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Now, here they were, once again, only this time, she was being bullied by a man who was far more dangerous. You didn’t hit a brigadier and get away with it unscathed. She should face the consequences. This deal with Sokolov was too important to mess up over a woman, let alone one who meant nothing to him but a means to vent his revenge. Still, that didn’t mean he was going to let her slip through his fingers.
“Vasili can’t have her. She’s mine. She might be a vicious, blood-thirsty witch, but she’s my witch. We have unfinished business.”
A silence filled the room, dropping into every corner, every inch between him and Kristoff. He told himself he was doing it for Vicky. His daughter needed a mother. Also, he wasn’t backing the fuck off. It simply wasn’t in his nature.
Kristoff’s eyes narrowed. “Are you willing to pay the price to keep her?”
Was he? There was only one way to keep her. He’d have to break his vow. Breaking a rule in the Bratva meant a sure and slow death. Breaking a vow wasn’t all that different.
CHAPTER 14
ELENA
Elena paced up and down the carpet. She was stuffed back in the room she’d woken up in after she injured a Bratva soldier. Vasili had grabbed her first. Hit her first. Was going to do much worse, given the chance, but none of that mattered. Not in their world. There, she was just collateral, a nobody. Vasili had demanded her blood, and she had been ushered away by some guy called Yuri, awaiting the fallout ever since. Anxiety rode her hard, making her heart beat as if it were on steroids.
Being a lioness was great when you were in a jungle and were top dog. Not so much when you were imprisoned inside a fortress filled with burly men carrying guns. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
When was she going to learn? The best-case scenario was they would kill her. The worst-case was she’d be gift-wrapped and handed over to that beast. She just hoped Vicky wouldn’t find out. Surely Viking would make sure their daughter wouldn’t become a witness to her downfall.
Just thinking of him made her ache. His eyes had been blazing when he’d entered the living room. The thinly-veiled rage on his face had taken her aback. Even being surrounded by all those men, sitting on top of a coffee table, her eyes had immediately found him. Crazy as it might sound, she had felt safe in his presence. More stupid thoughts.
Everyone’s eyes had been glued to the man on Viking’s right. From the way people viewed him, and the way he had sent Katya away, that must have been Kristoff Romanov. The absolute lack of emotion in his eyes had actually made her thankful for the rage in Viking’s. He might be volatile and pissed off, but at least he felt something. He was human. She wasn’t so sure about the Romanov guy. Sure, he looked all fancy in his black suit, but there was something about him that gave her the chills.
The door opened with a bang. She looked up, hoping for it to be Katya. Sadly, it was Baran. She’d seen walls that looked less hard than his face. Her heart leaped into her throat.
“Put on your shoes.”
“Why?”
He shook his head and gave her a disgruntled look. “Don’t put on your shoes. Like I care. Let’s go.”
“Wait. Where are you taking me?” she asked, as she grabbed her sneakers from the floor. Wherever they were going, she had no intention of showing up with bare feet.
“Somewhere you don’t deserve to be,” he said vaguely.
“Well, that clears it up,” she snapped back as she tied her laces.
“Let me put it like this, Viking’s being merciful. You should be thankful,” Baran claimed.
“Merciful? Sticking me in a wine cellar for days and then in here seems merciful to you?”
“My ancestors would have done much worse.”
“Ancestors, you say? Were they perhaps related to Attila the Hun?”
He frowned, looking surprised. “Actually, yes, they were. In the Ottoman empire, traitors like you were impaled or strangled. I suggested it to the big guy, but he hasn’t taken to it yet.” He shrugged. “He might if he survives today.”
Survives? She didn’t know whether he was serious or not.
Baran opened the door and suddenly she came face-to-face with Viking. He had been waiting in the hall, hands crossed before him, his face stone cold.
He put a hand on her lower back while they walked, as if afraid she’d run if he didn’t hold her.
Viking took her downstairs, passing a library and the kitchen. He suddenly stopped in front of a door. Was this it then? Was he delivering her to her death by his own hand? Nerves had a field day in her stomach, making her nauseous.
“Listen to me carefully,” Viking ordered. “Your life depends on it. As soon as we enter that room, you will look down. We get in there and you keep your eyes to the floor.”
He really expected her to go down without a fight, like a lamb willingly led to her slaughter?
