The Bratva's Bride (Wicked Doms 2)

“No,” I plead, knowing even as I speak that he won’t back down now. That he will have the truth from me, even if it kills both of us. But before he punishes me further, his phone rings. I hear him answer it quickly, as if he’s looking for an excuse not to do this. Maybe he is.

He speaks in rapid Russian, so angrily and fiercely, I can barely make out his words.

I listen hard as he slows his speech, still speaking in Russian. I need to know what’s happening, but I can understand only bits and pieces. “Calina stands in front of me. I have her here. It is not possible she’s with you.”

Oh, God. Oh, no. They have Calina. They found Calina and soon he’s going to know I’m not her. He will punish me for lying, and our lives are at stake.

A deep coldness floods through me at his next word. He says one question loud and clear.

“Sestra?”

Sister.

He walks out of the room, and I hear nothing else.

He knows. He fucking knows.

What happens now?

Seconds tick by into minutes. I don’t know how long I’m held here, suspended and throbbing, waiting to hear what happens next. My mind is spinning, trying to formulate a plan, but how can I? What does he know? And why does he think I called Amaranov’s son?

Unless… Oh, God.

Unless he knows something about Glen I don’t?

We met a few years ago, but we don’t share family history. As hackers, it’s safer that way. The less we know of each other, the better. But why… Then my mind goes to Demyan and Calina. He said sister.

When Demyan walks back in the room, there’s a look of weary resignation on his face--no, worse. Tortured. Anguished. A pained, pinched expression that makes him look so much older than he is.

When he walks to me I freeze, not knowing if he’ll resume my punishment.

What happens now?

When he reaches me he unfastens my cuffs and spins me around to look at him. I collapse against him, so exhausted from this ordeal. I’m shaking.

He holds me to his chest.

“You aren’t Calina,” he says. “Are you?”

He knows the truth. There’s no reason for me to hide anything from him now. I endured punishment and pain and I betrayed his trust. For what?

It’s over. He knows the truth.

I shake my head. “I’m not.”

“Why?” he whispers, shaking his head. “You gave me everything. Your body to punish. To fuck. You were prepared to lay down your very life for your sister.”

“How do you know?” I ask. “Please don’t hurt her, Demyan. Please.”

I look into his eyes and beg him for mercy I know he could grant. “She doesn’t know what she did. She can’t bear the punishment I’ve taken. It would break her, Demyan. She’s convinced it was your brotherhood that killed our father. She thought she was getting revenge. She wanted answers. She didn’t know what she was doing.” I continue, pleading for mercy. “Please, sir. Please listen. I’ve taken her punishment and will continue to, for as long as you see fit. Please don’t punish my sister.”

A shadow crosses his face.

“It’s too late,” he says. I can’t read his gaze. He’s distant and cold, even as he holds me. “They found her,” he says. “Amaranov’s son brought her to him. Why? I don’t know.” His voice hardens. “He will have to tell you, since you’re such good friends.”

“Are you telling me that Glen is Amaranov’s son?”

Demyan nods, giving me a wary look before he releases me. I stumble a little before I get my footing.

“He is. And you’re telling me honestly you did not know?”

I shake my head.

“Amaranov has two sons. One was the man who came here and killed Anatoly.”

And then I remember. I remember the day that man came here, I recognized him. I couldn’t remember why or how I knew him, but I know now.

Glen’s brother.

He was his brother. Glen had one picture he saved. It sat on his mantle, and I know now that’s why I recognized him.

“Wait. Who found her?” I ask. “Is Calina okay?”

Demyan frowns at me. “When your friend took her to Amaranov, Amaranov tried to take advantage of her. He thought she was you, of course.” He spit the words out. “Just like we all did. She fought and tried to hurt him. Amaranov’s men shot her.”

“No,” I whisper. “No.”

But he isn’t listening to me. He’s still fixated on what he’s done.

“I punished the wrong person,” he whispers. “I hurt you. I took advantage of you, thinking you were another.”

His face is pained when he grimaces in self-loathing.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he says. “I hope one day you can forgive me.” Closing his eyes briefly, he swallows hard before he continues. “You must leave,” he says. “I will give you money and take you anywhere you need to go. You are not mine to keep. I have no claim on you. You do not belong to me.”