Page 10 of Forced Pregnant Bride

“This…this is outrageous!” Waving the paper midair, eyes zeroed in on me, glaring with instant anger. “My dad died last year, so you can’t get anything from him.”

“We are well aware of that because he stopped paying last year.” Eagerly, Arlo gestured toward the contract. “Read the last line.”

She did.

And she jumped to her feet, red-hot with anger. She was trembling with tears, the prickly pines emerging from within as she got ready to defend her home and her brother with everything. “No.”

I sat back, assessing her while she faced my underboss.

“Technically, yes. Oliver signed that contract.”

“And I don’t care! You…you guys can’t do this. It’s evil. How can his debt pass on to his male blood relative? It washisdebt, and we knew absolutely nothing about it. Jay doesn’t know a thing. Please, I’m begging you. He’s only seventeen. He’s still a child.”

“Child, my fucking foot. I cut a man’s finger off at fifteen. Your brother’s already fucked a woman, and you wouldn’t even know.”

Realizing the gravity of our presence in her home and our identities, her eyes widened in shock. She stuttered, her hand to her chest. “Jesus.”

I signaled for Arlo to step back. I was taking over this conversation and would make it clear that they didn’t have an option. I was fucking leaving here only after I got what I wanted. Her father knew how to make deals.Myfather taught me the roughest and most wicked ways to execute them.

“Listen to me.” The sound of my voice slowly reeled her gaze toward me. “I understand that your brother is young and probably inexperienced. But a contract is a fucking contract. Oliver left an outstanding of twenty million, and I can’t just let that slide. It has to be recovered somehow. And your brother is the fucking way. I have better plans for him than selling his liver and kidneys. All he’d do is dedicate his life to working for me, for the Bratva.”

She shook her head, more tears spilling down her cheeks. “Says a man surrounded by men who cut off fingers at the age of fifteen. You can’t possibly have better plans for my brother than I do. You don’t have to do this; I can pay you back. I’ll sell whatever I have to—why are you smiling?”

Beside me, Arlo sighed, and I chuckled, aggravating them even more.

Rising to my feet, I stepped closer, eliminating the distance until all that stood between us was the darn center table and the cake on top of it.

“But you can’t, can you?”

Her eyes traced my movement, rising from my feet, past my torso, and then to my face, her lips parting but no words coming out.

“I…I don’t—”

“You can’t pay me back, even if you sold your entire fucking house or gave me your earnings for a year. You wouldn’t be able to pay me back. It’s twenty fucking million dollars. Not two million, two thousand, or two fucking hundred. Where are you going to get that kind of money? Answer: nowhere. The only worthy substitute is a soul.”

Her lips wobbled. I was right, and she knew it. There was nothing else she had to offer except her brother. Nothing of value except him.

I took another step closer, and my lips hovered close to her ear. Vanilla and milk wafted up to my nose, and I didn’t have to go any closer to know where the scent of temptation and promises came from. Her entire body grew rigid, and her breath seized.

“Prepare him before this time, next week. Noon. I won’t have it any other way. Going to the police will be an utter waste of time. You can try, if you want. Just know, I don’t make idle threats,Pchelka.”

Like opposite poles of a magnet, I lingered by her side for a moment before walking away.

“Noon, this time, next week,” Arlo reechoed before shutting the door behind us.

From a near distance, a black truck rolled down the road. Headlights flashed, and boys howled into the cold night,laughing as if nothing else mattered more than the present moment.

Kristian stepped forward, and Vasili positioned himself behind us. Beside me, Arlo folded his arms across his chest, relaxing his shoulders and kicking his leg out, and when the car pulled up on the pavement, neither of us was surprised to see a tall, lean boy stagger out with a knapsack and a cheesy grin smacked on his face.

That was until he saw us.

The boys in the car peeked through the window with curious gazes before shifting gears and speeding down the asphalt, leaving the boy on the mowed lawn.

Jayden.

He had brown hair like Oliver and his sister’s eyes, but even under the streetlight, I could feel the energy radiating off him, the mature seventeen-year-old. Unlike his sister, there was nothing calm about this one. Where the little bee and I were opposite magnets, with him, there was an immediate repulsion. A familiar kind.Mykind.

He reminded me of my younger days, the darker times, when I’d stand by the door of my father’s study, watching the unending flow of red splashes on the walls in coral artistic sprays.

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