Page 132 of Dark Promise (Suvorov Bratva 1)

A flash. A thunder. Smell of smoke.

Jonas slumps against Kostya and Gennadiy.

I don’t flinch. I don’t feel a thing. All I notice is how bright the blood looks as it spatters the eggshell-white wall. The liquid shimmers, beads, and slowly crawls to the carpet.

Oh, that luscious white carpet—clean and crisp. The longer it soaks into the carpet, the harder it will be to get rid of it.

I look at my brother and see his head tilting back, dragging his body to the ground like somebody had cut the strings to a marionette. He crumples in on himself—like I imagine I must each time I suffer his rage.

A round black hole sits in the center of his forehead. Other than the tiny bit of blood that drips from it, it seems so tiny a wound. Almost as if someone has painted it on.

I’m distantly aware of the crime shows I used to binge with him where they used words likeexit woundandtime of death.

It all seems silly now.

Jonas’s body slumped in a heap on the ground.

It’s not real. It never was real.

It’s real.

And I don’t feel a goddamn thing.

Epilogue

Zoya

Nausea rouses me from my sleep and sends me running to the bathroom. I drop to my knees and do what I’ve done a million times, praying to a porcelain god who probably would laugh at me if he actually existed.

Again?he’ll tease.You’ve turned drinking into an Olympic sport, haven’t you?

My cheeks burn as my nausea doubles, causing me to grip the seat. It’s early. Jonashatesbeing woken up early. He’s going to march in here any second and chide me about it. It’s hard to puke quietly, yet I try my best, muting my gags as much as possible.

But even if he does walk in here, it’s easy to handle. Literally a piece of cake. A few words of praise here, a little dick sucking there, and he’s right back to his usual good mood. His brilliant mind is always clouded by some sort of aggravation. It just needs to be soothed by a good woman.

A woman like me.

When my fit passes, I flush the toilet. Once for the contents and twice for the remainder. I stare at the bowl, watching the clear water swirl into the drain. I flush the toilet again.

Satisfied, I wash my hands and brush my teeth. I fluff my hair, knowing that he loves it when I have that bedhead look. I’m on my way back to the bedroom when I get the urge to vomit again.

Well,that’sunusual.

As soon as I’m okay again, I check the calendar on my phone.Your period is late. Shaky fingers tuck the phone into the rear pocket of my jeans. I check the bedroom, the bathroom, and then the dingy main area of the apartment. Nobody is home.

Good.

I grab my purse and hightail it to the CVS on the corner.

March home. Drop the bag. Stare at the tests.

This is justgreat. I have no idea how Jonas is going to feel. I don’t even know howI’mgoing to feel about this. But that’s not really the important part.

It’s him I’m worried about. It’s his rise to the throne that matters.

And my secure seat right beside him, too.

I pluck the test from the counter and tear the packaging. I take three for good measure and line them up, anxiety simmering in my stomach.

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