The Fixer (Chicago Bratva 2)

“What the hell?” I snap in Russian.

“Keep her away from the window,” he orders my mother, like I’m not even worth explaining things to. His words sound far away, filtered through the echoing in my ears.

I stare at his handprint on my arm in shock. “What did you do?” I ask my mother.

She cups my face. “I killed you. You’re dead now. You’re free of Maxim and Ravil and their plans for your money. Now it all goes to me—to us!”

“Us?” I ask.

My stomach drops out. My body turns ice cold. I think I always knew my mom had money issues. She loved money but was terrified of losing it. That’s why she put up with my dad—to be kept in luxury. And then her worst fears manifested when he left Vladimir in control of her purse strings. I knew she had these fears, but now I suddenly see her through a new lens. Like when the wicked witch in a fairytale—the one who was beautiful and said all the right things—is suddenly unveiled as an ugly old hag.

“D-did you kill Vladimir?” I ask.

She turns away when she answers, “Don’t be ridiculous,” and I know at once it’s a lie. She did it. Maybe not personally, but she was a part of it. My mother and these two men, Viktor and Alexei, were somehow responsible.

I want to cry, but no tears come out. I’m in too much shock.

“You didn’t have to do this. Maxim would’ve taken care of you,” I say weakly. I think it’s true. She sowed all that doubt—she’s the one who was conniving.

My mother whirls back, anger marring her pretty face. “Would he? I doubt that. This is a man who tried to rape you when you were seventeen.”

I shake my head, nausea hitting my belly. I’m just as bad as my mom. Cut from the same cloth. Taking stupid, desperate measures to prove I’m not as powerless as I feel. “He didn’t. I lied about that. I offered myself, and he refused.” It feels horrible to say it out loud.

I barely get the words out, but they turn all the heads in the room—Alexei lowering the volume on the television as he stares at me. “What a bitch,” he mutters, shaking his head and looking away.

“I wondered why Igor married her to him,” Viktor snorts. “He must’ve known.”

“Well, Maxim won’t get his consolation prize afterall,” Alexei says.

“Too bad for him.” Viktor looks down at the scene below. “Here he is now.”

I rush to the window. Viktor throws out an arm to stop me from getting too close, but I see the scene unfolding below.

Maxim’s Conquest Knight is parked askew at the end of the police barricade. Ravil and Oleg are still climbing out, but Maxim is running down the sidewalk, a cop chasing him. When he gets to the scene and sees the wreckage—the residue of what used to be my car and the two cars parked near mine only partially extinguished by the firemen on the scene—he drops to his knees.

His fists punch the air, his head drops back. I see his mouth open in a howl of rage, and in that moment, I swear I feel his pain like my own.

Like I’d just lost my one true love.

Him.

I don’t think—I just move. “I’m going down there.”

Fuck this. Fuck my mom and her stupid plan to get me free of Maxim. I don’t want to be free. I want him in charge of me and my life and my money. I want him looking out for me, protecting me. Insanely possessive of me.

He’s my man. He’s always been the one.

Viktor grabs me by the hair and yanks me back. I have to frantically stutter step backward to keep from falling on my ass and losing a whole chunk of hair in the crash.

“You’re dead now,” he growls. “You have to stay dead. What do you think Ravil and his cell will do to your sweet mother if they find out what she planned?”

What she planned?

My heart thunders in my chest.

“Viktor!” my mother snaps.

I look at her in disbelief. This is what she brought on us? She thought I’d rather be owned by Viktor over Maxim?

She basically sold us both out to Igor’s lowest two-bit thugs. How long does she think they’ll let us live before they take all the money for themselves? Does she think she can keep Viktor entertained on her back with her legs spread forever?

I doubt she can.

I don’t know if I’m satisfied or dismayed to see her flicker of fear at the way Viktor’s roughing me up. The color drains from her face.

We are both so fucked.

But then she rallies. “Let her go! It’s fine! I can handle her, you don’t have to,” she soothes him.

Viktor yanks my hair harder. “You stay dead. Do you understand?”