Page 54 of Savage Reign

Heartbreak.

Killing Sergey broke something inside me.

“I grew up protecting Sergey. From my mother, her boyfriends, the shitty world we grew up in. He was my younger brother. If I didn’t look out for him, who would? It was minor drug charges, but they were going to throw him into one of the roughest prisons in the country. Sergey was tough in his own way, but he was never much of a fighter. Fine if he had a gun, but useless with his hands. That’s a sure way to get killed in prison.” My shoulders knot with tension. The hurt is still raw and always will be. “It’s not uncommon for the pakhan to run things from jail. Sergey was supposed to handle things on the outside while I called the shots from inside.” A knot forms in my throat as my eyes flick to hers. “I trusted my brother. Turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life.”

Her voice is soft when she asks, “Is that why you killed him? Because he turned against you?”

I shake my head, glancing briefly at her before focusing on the road. “No. I killed him because he was going to kill me.”

Her fingers curl in her lap, playing with the hem of her shorts. “You protected your brother. There’s nothing wrong with that. Liza always looked out for me.” She hesitates, then adds, “Sometimes I wish she didn’t. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been so blindsided when I learned what Anatoly was really like and how twisted my parents actually were.”

“Have you had contact with your parents since Greece?”

She shakes her head. “And I never will. Liza and Roman are my only family.”

A kernel of guilt worms its way inside, but I push it down. “I’m your husband. Technically, that makes us family.”

She looks at me for a long time, like she’s trying to peel back my layers.

I adjust my collar.

“I’m trying to figure out if you’re delusional enough to believe these lies.”

I raise a shoulder. “There’s nothing delusional about it. I could show you the marriage certificate.”

“A piece of paper or a tattoo marking me as your property doesn’t make us family. Don’t you get it?” Her tone softens. “Has there ever been someone in your life who took care of you? Loved you just because—not because you pay them or owe them, or whatever?”

My grip on the wheel tightens. “Before my mother got messed up by drugs and alcohol, she tried.” I pause, the words dragging up a memory I haven’t thought about in years. “The Christmas right after my father left, she stayed clean for a few weeks and saved up enough money to actually do something. I didn’t give a shit at that point, but Sergey was only four. He still cared. She got us each a toy car, identical except for the color. We played with those damn things for hours, running them up and down the hall. She cooked a roast chicken and made those horrible powdered mashed potatoes, but it was the best meal we’d had in months. But, fuck, at least she tried.”

The memory stirs something deep inside me, and I fix my attention on the road ahead. Sofiya is also quiet, but when I look over at her a few minutes later, her gaze meets mine, and her expression softens. Not with pity, but with something else. When she turns back to the window, the knot in my chest begins to unravel.

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

SOFIYA

My first thoughtwhen I got into Nikolai’s car was to pay attention to where he was taking me, so that if I ever had a chance to escape or communicate with the outside world to get help, I’d have a sense of where we are.

That plan lasted about thirty seconds.

The second we hit the road, all those thoughts flew right out the window. Nikolai is distracting—in the way he reached over to buckle me in, his tattooed hands flexing on the gearshift, veins rippling over his forearms. It’s how he blasted rock music and drove with one hand, like a professional driver.

Apparently, I have a thing for that.

He’s been letting pieces of himself slip. Talking about his brother, his mother, and his time in jail. It’s strange; hearing these things about his past makes him more human, less like the devil I’ve painted him to be.

Maybe we’re not so different after all. Both raised by people who should’ve loved us but didn’t. The difference is I didn’t let it ruin me. Nikolai let it twist him into someone who takes whatever he wants, no matter the cost.

Why am I so drawn to him? Over the last few days, my self-control has been hanging on by a thread. Starting with the pool—his big, tattooed, naked body, slick and wet, so close I could feel the warmth radiating off him. The way he snapped the bikini string against my overheated skin. Watching the movie with me last night.

When I need to remind myself of who he truly is, I stare at the “wedding ring” tattooed on my finger—a reminder of the brutal man who put it there.

I’m lost in thought when a faded billboard catches my eye: Koporye Fortress – one mile. My pulse quickens. Koporye Fortress is a historic ruin not far from St. Petersburg. It’s not much, but it’s a clue. It helps narrow down our location.

Minutes later, we pull up to a modest but well-maintained two-story house at the end of a gravel road. It’s definitely not what I expected for a shopping trip.

“Where are we?” I ask.

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