Page 137 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

I smile, swallow, and try again. “Okay, how about: I love you?”

“That’s more like it.”

Next thing I know, his lips on mine. If this were a movie, there’d be fireworks and a huge crescendo of the sappiest music you’ve ever heard. Maybe a flock of doves flying through the air and an adoring crowd of bystanders all applauding true love in its truest form.

But this isn’t a movie, so I focus instead on what is actually happening—cars honking as they pass by in the other lane, their drivers rubber-necking to see what the hell happened here. The hissing engine of Walsh’s wrecked car. The breeze tousling my hair and the ache where the chains dug into my skin.

Even more than that though is the man holding me. Gavril tastes sweet and beautiful. His scent—musk and cologne and blood and whiskey all swirling together—fills my nose. His hands keep me close. If he never let me go again, it would still be too soon.

It’s perfect. He’s perfect. The world around us is far from perfect, laughably so, but this right here is all I ever need.

Cue the credits. Happily Ever After in three, two, one…

Wait.

There’s another noise. Not cars honking, not car radiators leaking. It’s something eerier. Grungier. Far, far worse.

It’s the roar of more motorcycles.

Gavril recognizes what that means before I do. He grabs me, hauling me over to his bike, trying to get me seated on the back so we can run before it’s too late. But it’s already too late.

The horde of motorcycles surrounds us. One man at its head comes to a screeching, smoking halt.

Osip grins at us through his metallic Skull helmet as behind him at least ten other Skull Kings brake to a stop and glare.

“Well, fancy seeing you here!”

He throws Walsh a token dismissive glance.

“Guess I should’ve known better than to trust Walsh with something as simple as transporting a chained-up whore.”

Gavril turns slowly to face Osip. “I thought we’d already done this whole song and dance, brother.”

“Turns out there’s another verse, if you’ll forgive the fucked-up metaphor. Besides, I brought you something new.”

A tall bald biker hauls out a body with a red-stained T-shirt. One look and I totter onto Gavril.

God, no. Not Ludmil.

“He’s not dead, only dying.” Osip’s tone is nonchalant, bored, like this is just any other day. “Just a matter of time, really.”

“Why are you here, Osip?” Gavril asks, his voice tense. He steps forward, careful to block me with his body from the scene.

“To finish what I started,” Osip answers, stepping forward too. “To take everything from you. Just how you took everything from me.”

“So that’s it then?” Gavril sounds sad. “No backing down? No settling this any other way?”

Osip sneers. “There is no other way, brother. You made sure of that.”

Gavril nods. “So be it.”

36

Gavril

To think that it all came to this …

My first memory of my brother is of him laughing. I can’t remember how old we were, whether I was five or four, whether it was winter, spring, autumn, or summer. I can’t even remember what the laughter was about.

---