Second Best (Volkov Bratva 1)

I wasn’t betraying Slavik, but with his accusations still ringing in my ear, I couldn’t help but feel like I was.

Other than my family, I’d never sat down with a man. Rarely talked to one that wasn’t my husband or blood related. In fact, Sergei and Ivan were the only two men I’d spoken to in my life.

Sergei put a hand on my foot, and I gritted my teeth, doing everything in my power not to pull away from his touch. My family had drilled into me at a young age that touch by anyone but my husband was bad.

“A man like Slavik has needs. They’re important to him. He’s not the kind of man who is going to enjoy straight sex. He likes it dirty. He’ll find an outlet with a woman who is not his wife.”

So my husband of five months was already cheating on me. I should have known. Why did it hurt so much?

“Have you … met her?”

“No. Men like Slavik are never at a loss for female company.”

I didn’t like the way Sergei rubbed his thumb against my foot.

Quickly, I moved, standing up. “Then I guess I should count my blessings that he’s finding his pleasures elsewhere. Excuse me.”

I left the sitting room and entered our bedroom where we slept side by side most nights. I wrapped my arms around myself. With my back pressed against the closed door, I slid down and stared at the bed.

Sex always sounded so good in the books, but in real life, I couldn’t imagine a woman enjoying herself. It was too … horrible and boring. After the two times I’d had sex, I didn’t care for a repeat performance. I hadn’t enjoyed it.

Running fingers through my hair, I pulled my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on top.

Time ticked by.

The only passing I was aware of was the fading light in the window shining into the room. I didn’t move.

My stomach had stopped growling, and the sickness had also faded.

My marriage was already over. He was screwing someone else. Probably a whole lot of something elses. I shouldn’t care. In fact, I didn’t care.

Then why the hell did my entire core feel like it was being torn in two? It made no sense. Slavik could go and do whatever the hell he wanted. I didn’t care.

The bedroom door was pushed open, and the force had me falling forward. I caught myself before I face-planted the floor.

Slavik entered. “What the fuck is going on here?”

I’d started to notice his accent appeared more pronounced when he was angry.

“Nothing.” I got to my feet and kept my back to him.

I didn’t want him to see me like this. I had to get myself under control.

When he grabbed my arm, I yelled and told him to leave me alone, spinning around to confront him. I wanted to hit him again, but the last time I did, there was a real threat there. This man killed people with his bare hands. I wasn’t a match for him.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asked.

My hands clenched into fists. Had he been with a woman today? Had he fucked her? Had he enjoyed his time with her?

“I don’t have a problem. Just don’t touch me,” I said.

He glared and advanced toward me. I stepped back. I kept on doing this until the edge of the bed met my back and I stumbled, falling. I tried to get up, but Slavik grabbed my arms, pinning me down. “You are my wife. I will touch you if I damn well please!”

I screamed and tried to pull away.

Anger tore out of my throat, but I was no match for him. It would seem I’d never be a match for him as he held me down on the bed.

“Let me go. Get your hands off me.”

“Damn it, Aurora. Stop.”

“I don’t want you touching me with hands that have been on your whore!” I yelled each word, hoping he’d get the hint and leave me the fuck alone. I didn’t even know why I was so angry. It wasn’t like we had a normal marriage. I didn’t know him, and I didn’t like the rumors I’d heard. When I’d been given to him, I’d heard what my father had said. He hadn’t wanted to give Isabella, his precious daughter, to this man, but me, he was more than happy to. All it did was drive in deep the hurt of not being enough. I never was.

Now I wasn’t even good enough to use for sex.

I felt so … humiliated. I wasn’t good enough at anything for anyone.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked.

I cried out as he gripped me a little tighter than what I was used to. His touch had me pausing, trying to capture my breath. None of this made any sense to me. Not my anger or the sense of betrayal.