Page 79 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

OLIVIA

I bang on the windows until my hands are red and throbbing. But the men standing guard around my jeep are completely unmoved by my pleas. When I yell that I’ll bribe them to set me free, I get a big, fat group laugh. Otherwise, nothing.

Assholes, the lot of them.

The back windows of the jeep are tinted, so I see everything through a dark sheen. But I do notice my brother drive up. I’m too far away and too well-hidden for him to notice, but I scream his name all the same.

All I can do is sit and wait.

That is, until the side door flies open and I find myself staring at the sour-faced righthand that Aleks seems to rely on.

“You,” I hiss.

Demyan smiles sympathetically. “You’ve got some lungs on you.”

I move towards the door, but he throws his arm out and forces me to a stop. “Hold on. I just opened the door to give you a breather. We haven’t been called yet.”

“Do you always wait until you’re called?” I ask.

“Where Aleks is concerned, yeah. Do I look stupid to you?”

“My brother is in there.”

“I’m aware.”

“He came alone,” I point out. “Just like he said he would.”

“Sure thing, princess.”

“Fuck you. Don’t call me that.”

He just laughs. “Huh, would ya look at that? The princess swears. It’s actually kinda hot.”

Compared to Aleks, this man is a wisp in the wind. He’s my height, give or take an inch or two, and far too skinny.

But there’s something intimidating about him all the same, and it’s got nothing to do with the tattoos that cover both his arms and most of his neck.

Maybe it’s that dark calculation in his blue eyes. Or the way they seem too light—eerily light—compared to his raven-black hair.

“I have to see my brother.”

“You will see him when Aleks says you will.”

“Jesus!” I cry in frustration. “Does he have all your balls in a vise?”

Demyan chuckles. “Pretty much. It comes with the title.”

I study him curiously. “And you’re okay with that? Doing his bidding like some trained dog?”

He turns those scary blue eyes on me. “You trying to manipulate me, honey?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

He laughs under his breath. “Not even a little bit. Manipulation never works on the confident.”

“Who taught you that?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

“Who do you think?”

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