Page 93 of The Lazarov Bratva

A sudden seriousness falls over Ivan and Nastja and they both nod. Nastja releases me with a pat on the shoulder and then collects one of the bags from the ground. As they head toward the jet, Kristof wraps his arm around my shoulders and starts herding me toward the plane. I shrug him off immediately, and this time, I catch a subtle noise of irritation escaping him.

Good.

I stomp up the steps of the jet, trying to show him that I’m mad at him and also that I don’t care, but that determination wavers when I turn the corner and come face to face with the inside of the jet.

It’s massive. If anything, the inside looks like a fancy cocktail bar with six large, plush seats lining each side of the jet and a bar at the back with several bottles of alcohol locked behind glass. The floor is a deep blue, and the cream seats are lined in gold, with dark blue curtains framing each window and golden lights twinkling above.

I’ll sit down, and then America will be a distant thought.

I swallow hard and my knees knock together.

Fuck.

Kristof presses a hand between my shoulder blades and shoves me forward. I make an indignant sound, but when I turn to face him, he takes my arm and all but throws me into one of the seats.

“Hey!”

My indignation falls on deaf ears as he snaps the buckle tightly over my lap, then he grabs my chin and his fingertips dig firmly into my jaw.

“You forget who you belong to,” he snaps, and the annoyance is clear in his silver eyes.

For a moment, his touch soothes me. My worry about leaving is second to the warmth that seeps through me, and I almost forget I’m mad at him.

“You can’t suddenly decide what I can and cannot touch, understand? I thought I’d whipped this bratty little attitude out of you. That pussy is mine, understand? I will take it, and you, whenever I want, so reel in the attitude, or I’m the only one that’s going to get any pleasure the next time I fuck you.”

“Fuck off,” I snap heatedly, and I meet his gaze with a glare of my own. “Didn’t think you’d wanna put your dick anywhere near someone you think so little of.”

“Alena,” he warns dangerously, but his next words never pass his lips. The intercom crackles, and the pilot’s voice fills the jet, announcing our immediate departure.

“Sit your ass down, Brother,” Ivan states, moving past us and taking a seat at the back.

Kristof’s grip tightens faintly, then he releases me and throws himself into the chair beside me. His buckle clacks as it clasps together, and he shoots me a glare, but he’s silent.

The pilot is speaking too loudly anyway as he runs through safety procedures. I forget them the moment I hear them. Something rumbles through the plane, and my hands shoot to the armrests, gripping tightly. I press my thighs together and breathe in, trying to calm my racing heart, but nothing helps.

The only thing that did, briefly, was Kristof’s touch.

Fuck.

I’m scared.

Nastja and Ivan are behind me, so there’s nowhere I can look for comfort. The jet rumbles again, and a deafening roar bursts into life around me. I grip tighter at the armrest until the leather starts to seep under my fingernails, and the pounding noise of my heart is swallowed by the noise of the engines.

This is it.

I’m leaving everything I’ve ever known behind, flying to a strange country filled with strange people and places and a language I don’t speak despite my heritage.

If anything happens there, I’ll be more than alone.

The jet pulls forward. The movement draws a squeak from me, and then, suddenly, my stomach lurches like stepping off a diving board without knowing how close the water is.

“Alena?” Kristof sounds concerned.

“What?” I snap, rigid in my seat.

“You’re… what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” My eyes snap to him. “I told you what was wrong, and you didn’t fucking listen to me. You heard what you wanted to hear and not what I was actually saying. I told you I was terrified of leaving, and you took that to mean I was scared of leaving with you.”

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