Page 39 of The Bratva’s Captive Flame

Mishka's loading a vest of his own. "I put Tim and Gregov on the lab, Boss." Mishka is quickly becoming the only one in this place I trust fully. I should have always had him playing the role Sergei is playing now, but I had my doubts. Now I have regrets.

"Yeah, the lab is the one place that doesn't get thinned out. Whatever else we strip down, that basement stays heavy." I sling the rifle across my back. "That old man is the whole reason any of this is happening. If the Cartel ever works out we've got Solano's chemist sitting under my roof, Lichtenberg's going to look like kindness. Nobody outside this room knows he's down there. Nobody—and I'm not asking."

"Understood," Mishka says.

Sergei nods too, reaching past me for another magazine. I watch him now with skepticism swelling in my chest. The man's been useful since the day he landed, feeding me intel and working hard. One simple fuck up and now I'm doubting him. But it wasn’t a small thing he did. He touched my property. I'm not sure how to feel about that.

"We move in ten minutes," I tell the two of them, pulling a strap tight across my chest. "We're not letting Solano walk away thinking they're winning."

Mishka racks his weapon and gives me a short nod. Sergei rolls his shoulders and pulls a vest down for himself.

"The Cartel thinks we're slow," I say. "They think that because we're new here, but we'll show them—new is not weak. We're going to remind this whole city that we're the ones in charge."

I check the last buckle and turn to walk out. Two of my men are coming home in boxes tonight as a result of what I did to help Isabela. Sebastian had to know this was going to happen. No way in hell the Solano Cartel was going to let us steal their chemist and walk away clean. We made the first strike in a war we have to fight, because if we don't, Solano's crew is going to wipe the Roshins off the face of the planet and all my hard work will have been for nothing.

21

ISABELA

It's late and I can't sleep. I've been lying here for hours wanting to go see my father but afraid that Sergei will once again intercept me, and this time, no one will be around to stop him. So I lie in Demin's bed staring at the swirls on the textured ceiling wishing he were here.

My heart has been back and forth on what to think of all this for days now. When I climbed into that crate, I didn't know what to expect or what would happen. I had one thing on my mind and that was getting my father out of that walled compound so they'd stop beating him. I pictured some rich man at the other end of the shipping route who would help me.

What actually happened has been mildly traumatizing, though we did get Papa out of there. He's safe here, albeit still caged, but at least I know Demin isn't beating him and starving him.

And the mystery of this man whose bed I lie in is so tangled around my heart, I'm not sure what to think of it. I want more than anything to know what the hell is actually going through his mind, what he thinks of me and why he claims to own me now. We know so little about each other, and sex isn’t enough to build a relationship on. This possessiveness could be a dangerous thing, but he hasn't harmed me either.

But it's late and I'm tired. I want to sleep, but just as I start to doze off, I hear voices outside the door. I can tell one of them is Bart. I've heard him speaking enough to recognize his tone. But the other man I can't pick out. There are so many guards, though I can tell who Demin's favorites are, that sometimes, I fear running into another man like Sergei.

Tonight, however, when they speak, I'm not fearful of one of them coming into this room to harm me. I'm curious.

I slip out of bed and walk over to the door, pressing my ear against the wood. I know by the tone of their voices that whatever they're saying isn't good. It makes my shoulders draw tight and my eyes shut to block out other senses so I can hear better.

"…burned down. I guess Solano got away again." Bart sounds angry, and the other man replies hastily.

"Shit, man… Yuri's dead?" He sounds shocked, maybe a little scared too. I remember the name Yuri, one of the guards who has walked me to and from dinner a time or too. He's dead? So, what's going on?

I press my ear harder, straining to understand.

"…Boss is coming back now. He'll be here any second. I'm sure he'll have details, but yeah, Yuri is gone… another one too." Now Bart sounds heavy. I'm sure they have relationships with these men, but why did they die? And what burned down?

When I hear footsteps approaching, I pull back from the door, not sure who it is. So someone attacked Demin's men and a few died, and something got burned down. That's where he's been and why he's not in bed with me right now.

My hand unconsciously lifts to my mouth and I chew my nails as I pace across the room and glance out the window. There are lights outside, someone's car, and men moving around it. I think Demin is home now, and if they've had some sort of attack, he’s probably out there fighting, maybe getting shot at.

It makes fear creep across the back of my shoulders and neck, causing hair to rise on my arms. I heard Bart mention Solano too, which means somehow, this is retaliation for what happened. God, I'm so stupid. Of course.

Javier is pissed that Demin waltzed right into the Cartel compound and stole my father right out from under their noses. There's no way he was ever going to leave that like it was without fighting back. They have no way to cook their drugs now. They've lost a lot of money and they're losing more every day that my father works for the Roshins instead of them. Of course, they were always going to come.

And I know exactly how scary Javier's men are. They have killed men right in front of me for fun, shot dogs in the compound for sport. They're evil and they are trained and armed. If they're coming after Demin it means⁠—

The door swings open, revealing Demin. He looks exhausted and filthy. His face and hands are covered in soot, white shirt stained black with filth. He glances at me as he shuts the door but says nothing as he struts to the bathroom.

As he passes, I see blood streaking down his arm, soaked through his shirt like when he took that bullet in Madrid. A stab of fear tears through my chest, and I rush after him, following him into the bathroom where he's already half naked. I see the wound on his bicep, just a graze of a bullet or a scrape of something sharp, but it's a wound.

"You're injured," I mumble, feeling tears well up. This is my fault. He wasn't at war when I came to him. I brought this fucking fight to his doorstep—me, because I wanted my father out of that compound and safe, and now Demin is fighting the battle against Solano that Papa was fighting with fists.

"I'm fine," he grumbles, turning away from me as he strips his pants off. I'm not sure how to approach this topic, but the jolt of adrenaline that shot through me when I saw that wound reveals something to my heart I've been in denial about. I care about this man. I care whether he is safe or upset, and the idea of his being injured and not coming back here scares me.