Second Best (Volkov Bratva 1)

I ran my fingers through my hair. Talking like this didn’t come naturally to me, and seeing the pain in her eyes renewed my rage. “I can’t promise your life is going to be easy, but I will do everything I can to make you love this life.”

“Will you be happy?” Aurora asked.

I was confused. “Me?”

“Yes. Will you be happy with me?”

“Have I given you the impression I’m not?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No.”

“Then I’m going to be happy.” I kissed her head. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. I just, I don’t know what came over me. I’ve been getting so emotional lately for no reason at all. I don’t understand it.” She shrugged. “This … wedding. I don’t know what it’s doing to me, but it’s like I can’t stop the pain, and it’s morphing into anger. I’ve never felt this way before.”

There was no one around, and the last thing I wanted to do was join the wedding party again. Adelaide had stuck by my wife, pulling her away from me. I’d never thought I was the jealous type until Aurora. “Talk to me.”

She sighed. “You know most of it. My dad offering me in place of my sister. Not even asking me what I wanted. Years and years of not measuring up. Of being second best.” Tears swam in her eyes, but I recognized another emotion, anger. I’d rarely seen it in Aurora’s eyes. “Adelaide feels something similar. It’s not exact, but it’s close. The pain is like more than she can bear. She doesn’t know if she’s terrified of her new husband, or angry that she is just a replacement for Bethany.”

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. “All my life, all I’ve ever been is second best to my sister to everyone around me, including my own family. I’ve been gone nearly ten months and other than one dinner, no calls. No celebration. Nothing.” Tears fell from her eyes, and she spun away from me. “Just ignore me. I don’t know what’s wrong. This is all too much.”

I knew what to do.

Taking her hand, I led her out of the wedding party, away from any prying eyes. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and called Ivan.

“We’re leaving the party early.”

“Did I give you permission for it?” Ivan asked.

I didn’t even hesitate. I kept on walking. “My woman needs me.”

I hung up my cell phone but sent a quick text to my men waiting at the hotel.

“Wait, what about Adelaide?”

“She’s got people. I’m taking you. No questions asked.”

The driver was smoking as we approached, leaning on the car, glancing down at his cell phone. He laughed before looking up, and the cigarette was gone, cell phone away, and the door was held open for us.

I told him to take us to our hotel.

“Slavik, what’s going on?”

“Trust me.” I took her hands, kissing the knuckles.

My cell phone went off, and I pulled it from my pocket.

Ivan: Tell her about the baby.

I didn’t know why my boss was meddling. Ivan rarely interfered. This was the first time I’d kept anything from him.

“Are you okay?” Aurora asked.

She’d been having a meltdown but asked about my well-being. This woman, she was … I had no words. Cupping her face, I tilted her head toward me and brushed my lips against hers.

She moaned my name, kissing me back, and damn it, when did a kiss have to be so addictive? I licked across her lips, sucking the bottom one into my mouth, using my teeth to pull it from between hers.

“Slavik,” she said, moaning louder. Her hand landed on my chest, right above my heart.

Staring into her eyes, I was struck by every single part of her.

The driver came to a stop, and I exited the car. Opening the door, I held her hand, and together, we walked to the elevator.

I wasn’t touching her enough. I tugged her close, wrapping an arm around her waist, keeping her tight to me as was physically possible. Kissing the top of her head, I watched the elevator descend rather than go up.

“Slavik, we’re not going to our room.”

“I know.”

“What’s happening?”

“Trust me.”

She rested against my side, and in the reflection of the doors, I saw her snuggle up against me. No smile teased her lips. She looked sad. I hated it and was about to wipe it from her face.

The doors opened and I stepped out.

As per my instructions to my men, the gym was bare. No one was around.

“Slavik?”

I moved her past the running machines, the weights, toward the far part of the room. A punching bag hung, looking a little worse for wear, but durable.

Mitts waited, and I picked them up, securing them to my wife’s hands.

“I’m not going to fight you. I’d lose.”

“This is not about you fighting me,” I said. “You think I don’t know a thing or two about pain? About rejection? About not measuring up?”