Page 51 of Forced Bratva Wife

“Fuck!”

We snapped our eyes to each other, and I furrowed my brow as the guy’s voice rang out through the otherwise empty hall. Irish accent.

“Well, well, well. It looks like we know who’d been helping Pavel with his little excursion into the Vadim property.”

I knelt down, putting the barrel of my gun beneath the guy’s chin and forcing him to look up at me. His eyes met mine with no shortage of rage, and he clenched his teeth as Pietor’s boot squeezed down on the man’s leg.

“Fuck off, you bastard. I’ll never give you anything. You might as well just kill me now.”

Without a doubt, the man's accent was noticeably strong, indicating that he was most likely from Dublin. I’d studied people, dialects, and customs from all over the globe, always thinking ahead so that I could be one hell of a force to be reckoned with, and I just smirked at him.

“You’ve already given us quite a lot, haven’t you? And what would O’Connel himself think about how easily you gave it up? Hmm?”

Growling, the Irish fucker fought against the hold Pietor had on his leg, but he was going nowhere fast.

“I gave you shite. You think this was the play? Just this? We’ve already accomplished what we set out to do.”

I snapped my attention to Pietor again, frowning as I read the truth behind the man’s words.

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Pietor lowered his face into the man’s stare as he asked.

But good old O’Connel boy clammed up.

Pietor stepped down hard on the man’s bullet wound, and he cried out.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” I dug my gun harder into his throat.

He didn’t want to speak now, however. I cocked the hammer back again and put my eyes right in front of his, giving the asshole nothing else to look at.

“Spill it. You’re testing my nonexistent patience.”

The guy just smiled, a laugh bubbling up through him, and then shook his head. “Ding dong, Mr. Vadim. Ding dong.”

I squeezed the trigger, sending his brain matter flying across the wall behind him, and stood back up. As Pietor relaxed his leg, I eyed him hard.

“Call the house. Now.”

My cousin just nodded.

Pulling out my cell, I dialed a number only I had. The other end would ring a phone that I’d hidden in my nightstand. Loud and clear enough for Parker to hear as long as she was in the room.

“Pick up, damn you.”

It rang once, twice, three times, and no answer.

“Fuck!”

My blood roared through my veins, a throbbing sensation in my temples that was the tell-tale sign of an impending migraine like I had never experienced before. I pushed it aside, dialing the number again. Nothing. I dialed again. Still no fucking response and I was damn near cracking the phone in half as it rang over and over.

Pietor looked over, shaking his head.

“Get someone on the damn phone now!”

I dialed again. One more time.

Nothing.

My heart was so loud in my ears that I couldn’t hear Pietor on the phone with whoever he’d reached. I couldn’t truly think or see either. All the signals were being processed. I objectively knew that the world still existed around me. Still, everything felt as if I was interacting with it through gloves or underwater.

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