Page 77 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“She’ll fight you.”

“Good,” I smirk. “I like her fight. It’s very entertaining.”

“See?” Demyan says. “Dangerous.”

“Miranda really did a number on you.”

The smile drops dead on his face. “This has nothing to do with Miranda.”

“The fuck it doesn’t. You loved the woman and she left you,” I snap. I know I’m being hard on him, but he can take it. “So you decide to be down on all women because you anticipate the heartbreak they’re going to leave in their wake.”

“Way to make me sound like a pussy. Have you been watching Dr. Phil again?”

I smile. “Am I wrong?”

“Fine, maybe I’m bitter. But it’s only because I changed who I was for her. I was loyal to her the entire time, and it still wasn’t enough.” He grimaces. “My point is, that girl in there? She’s no different from Miranda. She’s a normal girl who is used to a normal life. She’s never going to be content with our world.”

“I hear you, sobrat. But I have no intention of having her be part of our world. Like I’ve said before, she’s nothing more than a means to an end.”

Demyan holds his hand up to his earpiece as new intel comes in. “He’s almost here.”

“Got it,” I nod, putting on my own earpiece. “Disappear, all of you.”

My men leave immediately. Demyan is the last one to go. “We’ll survey the perimeter, make sure they can’t close in on us.”

I nod. “No one gets near that jeep, understood? I’m not done with her yet.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “that’s what I’m worried about.” Then he disappears through the back door.

Half a minute later, I hear an engine stop right outside.

Showtime.

Olivia’s brother walks in with a menacing swagger that makes an impression, even if it doesn’t wholly impress. The wound I left on his forehead has now turned into a faint scar.

“Robert,” I say, greeting him like an old friend. “Nice of you to join me.”

“You’re early,” he mutters with a scowl.

“As are you.”

“Where is my sister?”

“Safe,” I tell him. “For now.”

“I want to speak to her.”

“If you play your cards right, I’ll do you one better: I’ll let you see her.”

He moves into the room, but stops several feet in front of me. I can tell he has a gun on him. Which is fine. I’ve got two on me.

But even if I wasn’t armed, I’ve won bigger battles with a lot less.

“Have you hurt her?”

“Define ‘hurt.’”

His fists tighten at his sides. “If you’ve laid one hand on her, I’m going to—”

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