Page 63 of The Russian's Forced Bride
My brother was here. He was here to save me.
His eyes were wide, afraid, as they darted between me and Joaquin like he couldn’t understand what was going on. But that smile died down when I realized Joaquin could kill him in an instant, so I began to yell to him.
“Run, Brandon. Run and find Rafael.”
I coughed dryly afterward, the strain on my voice making me weak. But instead of running like I’d hoped, Brandon walked into the room slowly, all the while with that confused expression, before he slammed the door hard, causing my heart to jump.
Joaquin stood just some feet from the door, taking a smoke and watching me with bored eyes.
I was confused as to why Brandon didn’t seem bothered by Joaquin’s presence, and then—like a light switch had been flipped on Brandon—his expression transitioned from that of confusion as a manic smile crept onto his face, slow and unnerving enough to make my heart start to pound beneath my ribcage. The shift caught me off guard as I began to pull against the ropes binding me in an attempt to flee from the two men before me.
The blurred pieces of last night began to show themselves, but I shook my head violently, unable to believe what my memories showed me.
My mind had once again blocked the truth—this time, of Brandon handing me over like a lamb to the slaughter.
God, I trusted him with my entire being. But to think he was working with Joaquin….
“If it isn’t the spoilt brat,” Brandon mused, stalking toward me like a predator that had finally caught its prey.
Behind him, I could see a bat in his hands, spiked and marred with dried-up blood, and it caused my stomach to lurch forward as I held in the vomit fighting to come out. The room’s air suddenly reeked with the metallic stench of blood, taking me back to my past, to when Mom died, and my body shivered in fear.
“Aww, don’t be scared, sis,” Brandon mocked, his hands tenderly cupping my cheeks. But instead of warmth, I felt a coldness that matched the steely iciness in his eyes.
He wasn’t smiling or gazing down at me with gentleness. He looked like he actually wanted to whack my head with the bat in his hands, and it made me freeze while his hands caressed my face, his nails digging into my skin.
“How was my performance, heiress?” he asked, now taking a fistful of my hair and yanking it hard, not stopping until I screamed at the pain that coursed through my head.
“Tell me!” he roared into my ear. “Did I do a good job pretending to be your broke-ass little brother?”
My heart fell to the pit of my stomach as tears fell from my eyes in fat drops. I hadn’t cried when that bastard admitted he had killed my mother, but this—this was another form of betrayal.
It pierced through my heart like a bullet, and as Brandon forcefully yanked my head back, releasing me from his hold, I found myself sobbing hard while shivering from the cold penetrating through my clothes from last night.
I hated myself for not heeding Rafael’s instructions not to leave the house in the first place. For Brandon to kidnap me, he knew he had to take me out of my haven. He’d planned my kidnapping strategically, and I never suspected him.
But there were signs that I couldn’t trust him right from the start. The signs had stared me right in the face like a road sign, but I purposely ignored them, calling that wariness paranoia.
And it hurt not only because I had just been deceived. It felt like I had bared myself to my enemy—given him my heart, only for him to stab through it like it was nothing.
I actually saw Brandon as my brother. My little brother.
“Sorry, I didn’t introduce you two earlier,Chiquitta,” Joaquin’s voice now chirped in as my head remained hanging low, my tears forming a little pool on the ground.
“Arlette, meet my nephew, Mateo Saavedra. And Mateo, meet your most recent victim, Arlette Kamarov,” Joaquin declared with a raspy laugh as I continued to sniffle back my tears.
It made sense now—why Brandon had been so persistent in trying to know more about me. It made sense why he didn’t want to meet Jacob or Alice. If more people knew about his existence, he was sure his cover would be blown. It was why he isolated me.
And, being my usual foolish self, I fell for his act.
“Why?” I found myself asking. Why did everyone around me have to betray me in some way? What was it about me that drew in the darkest and vilest of men?
“Why?” Brandon—or Mateo—asked with a scoff as I slowly raised my head to look at him. His eyes were devoid of emotion, making me wonder how he had managed to act so good to me as my little brother.
But my little brother was dead. And the man standing in front of me killed him.
“The world is a fucked-up place,princesa,” Mateo said, pacing around in front of me as he began his villainous monologue.
“Joaquin killed my father right in front of me when I was 11, split his head open with a fucking axe. But guess what….”
