Page 3 of Forced Bratva Wife

“Don’t hold out on me, Pavel. I want to know.” I began unbuttoning my sleeves, rolling up the pristine white fabric to the elbow. “I mean, you must have something nice planned…with all that money you took from the Vadims.”

The guy’s eyes flared before they landed on my arms, raking across the black tattoos that crawled up my skin. I could see him track the bottom portion of the rosary I had on my right, the cross of it just reaching the top of my hand. His eyebrows shot up again as he took in the skeletal form I had in place of a Jesus on the crucifix.

“I…I…” He stammered, and I was already over this shit.

Standing in front of him, I leaned over, holding his eyes as I put my hands on either of his shoulders.

“Patience, Pavel, is not one of my strong suits. So, you’re going to tell me how much you took, down to the last penny, and then you’re going to tell me how you’re going to pay it back. You got that?”

His attention abruptly snapped off the image, like he finally realized he was standing before an actual person who was very likely going to kill him.

“I…I…”

“Pavel.” I raised my inflection, balling my right hand into a fist. “Come on now.”

“I don’t have anything!” His frenzied stare held onto my face, and I could see the glassy moisture of tears coating his eyes.

“Oh, I’m sure you can get some.”

“I can’t! I swear!” A sob tore free, and I rolled my eyes. “I ain’t got a dime to my name. I’ve lost it all!”

Growling low, I let my hand swing free, clocking the asshole right in the jaw with a solid jab that knocked his head back.

“Not what I want to hear, Pavel!” I let him have another from my left. “Where’s our money?!”

He screamed as the pain rocked his face, the crack of his nose blending into the yells.

“I swear.” Pavel tried to catch his breath, slurring around the blood in his mouth. “I have nothing. I lost it all!”

I read people damn well, better than most in my family even, and this fucker wasn’t lying. Dammit.

Giving him two more solid punches, this time to the gut, I stood straight, turning my back on the guy. Death wasn’t as good as money, but at least it sent a message. I palmed the gun that Pietor held out to me, spinning back to face Pavel with an impassive expression.

“Well, then I guess—”

“My daughter! Take my daughter!”

Chapter 2 - Parker

An expanding tunnel of darkness stretched on before me. I couldn’t make out any shapes or figures, just endless nothing that couldn’t possibly be all that existed. And yet…

I stopped. I heard something—dripping. The gentle plinking noise echoed through the silence that was suffocating me like a wet scarf. Without truly understanding why or how, I followed the sound, finding my old kitchen at the end of the tunnel that had turned into a hallway.

Home. Not home. This is wrong.

I shouldn’t be here. I’d left, moved out. How was I back at my father’s? The creaky floor sounded under my foot, the linoleum covering peeling and curling up in places. It was a stained floor, not mopped even once, and I looked up to see the faucet leaking droplets of water into the dirty basin.

My shoes stuck to the floor as I tried to walk forward. It took several tries to free them and reach the sink. I wanted that dripping to stop, but what could I do? A dingy towel was draped over the back of the faucet’s long neck. I took it off, putting it beneath the drip to hide the noise.

He didn’t like noise.

As I stood at the sink, realizing that my hands were smaller than they should be, the smell of old alcohol wafted around me from somewhere unseen. But then I blinked, and suddenly, dozens of empty bottles were lining the counter. Oh no. I have to clean up.

“Parker!”

Jumping, I spun around to face the open panel doors that shut up the kitchen. He was coming from the hall. I could close them. I had to close them.

I tried to hurry to the doors, but the room stretched away from me. No, no! I need to close them.

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