Page 25 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

I swallow hard, panic building in my chest. “No. I said I’m not interested.”

His hand moves to my arm, gripping it tightly. “Don’t be difficult, Jennifer. This is a good opportunity for you. You don’t want to mess it up.”

I try to pull away, but he holds me firmly in place, his body pressing closer. My voice catches in my throat, and a wave of helplessness crashes over me. I can’t even raise my voice. Fear paralyzes me.

“Get off her,” a deep, familiar voice commands, slicing through the tension like a knife.

Russel freezes, his grip loosening instantly. I feel his body go rigid, and I turn my head just enough to see Timur standing in the doorway, his eyes blazing with fury.

Chapter Twelve - Timur

My eyes scan the crowd, but I can’t spot her anywhere. Jennifer was here just moments ago, looking stunning in that dress, like she was made to be noticed. I can still see her in my mind, the way her dress clung to her curves, reminding me of the first night I met her. It’s frustrating, the way my thoughts keep drifting back to her when I should be focusing on business. Where the hell did she go?

I glance over to Russel, but he’s not in the crowd either. A chill of unease creeps up my spine. Russel isn’t exactly known for his respect toward women, and the thought of him anywhere near Jennifer makes my blood simmer. Something isn’t right.

“Oleg,” I say, my tone sharper than intended. My best man is always nearby, scanning the crowd with a sharp eye.

He turns to me, immediately sensing my tension. “What is it, Boss?”

“Did you see where Russel went?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level. “He was with Jennifer a moment ago.”

Oleg’s eyes flicker with understanding. He knows Russel’s reputation just as well as I do, if not better. “Yeah, I saw them head down that hallway a few minutes ago.”

The unease in my gut hardens into something darker—anger. Russel. I should’ve kept a closer eye on him. Without another word, I push through the crowd, Oleg trailing close behind. I know I need to act fast.

When I reach the hallway, the sound of muffled voices and a faint struggle reaches my ears, and my instincts flare. My jaw tightens as I move quicker, my pulse racing with every step. Rounding the corner, I hear voices from inside one of the rooms. Without thinking I wrench the door open, and freeze at the sight before me.

Russel has Jennifer pinned against the wall, his body pressed far too close to hers. I see her pushing against him, trying to resist, her eyes wide with fear and her hands trembling. My blood boils, fury surging through me like a wildfire.

“Get off her,” I growl, my voice low and deadly.

Before I can even think, I’m moving, my hand wrapping around Russel’s collar and yanking him away from her. He stumbles back, shocked by the sudden force, but I don’t care. All I can see is red.

Russel stares at me, wide-eyed, as if he can’t believe what’s happening. He’s frozen in place, too stunned to react. Jennifer’s small frame slips behind me, her hands shaking as she clutches on to my suit jacket. I can feel her trembling against me, her breath ragged and panicked, and it only makes me angrier.

Russel finally gathers himself, straightening his jacket, but I don’t give him time to speak. “If you ever lay a hand on her again,” I snarl, stepping closer to him, “I will end you.”

The threat hangs heavy in the air, and I can see the fear settle in Russel’s eyes. He tries to speak, tries to explain, but I’m not interested in excuses.

“I-I didn’t mean—it wasn’t like that!” he says, his hands raised defensively as if that will stop me. He’s not going anywhere. Not yet.

I feel Jennifer trembling behind me, and that only fuels the rage bubbling inside me. Russel is pathetic. Desperate. He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

“Leave,” I growl, my voice a dangerous low rumble. It’s a command, not a suggestion.

Russel doesn’t move. He looks between me and Jennifer, eyes flickering with something almost like defiance—like he’s still convinced he can talk his way out of this.

“I’m not leaving. You can’t just—”

My patience snaps. In one swift motion, I pull my gun from my holster, the cold metal heavy in my hand. The sound of it cocking echoes sharply in the small room, cutting through Russel’s words.

Jennifer gasps behind me, her fingers clutching tighter at my jacket, but she doesn’t move.

“I’m giving you one last chance, Russel,” I say, my voice dangerously calm. “Walk out now, or I’ll make sure you never walk again.”

Russel’s face pales. He takes a hesitant step backward but stops himself, pride or stupidity—maybe both—keeping him rooted in place. “You can’t kill me. Not over this,” he mutters, his voice lacking the confidence it had before.

I’ve had enough.

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