Page 30 of Marked & Bred By the Bratva
I stand at the edge of the bed and just watch her.
My girl.
Soft. Warm. Full of my cum.
I murmur under my breath, “Sweet dreams, little one,” and brush her hair off her cheek with the back of my hand.
She doesn’t even stir.
I get dressed slowly in a black shirt, black jacket, and boots. My gun holstered. Blade sheathed. I press a kiss to her soft, round shoulder, then I walk out the door.
* * *
The warehouse reeks of rust, sweat and old oil. Yuri and Mikhail are already there when I arrive. They don’t say a word. Just nod.
The traitor sits tied to a steel chair, blood running from his nose, lip split. One eye swollen shut. Still conscious. Still twitching. Not for long.
I unzip the duffel. Pull out the blade.
His good eye locks on the steel, goes wide.
He tries to speak, the gag in his mouth muffling whatever pitiful noise he’s making.
I cut it away.
“I didn’t sell us out,” he pants. “I swear to God, Lev, I didn’t—”
I backhand him hard enough to send a tooth flying.
“Don’t speak.”
Yuri and Mikhail step closer. I crouch in front of him and whisper, calm and quiet: “you leaked our route to a fucking cop. You know what that means.”
“I didn’t mean…”
I slice the knife across his thigh. Deep. The scream he lets out bounces off the concrete walls.
“Still talking. Guess you didn’t mean to breathe longer than today.”
Another cut, across his arm this time. Blood pools. Red, warm, liquid. Almost beautiful. The man shakes, sobbing now.
“This isn’t just punishment. It’s a fucking message.”
Three sharp, straight cuts under his collarbone. A mark.
Yuri gags him again, pulls the hood over his face and tapes it tight. Cutting off his oxygen supply.
I wipe my hands on a rag and drop it on the floor before walking out.
* * *
When I get home, the door clicks shut behind me. And it’s her scent that hits me first.
Ava.
Sweet. Bare. In my fucking bed.
“Lev?”
