Page 23 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

“What? No. I didn’t agree to that.”

“You agreed to be my wife. The rest was obvious.”

“No,” she screams, turning away from me. I grab her around the waist and pull her against me, holding her arms against her sides so she can’t fight.

“Don’t start this shit now, Sasha,” I snarl.

“Just let me go to my own room, please,” she begs.

I lift her up in my arms, and she starts squirming and wiggling.

“Stop that,” I shout, gripping her even harder.

She kicks out as I carry her up the stairs. All the way up she is swearing at me and calling me names.

“Who knew you had such a foul mouth. I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a Balakin.”

I get to my room and throw her onto the bed. She is still shouting and fighting. I don’t want to deal with this right now, so I bolt for the door and slam it behind me, locking her inside.

Within seconds I hear her slamming her fists against the door and continuing to shout insults.

I shake my head.

I think I need a drink, then I can come back and deal with this afterwards.

I head down the stairs and to the living room. Sasha is screaming so loudly I can still hear her.

“She’s got quite the mouth on her, sir.”

“Tell me about it. I almost want to drug her again just to get her to shut up,” I chuckle, and Ivan laughs, rubbing his hand self-consciously over the bandage covering his bite wound.

“How’s your arm?” I nod towards him.

“It’s not infected. So at least we can confirm the Balakin doesn’t have rabies.” He laughs loudly.

“Hey, actually, she’s not a Balakin anymore. She’s a Dubrov now. She’s been elevated in this world. We are going to have to start teaching her how to be a lady.”

Ivan snorts. “Chances are low. I don’t think Balakins are teachable.”

“Maybe you’re right.” I shrug.

One of my other security guards walks into the room.

“Sir, you have guests.”

“Oh, shit. Not the best timing,” Ivan says, glancing towards the sound of Sasha’s screamed insults as they drift down the stairway into the living room.

“Who is it?”

Just as I ask, Maxim and Chiara walk into the living room with their kids.

I clench my jaw.

“Hey, man,” I say, knowing that I look sheepishly guilty while trying to pretend that there isn’t some woman screaming from upstairs.

“Hey, cuz. Uh…what’s going on?” Maxim asks, looking me up and down, taking note of the suit. He glances around, leaning back to look out into the garden, and sees the wedding arch.

“We wanted to come and wish you a happy welcome to Boston, but it looks like the party already happened. Did I miss an invite or something?” he looks amused and worried at the same time.

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