Page 4 of BRATVA'S Killer Bride
"No one," I murmur, my lips brushing hers again, teasing, promising more. "I came for him, to end his miserable life before he ruined everything. But you... you beat me to it, and now I can't walk away from you."
Her breath hitches, and I see the flicker of uncertainty in her gaze, the weight of her family's name pressing down on her like invisible chains.
I slide one arm around her waist, guiding her away from the body and toward the velvet-draped window where the city sprawls out below us, oblivious to the carnage in this suite. The air feels thicker here, charged with the scent of her perfume mingled with blood, and I press her back against the cool glass, my body shielding hers from the world outside. She gasps softly at the contrast, her hands exploring my chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath my shirt. I groan low in my throat, the sound raw and unfiltered. This isn't just lust; it's possession,a dark craving to make her mine in ways that will bind us in blood.
"Your cousins," I say, my voice rough as I nuzzle her neck, inhaling the pulse that flutters there like a trapped bird. "Do they know what your father has done?"
She sighs heavily, “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
Her eyes search mine, fierce and stubborn. Her hands fist in my hair as she pulls me down for another kiss, deeper this time. Her tongue tangles with mine in a dance of surrender and challenge. I lose myself in her, my hands slipping under the ruined skirts of her dress, feeling the warmth of her thighs, finding the garter where I assume hid the knife.
The world outside fades, the ticking clock of consequences drowned out by the rhythm of our breathing, the slide of fabric and skin. But even as I claim her mouth, my mind sharpens, plotting our escape. Because this woman has awakened something in me, a ruthless devotion that will burn down cities if it means keeping her safe.
As her nails dig into my shoulders, marking me as hers, I know we've crossed a line from which there's no return. I'm ready to drag her into the shadows with me, where we can flourish in the heart of the darkest storm.
Sienna
The kiss consumes me.
A blaze that scorches away the remnants of fear and replaces them with a reckless heat I want to burn in. My fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer as if he is the only solid thing in this spinning room. But reality crashes back in with the sticky warmth of blood cooling on my skin and the sickeningly metallic scent clinging to everything.
I break away first, my breath ragged, my eyes flicking to Andrey's lifeless form sprawled on the carpet like discarded trash. Daniil follows my gaze, his expression shifting from raw desire to cold calculation. I see the killer in him emerge, efficient and unfeeling.
"We can’t stay here," he mutters against my lips, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. "They’ll come looking soon. I will handle the mess. You clean up." He nods toward the bathroom door, his hand lingering on my waist before he releases me, and I nod back, my mind racing to catch up with the plan forming between us without words.
I step away from him. My bare feet sink into the plush carpet now marred with dark stains, and I head toward the corner where my suitcase sits. It was delivered earlier during the wedding chaos by some faceless attendant. It’s packed with the essentials my father insisted on. Clothes for the honeymoonI never wanted, toiletries to maintain the facade of a blushing bride. I unzip it with trembling fingers, pulling out a fresh set of underwear, a simple black dress that hugs my curves, and my makeup bag filled with creams and scents that feel absurdly normal in this nightmare.
Daniil watches me for a moment, his gray eyes intense, then turns to the door, cracking it open just enough to peer out. The hallway is silent, the guards' bodies slumped where he left them. He moves with predatory grace, dragging the first one inside by the arms, the limp form thumping softly against the threshold. I don’t watch; instead, I slip into the bathroom, locking the door behind me, though I know it’s more for my own illusion of control than for any real barrier.
I’m trembling as I step under the shower’s scalding spray, the steam curling around me, thick enough to suffocate. The water hits my skin, stinging hot, and I let it burn away the blood, the fear, the weight of Andrey’s lifeless eyes staring up at me from the carpet. My wedding dress lies crumpled on the floor, a ghost of white lace now streaked with red. I don’t look at it as I scrub my body raw with the lavender soap from my toiletry kit.
The scent is too soft, too delicate for the violence I’ve just committed, but I cling to its normalcy, lathering my brown hair until the suds swirl clean down the drain. Pink rivulets spiral away, carrying the last of Andrey from my body. But the memory of my knife slicing through his throat hums in my veins, a dark melody that won’t quiet.
Out there, Daniil’s moving around with a quiet efficiency that makes my pulse stutter. He’s a shadow, a predator, and I’m caught in his orbit, my heart pounding with a mix of primal desire and something more feral I don’t know how to name.
I rinse off, my fingers brushing the raw skin where Andrey’s blood dried, and I catch my reflection in the fogged-up mirror.My eyes are too wide, too alive, not the docile bride I was supposed to be. I dry off quickly, wrapping a towel around myself, and dress in the items I plucked from my case.
The black dress is simple, sleek, something I can move easily in. I slip it on, my damp hair leaving dark patches on the fabric. My makeup bag’s next, but I skip the powders and gloss, grabbing only a comb to tame my tangled hair, which I twist up and hold into place with a simple black clip. I’m not preening for anyone, not anymore.
The click of the bathroom lock snaps open and I step back into the suite, my bare feet silent on the blood-stained carpet.
Daniil’s there, three filled body bags now stacked against the wall like discarded props. He’s wiping his hands on a towel he must’ve found behind the bar, his dark suit still looks pristine despite the carnage. His gray eyes flick to me, and I feel them like a touch, tracing the lines of my body in the black dress, lingering on the damp strands of hair framing my face.
“You’re ready,” he says, voice low, rough, like he’s tasting the words. “We’d better move. My clean up guy is on the way, but they'll notice the guards missing soon.” He tosses the towel aside, stepping over Andrey’s corpse without a glance, and grabs my suitcase.
My heart’s hammering, but I nod, my throat tight with the realization that I’m tying my fate to this stranger, this killer who looks at me like I’m both his salvation and his ruin.
We slip out of the suite, the hallway eerily quiet, the gold leaf on the door glinting like a mocking farewell. Daniil moves like he owns the shadows, guiding me toward a service elevator at the far end, his hand firm on the small of my back. The heat of his touch burns through my dress, and I fight the urge to lean into it, to let his strength anchor me.
The elevator’s dingy, all scuffed metal and flickering lights, a stark contrast to the hotel’s gaudy luxury. He punches a button, and we descend, the silence between us thick with unspoken questions. I clutch the strap of my small purse, the one thing I grabbed besides the suitcase, my fingers brushing the outline of my phone inside. I could call my cousins, beg for their protection, but the thought sours in my gut.
The elevator opens to a dimly lit corridor, the doors at the far end open to what looks like a back alley. The air is sharp with the stink of garbage and exhaust fumes. Daniil’s car waits, a sleek black thing that looks built for speed, not comfort. He tosses my suitcase in the trunk and opens the passenger door, his eyes scanning the shadows like he’s expecting trouble. I slide in, the leather cool against my thighs, and he’s behind the wheel in seconds, the engine purring to life. We peel out, the city lights blurring past as he weaves through streets I don’t recognize, his hands steady on the wheel, knuckles white.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice softer than I want, betraying the nerves clawing at my chest.
He glances at me, that feral grin flashing in the dark. “My place,” he says. “You’ll be safe there, Sienna. For now, at least.”
The drive’s a blur, my mind spinning with the weight of what I’ve done, what I’m doing. We pull into an underground garage, the gate sliding shut behind us with a heavy clang that feels like a door closing on my old life. Daniil grabs my suitcase again, leading me to a private elevator that hums us upward, the numbers climbing too fast.
