Page 7 of Bought By Sin

The Hernandez wasn’t leaving here alive. But her? I debated whether it would be a waste to end her life. The life of a fighter. A survivor. Someone clearly brave enough to face the worst odds.

With the hell of Uncle Dmitri slowly dying and the threat of Gregori looming large, I was losing my edge. I was caught up in the stress of too many unknowns. All the unpredictable variables in my life threw me out of control. Witnessing this woman’s defiance spoke to me.

I envied that stalwart stubbornness that kept her from breaking.

I coveted that stone-cold seriousness that suggested she’d either be naïve or courageous enough to tackle any trouble that she encountered.

Who the hell are you to be this defiant?

What have you gone through to be this strong and resolute?

Further back in my mind, I wanted to question how I could do the same in regard to the storms brewing in my family. How could I strive to be just as defiant? What would it take for me to be bold and not falter?

Dean stayed back as I approached the woman. Tuning out the rapid-fire exchange of Spanish between the Hernandez smuggler and the Garcia runner, I focused on her, this raw beauty that could shine and sparkle without the grit that was an accessory to her hard life. This stubborn soul who didn’t whine, cry, or flee.

Placing one foot in front of the other, I closed in on her. Like a predator, I sized her up. Like a stalker, I zeroed in on her such that she had to mark my presence and know that I, too, was a threat on the horizon.

I’d come here under the binding factor of the Volkov Bratva and Garcia Cartel being partners and allies again. If she was an indirect member under the umbrella of the Hernandez outfit, then she had to be the enemy too.

She didn’t look like it, though. She didn’t appear to be attached to this situation. Maybe that was how all slaves and bought runners had to be. Indifferent. Apart.

Every inch that brought me closer to her sharpened my intrigue. And every second that ticked by felt like a loss, like I’d need innumerable minutes to study her and analyze how she could be this sturdy and defiant.

Still, she didn’t move. She didn’t speak. But as I drew nearer, a slight shift of her eyes proved that she was tracking my closing in on her. I lifted my hand in the direction of the Garcia runner who argued with the Hernandez. Even though I wasn’t his boss, I was the boss, the highest-ranking individual here. I wasn’t a lowly runner. I was under the direct supervision of Adrik as he stood in as Pakhan. Royalty, if anyone wanted to use such terminology for my crime family.

That simple movement of my hand was all it took for the Garcia to retreat. He wouldn’t dare question my request for space. He wouldn’t disrespect my wishes, not only because of who I was but also because of the recovering friendship between my Bratva and his Cartel.

As he backed up a few steps, he maintained his aim on the woman. No longer jamming the end of the barrel of his gun against the smooth, tanned skin of her forehead, he kept her in his sights. Several feet yawned between him and her, but it wasn’t as though he’d shoot with me partly in the way. He gave me the clearance to approach her so that she’d address the threat I’d offer her. Not him.

She wasn’t free. Not even close. Without that tunnel-vision style of death looming over her, though, she could consider me. Cool blue eyes narrowed on me as she squinted under the sun’s brightness. Her pink lips, slightly chapped, remained pressed in a thin line of disapproval. Of anger? Of wretched hopelessness that she despised? I couldn’t tell. But as I stood here with her and studied her, I became not the predator but the prey. I fell prey to the spell of needing to know all there was to learn about her. About how she could embody such a flawless strength and unwavering defiance.

She didn’t hide. Didn’t cower. Didn’t duck or let her short wavy bob of hair shroud her face.

And it still wasn’t enough.

I had to know her.

Feel her.

Tame her.

And get her to submit to me, just in case that could enable me to experience some semblance of control again.

Dean told the men to shut up. In the sudden silence that followed in this patch of the desert that baked us, I drew in a deep breath and knew that my life was about to change.

For better or worse, I could not walk away from this gorgeous fighter.

“Tell me,” I said to her, keeping my voice kind of quiet so she’d be the only one to hear me. “Would you rather be free in death? Or under my ownership?”

There were two options. She’d either be killed with this cocky asshole behind her, or she’d live and leave this place with me.

Her eyes immediately slitted further. Scowling at me, she refused to answer. That stubbornness wasn’t an act. It was the bedrock of her identity. Mute and not giving me a response, it seemed like she was deferring to my choice on the matter.

“Lev?” Dean asked, stepping one foot toward me.

He would no doubt want to know what the fuck I was doing. What I was thinking. I wasn’t like Maksim, who he usually worked with on smuggling arrangements and shipping. My cousin was a problem solver and too strategic in all he did. I wasn’t like Carina, his wife, either. She was the expert in all things to do with the Cartels.

I was winging this, and if Dean or anyone else were to ask, I wasn’t entirely sure why I was meddling like this at all. I’d been asked to show up as a backup because I was the enforcer. We should’ve killed these two and left ten minutes ago.