Page 78 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

“It’s insane either way,” I say. “It’s going to be one hell of a mess to clean up no matter the outcome.”

“Then we’d best make sure it’s the kind of outcome we’re going to enjoy cleaning up after,” Max replies with a deep frown. “I’m tired of this bullshit. And I’ll bet you Lyric is tired, too.”

Silence falls heavily over our shoulders whenever her name comes up. She’s in there, scared and alone, at the mercy and whims of veritable monsters. The woman we love, the woman we intend to live the rest of our lives with—she’s trapped, being used as bait to draw us out.

Max’s phone pings. “Here we go,” he mutters. “Our crew’s about to converge on 45th and Lennox. Perfect timing.”

“Good. Let’s roll,” I order, getting out of the car first.

Artur and Max follow, and the three of us cross the street with calm movements, our chins up. The closer we get to the building, however, the greater the dread clutching my heart. Its grip tightens as we go up the front steps. Agents stare us down.

“Who are you and what are you doing here? It’s midnight. The field office is closed to the public,” one of them says.

“Let Director Smith know that the Sokolov’s are here to surrender,” Max replies.

The agents exchange stunned glances before one of them takes out his gun and points it at us. “Don’t move.”

“I said, we’re here to surrender.”

“Just don’t move!”

“Alright, alright. Calm down,” I grumble and slowly put my hands up.

Artur and Max do the same, their eyes scanning every inch around us, every movement. There’s plenty of lighting in this area, mainly because of the federal buildings that line the street, along with the three major banks farther down the road. Cameras everywhere, and uniformed officers frequently out on patrol. Therefore, our faces will be clearly visible on multiple instances of CCTV footage. Time stamped and everything.

The first agent steps to the side and reaches out to a colleague inside the building via his radio. My ears twitch as I listen in. “Cole, I’ve got the Sokolov’s here asking for the Director. Were we expecting them?”

The reply that comes through is muffled, but my guy seems to understand the words perfectly as he nods once.

“I see. Okay. We’ll wait,” he says, then puts the radio away and comes back to us with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Are you carrying any weapons?”

“No, sir,” Max replies. “You can search us.”

He takes out a metal wand detector and runs it up and down each of us. It beeps in all the usual places: the belt buckle, the change in my pocket, my Rolex, the metal screws in my left shin. I lift my shirt and roll my pant cuffs up for him to see that I am, in fact, clean. After running the wand over us, they proceed to pat us down too, prompting Artur to chuckle.

“You fellas are a tad overzealous,” he says.

“You’re the fucking Bratva. Do we look stupid?” one of them replies and takes a step back, somewhat irritated that he hasn’t found a single concealed weapon on any of us.

Artur shoots him a cold grin. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

“You’re dead anyway,” the first agent says, a sneer on his face.

Director Smith comes out, practically bursting through the double doors. He’s accompanied by six heavily armed tactical agents, clad in black and Kevlar, their semi-automatic weapons pointed at our heads.

“Gentlemen. I didn’t expect to see you here,” Smith says.

I know he’s being sincere. I can see it all over his face, he can’t seem to hide it. He definitely did not see us coming, which is good. The element of surprise will work in our favor, hopefully. It doesn’t stop my blood from rushing, however as I stare each of the agents down, tension stretching through my muscles until I feel as though I’m dangerously close to snapping.

“It wouldn’t be the first time you underestimated us, Director Smith. But you’ve crossed a line,” Max says, “and we need to talk.”

“Oh, is that how you think this is going to go?” Smith laughs. “Sure. Let’s talk.” He looks at one of his agents. “Cuff them. Take their phones. They’re going into holding downstairs.”

“You do whatever you want,” Max interjects. “But we need to see Lyric first.”

Smith’s lips stretch into a devious grin. “You know, when I first heard the rumors about the three of you, I thought, eh, people have fetishes, urges, whatever. But an actual relationship? You, fellas, are something else. It’s almost a shame to see you go.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Max replies.

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