Page 24 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

“Really?” Anoushka says after a brief silence. I hear her tone take a more serious tone. “Genevieve,” she continues gently, “Damien can be a bit mysterious and secretive at times, but it’s not usual for him to disappear for so long. I don’t know what’s going on with Damien, but I promise you, we’ll figure it out together. We’re family now, and we look out for each other.”

Her words provide a small measure of comfort, and I find myself grateful for her support.

“Thank you, Anoushka,” I respond softly. “I appreciate that more than you know.”

“Of course, Genevieve. Just hang on. I’ll try to get in touch with Lev and see what we can do. If you like, feel free to come over, and we can get to the bottom of this.”

“Thank you,” I gush again, suddenly feeling relieved. “I’ll be there soon.”

I end the call and realize that this is what it feels like to have a supportive family. With Anoushka’s support, I feel much less alone.

Chapter 9 - Damien

The heavy metallic door to the underground fighting ring swings open, and I step inside for the fifth time this week, my heart pounding like an eager drum. The familiar scents of sweat, blood, and testosterone fill my senses, and my muscles tense, the thrill of the impending fight already pumping adrenaline through my veins.

I take a deep breath and adjust the towel around my neck before breathing out and walking toward the crowd. People notice me enter, and their roars surround me, a cacophony that fuels my adrenaline.

“Zolotov!” someone shouts. “You got this!”

“You better win tonight, man. I got a grand down for you,” another one bellows.

I nod in acknowledgment at these strangers before turning my attention to the ring. As I stretch my muscles, warming them up for the brutal fight ahead, my thoughts drift toward Genevieve. An image comes to mind of her naked with her golden blonde hair spread like a halo on the pillow, and the unwanted desire to fuck her makes me freeze.

Since we’ve been forced into this arranged marriage, her presence has become both a challenge and a temptation I can’t resist. I’ve spent all these nights to get her off my mind, but God, how I crave her.

Suddenly, sheer rage overcomes me at the thought of what I almost did. Fury swells within me, consuming me like wildfire. How could I have nearly ruined her? How could I have been so careless, so reckless with her innocence? My rage, directed at myself, admonishes my fiery passion that blinded me to the fact that she was a virgin. I was about to take her with savage aggression, all because she was naked in front of me, and I couldn’t feel beyond the blood rushing to my cock. I finish stretching, but the angry restlessness keeps at me. I clench my fists and begin rapid footwork exercises on the spot. I keep thinking of Genevieve and how close I was to feeling my cock in her.

I want to fuck her still, and I’m afraid of myself. If I stay around her, I don’t know how long I can hold out. Another fantasy comes to mind—one where I slam her around on her knees, taking her from behind, and I groan out at the distracted and illicit thought, almost tripping over.

I feel sore and tense. It’s one of those rare feelings of trepidation I get, and for a brief second, I wonder if I should just head back to the changing room and call it a night before the fight begins.

But people have been watching me for four nights in a row and are expecting tonight to go just as well. If I back out now, the bettors would get pissed, and I’d lose my reputation for being dependable.

It’s almost like the universe is screaming at me to call it a night because, just then, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to find Razor looking down at me. His skin glistens from the fight he just won. His face looks gruesome. I feel his pain as my own, despite his victory being what I should focus on. I touch my jaw, where the ghost pain forms, looking at the stitches he’s going to need.

“Damien,” he nods at me.

“Razor. Good show tonight,” I acknowledge his performance.

He nods back, gratitude glinting in his eyes. “Thanks, man. But you know me, I always give it my all.”

“That you do,” I nod. I think the conversation is done. I am about to turn my back to him to finish my warm-up when he grabs my upper arm, forcing me to turn back.

I look up at him, eyebrow raised.

Razor smiles, his eyes hard and cold. I tense up with that same feeling of trepidation, fearing he’s going to say something I don’t want to hear. Razor’s no hobbyist. He’s been through the wars and then some, and today was no exception. He is a wolf in human Butcher’s clothing, one that I admire and also fear at this moment as I begin to wonder what he wants.

I was right to be nervous when he starts to tell me he gives it his all only when he’s sure he can.

“What are you implying?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“We ain’t fighting each other, man,” he shakes his head. “We’re friends, and tonight, I’m on your team. I noticed you tripped on your footwork. I’ve been watching you the last four nights, kid. You’re playing with fire being here every night. Every good fighter knows he needs to recover.”

His words echo through my mind, weighing down my every thought. Razor’s scrutiny is as unnerving as it is insightful. I swallow hard, feeling the knot in my throat grow tighter. I knew Razor had been watching me, but I didn’t think he’d noticed my struggle.

I shake my head and begin to stretch my wrists. “Well, I’m here for the fight,” I cover my tracks. “The win doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not the win or loss that troubles me, kid. You could seriously get hurt out there,” he nods toward the ring.

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