Page 23 of The Bratva's Forced Bride

Mark didn’t notice.

When we arrived at the house, he didn’t come in after me. Barely even acknowledged me.

The men helped with the numerous bags while I headed up the stairs to my designated room, all the while thinking about the thousands of dollars, he blew off in less than three hours. No doubt, he had proven that this Bratva he talked about, that he belonged to ... they were as rich as they were powerful.

After the men left the room, I locked the door and took out the paper from under my waistband. I opened it and smoothed out the creases at the edges. It was a note. And I recognized the slanted handwriting. I smiled wide as I read it.

“My beautiful angel, I will get you out of there.”

It was him. My Logan.

He hadn’t abandoned me.

Chapter 9 - Mark

“Treasures are valuable. When you find one, keep it.” – Anonymous.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

I swirled the vodka in my glass and stared at the unfortunate bald man on stage as if he were the cause of my irritation. “I know irony when I hear it, Viktor. And isn’t it sad that everyone is cheering for this idiot as if he could sing?”

“At least, he’s better than the previous one. Shit, I thought my ears were going to bleed,” Damien scoffed, and it forced a laugh out of me.

Viktor threw his head back, gulped a mouthful of beer, and dropped the glass with a satisfied hiss. He faced me. “It’s what they’re paid to do; entertain the crowd. While we earn more and grow our network by being here. But someone is being fucking anti-social.”

I sipped from my glass. “Someone? Are you talking about me?”

“Because you know you and your brother are nothing alike, it’s definitely you.”

“I doubt it. Look at me, working the crowd, like I don’t give a shit.” I wiggled my brows and my brother laughed.

Victor was not wrong. Taking part in the event was not just for fun. We also had to work. Some business had to be done, but I was distracted, and Damien got the lion's share.

“You sure you don’t want to share? We could have a heart-to-heart.”

Damien choked on his brandy and my lips crooked.

Viktor wasn’t going to stop pushing it until I cracked and spilled. But I wasn’t ready to talk about my current thorn in the ass. I eyed him from over the rim of my glass.

“Yeah, we could. Let’s start with this, though: How’s your wife?”

“You have a serious sense of humor.” He muttered in Russian, rubbed the back of his neck and before he averted his eyes, I noticed the flare of annoyance.

I had indirectly told him to mind his own damn business, and I had used his wife to do it.

If my brother Damien had not been present, I would have bet a thousand bucks that Viktor would already have a fist in my face. And I would have greeted it with joy. Maybe a fight was just what I needed to get rid of all the fucking tension and anger inside me.

Damien took the cue to launch himself fully into the conversation before Viktor let his fist fly. He dusted a piece of lint off his shiny black jacket and sat forward.

“He’s right, you know? You have to stop deflecting. We’ve been here for two hours, and you’ve been sitting like you’ve got a stick up your ass.”

I poured myself another glass of vodka.

“Two hours, thirteen minutes.” I lifted the glass to my lips. “And he’s bigger than a fucking stick.”

“Who?”

I shrugged. “Mercer.”

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