Page 17 of Stolen By the Bratva

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Shit. He had to have seen my gun. I’d pulled it out too early. Or maybe not.

Fuck it. I lifted my arm, ready to pull the trigger and start the chaos. Pandemonium would follow the noise, but he stopped me.

Grunting hard, he chopped his hand down on my arm, and I spun to deflect his next hit. Just like that, we fell into an intense fight. Others rushed closer. My brothers jumped into the action, backing me up. It was madness.

Just as I pistol whipped the guard who’d first noticed me, I jerked my head up at the change of music.

The bridal march.

The wedding was starting.

The distraction cost me, and before I could refocus on firing my gun, another soldier tackled me. My gun went flying, skidding across the floor, out of reach for my first plan.

It’s not over yet. I gritted my teeth, punching and kicking the Kastava assholes while I strained to reclaim my gun.

I would not let us get hitched to the enemy. Until my dying breath, just like my father had, I would fight for the bratva.

8

MILA

No matter how many times I told myself that I could do this, I wished I didn’t have to.

I stared at my reflection in the room just past the vestibule of the church, and I tried to will myself to be strong. Gazing directly into my eyes, I fought to keep my lower lip from trembling.

The bridal attendants came and went. They weren’t my friends. Some were cousins. Others were just bratva wives and daughters of other men within our organization. Not one of them tried to talk to me, and why would they? I was just a pawn, as were they as they fulfilled their duties in walking down the aisle. This wasn’t a ceremony of love but a production, a chance for my father to show off his wealth and attention to detail.

I didn’t give a shit about a single flower or strip of ribbon. The décor blurred into the rest of the details of this ornate church, and it was easier that way, to keep it all as a smear of time passing. A passage of my life as a virgin to a used-up wife.

Zoned out into my mind, I tried to lock down on a numb sense of nothingness. But I went too far, disengaging from reality as I stared into the mirror.

“Ready?” Andrey sneered as he stalked closer.

We were alone. My bridal party had left me here, probably asked to leave me with my groom when he knocked on the door. They wouldn’t tell him no. No one could.

I shook my head but caught myself. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

He hurried closer, snarling. “I don’t care about fucking luck.”

I swallowed hard, panicking as he rushed toward me. I knew he’d fill me. He’d take me hard like a cruel punishment. I saw it in his eyes. But I hadn’t thought he’d take me now. I’d been telling myself to stay strong for the inevitable rape later tonight.

“No.”

“Oh, is that how it’s going to be?” He yanked me close as he unzipped his pants. It was déjà vu, a repeat of what he’d tried to do last night. “You think you can tell me no, whore?”

“Please.”

“Begging.” He scoffed. “That’s more like it.” As he pulled me closer, almost making me trip over my dress, he turned me and shoved up the many layers of my dress. “You’ll beg for me to fuck you. And you’ll?—”

Knocks pounded on the door, and whoever stood on the other side didn’t wait. My heart beat faster with the promise of rescue, but I knew that couldn’t be true. It was nothing more than a delay. A pause. Because I was marrying this asshole. He would get his hands on me before the end of the night.

I sniffled, almost losing the fight with the tears stinging my eyes. Andrey stood up, growling at the interruption. He released my dress with a hard shove, and I heard seams tear with his brutal handling.

“You’re expected at the altar.”

Geoff. My insides shriveled at his voice. Of all the people who could’ve come here seeking Andrey, of all the soldiers or guards who might have noticed Andrey letting himself into my room, it had to be him.

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