Broken Bride (Belaya Bratva 2)

I didn’t want her to die. I wanted her by my side. Forever.

And now that she had shared her horrors with me, her deepest, darkest secrets, I felt like I owed her one as well.

There was only one secret that I hadn’t told anyone. Anatoly was aware of what had happened, but he hadn’t heard how deep I had been in and how much I had suffered afterward.

Only my wife should know my vulnerability.

When her sobs finally quieted, I pulled back to gaze at her beautiful face.

“I’m so sorry,” I told her again, brushing my thumbs over her wet cheeks. “You believe me, right?”

My chest caved when she nodded, her breath hitching. “I do,” she said softly. “Please don’t punish Ivan or Vera. They only tried to stop me.”

It had been in my thoughts to do just that, but I decided that Naomi had had a damn good reason to run, and I only wished that I had been there when Jon had shown up.

“I won’t,” I promised her.

Relief shone in her eyes as she stepped back from my touch. “I’m sorry I caused such a mess of it all.”

“This isn’t your fault,” I reminded her. “No woman should be held accountable for being roofied. Any man that does it isn’t a fucking man.”

“Jon will cause trouble,” she warned me. “He’s not going to rest until he has me.”

“You are mine,” I said tightly. “And nothing is going to change that.” Not this shit with her stalker or anything else. Naomi was mine.

Her face softened and I swallowed, fighting the urge to kiss her, to wipe the memory of what she had endured out of her mind.

“I appreciate you sharing your story with me,” I told her, reaching up to brush the hair out of her face. “And now it’s time for me to tell you one of my own. Will you listen?”

She looked at me, surprise flaring in her depths. “I—yes.”

I held out my hand. “Then come and sit with me.” I needed to hold her as I told her this tale. It wasn’t going to come easily for me, but it was going to be much harder on her. How she would see me afterward, I didn’t know, but she needed to know where I came from.

Why I couldn’t trust her or any other woman, and why my soul was black as night.

Naomi took my hand and I led her over to the leather sofa, seating us both. She didn’t flinch as I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her to me until she was leaning on my shoulder, my hand tangled in her hair.

“Promise me,” I murmured against her temple. “That you will listen to my entire story, just like I have yours.”

The last thing I needed was for her not to understand and only see the horrors in my story instead of why I had done what I did.

Naomi burrowed deeper into my body, as if she was drawing warmth from it. “I promise.”