Page 40 of Bratva Queen

“Shit!” I cursed, then lifted my hand. Blood dripped from the small but deep cuts. I could feel stinging sensations on my butt, as well, since the glass was all over the carpet where I fell. “Stepan!” I cried out again, looking up at him. “Is this what you call safe?” I wanted to yell louder and scream and fight back, but my mother was in the house. Though far away, on the main floor below us, I still didn’t want to alert her.

It was as though cold water had crashed over Stepan’s head when he saw the blood, and he sobered immediately. “Isabel…” he started. “I… I’m sorry.”

I felt myself tear up. Not because of him—he couldn’t hurt my feelings—but because of the situation that triggered childhood fears and the deep stinging pains in my hand. Blood seeped and threatened to stain the Persian carpet, so I cupped my hands together and tried to stand up.

“Here,” Stepan reached forward to help me. He held my arm where he’d bruised it, and I flinched. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he quickly said, and took my elbow instead.

I stood up and looked around my body; there were definitely a few little cuts on my ass cheek as well—I could see the spots of blood on my soft pink sweatpants. Stepan led me around the mess and followed me to the bathroom. I wanted to tell him to leave me the hell alone. I wanted to shove him onto the glass as well. I wanted to kick him in the chest and send him flying over the furniture.

But I didn’t. I had to keep my cool, collect my thoughts, and use my intelligence to figure out the best way of handling this kind of situation because it would definitely happen again.

I put my hand under the water and hissed when it hit the cuts. “Get me the tweezers, over there,” I said to Stepan, and he quickly found them.

“Here, let me, please?” he asked, his eyes now turned from demonic to babyish and pleading. I swallowed my anger, then nodded and held my hand out. He put his palm gently under my hand and lifted it to the light, to begin pulling out little shards of glass.

“I, um… I’ll need your help here, as well.” I turned my side and let him see the small spots of blood on my pants.

He sighed, closing his eyes. “Of course, baby.”

I didn’t know how deep his remorse went, but he was definitely regretting his actions. He looked more guilty than the previous time, and it gave me the smallest bit of hope that maybe his love for me would prevent further nights like this.

Maybe.

He helped me to remove my clothing carefully and made quick work of pulling out the few shards in my butt cheek. He turned the shower on and held his hand under the water until it was the right temperature, then guided me inside.

As I let the water flow over me, washing the blood off but trying to keep the cuts out of the water, Stepan pulled his shirt off. I looked over at him, his muscular body was rippling as he reached over the sink and began to brush his teeth. His eyes didn’t leave me the entire time. He was doing it for me. He was trying. He then pulled his pants off and approached the shower.

“May I?”

I nodded, watching him step in and only just graze my naked body as he stood under the fall of the water and washed himself. Only once he was fully clean, no longer smelling of booze and smoke, did he touch me.

I let him… and it was loving. It was soft, slow, and good. He was making up for what he’d done, and not because he was horny but because he was giving me the attention and love I needed after a scene like that.

Later, I lay awake with a bandage wrapped around my palm and fingered it gently, thinking about how I’m still so young—only 21. How can my life be determined already? How can there be no way out of this life I’ve been forced into? It started with one lap dance, to put food on the table and allow my brother to finish his schooling.

My brother, who isn’t even here anymore.

Women my age are out there still figuring out what they want to do with their lives. Here I am, already knowing what I want to do, but being told that I can’t do it. That college and degrees and proper business education are just not on the cards for me. Look at what happens if I refuse a mere kiss.

Aleksei is right; if I refuse to marry Stepan, if I plan to run away and find a better life, Stepan will find me. And then, he will kill me.

* * *

“And in thenext few weeks… I realized I was pregnant.”

“Oh, shit,” Dmitry said, transfixed by my story.

“Hey,” Misha swatted his arm. “That’s me she’s talking about. Right?” He looked at me and I chuckled.

“Yes.”

“Sorry,” Misha added, “I don’t mean to try and romanticize your experiences with our father, I just meant—”

“I know, Misha,” I said lightly and smiled. “I have no regrets that I had children with Stepan.”

“So…” Ivan began with a sad tone to his voice. “That meant even if you wanted to run away, you had to stay and marry Stepan because you were carrying his son?”

I nodded. “Exactly. I mean, if it was only me leaving him, that’s one thing. But if I left and took not only his right-hand man with me but his first Koslov heir?” I shook my head. “There would be no hiding from him.”

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