He’d sold me to some mobster to pay his debts. He didn’t care at all. He’d just been angry. So damn angry. Like he always was. Another cold fact slapped me across the face all over again.

“Oh God, did he kill my mother?” I sounded small, my voice no stronger than a child’s.

My stomach heaved, and I doubled over as it clenched down. There was nothing to throw up, so I just seized up, gagging.

At once, hands were around me, and I was being hauled to my feet, taken somewhere that wasn’t the room I was in.

“What’s…?”

I looked down at the hand gripping me and then followed the arms up to Lev’s face. He wore a cold mask of impassiveness, but something dark lingered in the depths of his eyes. It was too familiar, too like my father.

“Stop!”

Lev halted, snapping his eyes down to me as he pulled to a stop in the hallway. His jaw worked as he clenched it hard, and the grip of his fingers bit into my arm.

“I need a moment. I don’t…” I tried to breathe around a sob that made my throat ache. “Can I have a moment alone?”

Licking his lips as he stared down at the floor, Lev sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he spun me around, facing me toward the familiar door at the end of the hall.

“Go in the bedroom.” He moved past me in confident, powerful strides. “I’ll deal with the mess.”

I wanted to stop him, to keep him from starting more trouble with my father, but some part of me knew it wouldn’t do any good. And still, another part, one that was far darker and usually kept locked away, wanted Lev to do what he clearly did best—and take care of Pavel once and for all.

A wave of nausea washed over me again, causing me to rush down the hallway and into the bedroom. Flinging the door wide, I dashed inside and pulled the chaise near the door to block it. I couldn’t lock the damn thing, and I wasn’t about to let someone come in—not now. Not with all this.

Momentum carried me to the bed, where I collapsed against the smooth fabric. It was still so damn comfortable, not the cardboard mattresses I was used to. I smashed my fist down into the downy comforter, wishing it did anything to ease the ache screaming from within my ribs.

The tears started then, and I couldn’t be bothered to care.

It had been stupid to hope that my father cared about me and loved me, after all the evidence to the contrary, and now, after all this, I really couldn’t deny it anymore.

“Stupid prick,” my words were muffled by the covers and sobs racking my chest.

The world slowly began to come back to its usual pace and level of focus. I sat up, scrubbing the tears off my face, and looked around the pristine room. It was so damn extravagant. A four-poster bed? Who had those things?

The ceilings were even vaulted, a painting or wallpaper mural set into the high curves. It was some Renaissance art piece, like at the Sistine Chapel, but there certainly weren’t any angels around. Deep wood accents around the corners and trim, even the floor, where it wasn’t covered by thick, expensive-looking rugs.

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