Page 9 of The Cold Bratva King and His Forced Curvy Bride

“Overprotective?” She looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Freya, this isn’t normal. You need to call the police.”

“No police.” The words come out too fast, too harsh. I soften my tone, trying to reassure her. “Davina, please. Just trust me. Go home, lock your door, and pretend you never saw that car. I’ll handle this.”

She looks at the SUV, then back at me. I see the fear warring with her loyalty. Finally, she nods.

“If you’re not at brunch tomorrow, I’m coming back with a shotgun,” she warns.

“I’ll be there,” I promise.

I usher her out and lock the door behind her, leaning my forehead against the cool wood. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.

I wait until I see her walk down the street, turn the corner, and disappear. Then I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and walk back to the window.

The SUV is still there.

I don’t hesitate. I definitely don’t let myself think about the stupidity of what I’m about to do. I just grab my keys, stuff my feet into a pair of combat boots, and march out the door.

The night air is biting, nipping at my exposed skin, but I don’t feel the cold. I only feel a singular, burning focus. I cross the street, my boots crunching on the pavement.

The back window of the SUV rolls down as I approach.

I pull the handle and climb into the backseat.

The smell hits me instantly, that familiar scent of leather and cold air. Nikita is sitting there, one arm draped along the back of the seat, looking annoyingly relaxed. He’s changed out of the leather jacket into a dark coat, but the steel-gray eyes are the same. Calculating. Waiting.

“Took you long enough,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “I was about to send up a flare.”

“Go to hell,” I snap, buckling my seat belt with aggressive jerks.

The divider between the front and back seats is up. It’s just the two of us in the dark, confined space.

“I see you kept the ring,” he notes, glancing at my hand.

I shove my hand under my thigh, hiding it. “It’s stuck.”

“Is it?” He smirks, a ghost of a smile that makes my blood boil. “Oh, well.”

“Why are you here, Nikita?” I turn to him, refusing to be intimidated. “Did you come to gloat? To make sure I’m sticking to the script?”

“I’m here because you caused a disruption,” he says, his tone shifting from teasing to business. “You rattled the cage, Freya. Now the animals are restless. My partners are nervous, and my competitors are sensing weakness. You don’t poke a sleeping bear and then act surprised when it wakes up hungry.”

“You’re not a bear,” I spit back. “You’re a parasite. You feed on people like Ayaan and leave nothing but bones.”

His eyes darken. The air in the car suddenly feels heavier, charged with a dangerous voltage.

“Watch your mouth,” he says softly. “You’re in my car, on my time. Remember that.”

“I remember everything,” I say, my voice trembling with rage. “I remember how you ruined my life tonight. I remember how you put that ring on my finger like you own me.”

“I do own you,” he corrects, leaning forward. His face inches from mine, close enough that I can see the darker ring of gray around his iris. “The moment you stepped into my world, you became mine. You wanted to play a game? Congratulations. You’re on the board.”

I glare at him, refusing to back down. “Where is he?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb. Ayaan.” I point at his hand, the ring catching the light from the streetlamp outside. “You have his ring. Where is my brother?”

Nikita looks at the ring, his expression unreadable. For a second, I think I see a flicker of something—regret? Annoyance?—but it’s gone before I can identify it.