Bratvas vow, p.13
Bratva's Vow, page 13
I’d spent most of the morning curled up in the same spot on the bed, exactly where I’d passed out sometime after dawn. The sheets were twisted around me; my skin was clammy and sticky with sweat. I hadn’t showered since yesterday. Couldn’t bring myself to care.
I smelled like misery and self-loathing. Good. Let it seep into the walls. Maybe then Maxim would choke on it when he came to check on me.
Not that he came anymore.
He’d tried. He’d shown up at my door more than once. He knocked, soft at first, then louder. Once, when I refused to answer, he barked my name through the door like I was one of his soldiers. That had been a fun night. When he pushed the door open, I’d thrown a lamp at him. He’d left after that.
Now, he sent his bodyguards.
I flipped through TV channels listlessly, not stopping to watch any of the programs. Cartoons, news, some cheesy soap opera that looked way too dramatic even for my spiraling life. None of it held my attention. The remote felt heavy in my hand as I clicked through mindlessly.
A soft knock broke the monotony. I didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
The door cracked open anyway.
“Wren?”
The voice wasn’t Maxim’s.
It was Dezi. Before my imprisonment, he was just the quiet guy who followed Maxim around and rarely spoke unless asked a question. I hadn’t paid him much attention. Now he was apparently on full-time Wren babysitting duty, and he took his job way too seriously for me to harbor the hope of escape. Not under his eagle eyes. Viktor, I could have conned, but not Dezi, who followed Maxim’s orders to a T.
He stepped inside carefully, balancing a tray in his hands. The smell hit me first. Something hearty—stew or soup, maybe. My stomach twisted in hunger, but damn if I would eat.
“I brought you lunch.” Dezi set the tray down on the bedside table. For a man who looked rough, his voice was a lot softer than I’d expected.
“I’m not hungry.” I curled tighter into myself and fixed my eyes back on the screen, even though I wasn’t watching anything.
“You didn’t eat breakfast,” he said.
“Wasn’t hungry then either.”
Dezi exhaled slowly, shifting his weight. He didn’t leave.
“I get it,” he said. “You’re pissed. You hate him right now. Probably hate all of us too.”
“Good guess.” I didn’t look at him.
His boots scraped the floor as he crossed the room. Not threatening, but purposeful.
“Look, Wren…” He spoke softly. “I know you think we’re just his goons. His hired muscle. And yeah, we work for him. But Mr. Morozov isn’t the bad guy you make him out to be.”
That earned him a hard glare. I gave him my best unimpressed stare. “Oh yeah? Enlighten me, Dezi. What is he, then? My kidnapper? My father’s killer?”
Dezi didn’t flinch.
“He’s our boss,” he said simply. “But he’s also the man who pays our salaries on time every damn month. Pays us better than anyone else would. Private health insurance, bonuses, hazard pay. When Gregor’s wife got sick last year, Boss paid for her treatment out of his own pocket. Didn’t ask for it back like others would have.”
I frowned, caught off guard by the quiet conviction in his voice.
“That’s just money,” I said.
“It’s not just money to us,” he shot back, eyes hard now. “It’s our families. Our kids. It’s knowing that if something happens to us on a job, he’ll take care of them. He made us that promise, and he’s kept it. Always. You think we don’t know who we work for? We know the risks. We know the blood on his hands. I choose to get it on mine too. You know why? Because when I left the army and was treated like shit by this country I fought for, he was the one who got me sober. He’s the reason I’m still alive, and if that means someday I’ll die protecting him, so be it.”
I swallowed thickly, the argument faltering on my tongue.
Dezi went on. “He doesn’t treat us like we’re disposable. He doesn’t use us and throw us away when he’s done. He gives a damn. Even when it’s inconvenient. You think that rooftop incident didn’t shake him? You think locking you in here isn’t killing him? The guy’s fucking wrecked over the way you’re treating him. I’ve been with him long enough to tell you he’s never treated anyone the way he does you.”
I stared at him, stunned into silence.
Dezi gave a soft scoff, like he couldn’t believe he’d said so much, then pointed to the tray.
“Eat. Or don’t. That’s your choice. But if you don’t, and you pass out or something, it’s my ass on the line. We’re not allowed to make mistakes when it comes to you. You’re the only job he doesn’t give a second chance. If anything happens to you on my watch, I’m as good as dead.”
That made something twist in my gut.
“And knowing that, you still work for him?”
He chuckled. “Yes, because I get it. I’d do the same for someone I love even half as much as he does you.”
For a moment, my anger cracked enough to let in confusion.
Maxim’s men weren’t loyal because they feared him. Not exactly. They were loyal because he gave them something they couldn’t get anywhere else—certainty. Protection.
Security, even if it came wrapped in violence and blood.
They respected him.
But I didn’t want to understand, and I hated that for the first time in days, part of me wasn’t sure what to feel anymore. My father had chosen Maxim over me. And that stung the worst.
“I’m not hungry,” I said again but softer this time.
Dezi didn’t argue. He nodded like he’d expected that.
“All right. I’ll be outside if you need anything.”
The heavy weight of exhaustion must’ve dragged me under at some point because when I stirred, the room was dark, the TV flashing muted infomercials to no one, and something soft brushed against my hair.
Fingers.
Slow. Gentle. Stroking down to my temple, tracing the curve of my cheek like they had every right to touch me.
I froze.
My breath caught sharp in my throat. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know who it was. The air shifted when he was near. Always had. Always would.
“Is there really no way you can forgive me?”
His voice was a whisper against the shell of my ear, low and tender. Too tender. The kind of softness you saved for lovers.
“How much longer do I have to wait for you to come around, solnyshko?”
I flinched at the word. Sun. His sun. I’d always found the nickname cute and endearing. Now it sounded like mockery. A sad reminder of how much he’d fooled me.
I jerked upright so fast the blanket tangled around my waist and nearly took me down. I shoved at him, heart hammering as I scrambled back to the headboard.
“Don’t do that,” I said hoarsely. “Don’t touch me when I’m sleeping. It’s creepy.”
Maxim didn’t move away, though. He stayed crouched at the side of the bed, eyes cutting through the dark like twin blades. There was hurt there. God, so much hurt it was almost pitiful. Almost.
“I had to see you,” he said. “You’ve shut me out for days. Wren…” He exhaled roughly, running his hand down his face. “I locked you in because I was afraid. Not of you, but for you.”
I glared at him, my chest aching like something inside it had been scraped hollow. Instincts would have me curl up on his lap and seek comfort. But he was the reason for my pain.
“You made it worse, Maxim. You don’t cage people you care about. You don’t lock them away like pets when they don’t obey you.”
“I am protecting you.”
“By making me your prisoner?” I hated how small I sounded. “You’re asking for forgiveness, but how can I even think about forgiving you when you’ve handled all this so wrong? On top of everything you’ve done, you’re holding me hostage. And you expect me to smile and thank you?”
His eyes softened, but only for a second before frustration bled into his features.
“If I let you go, can you guarantee you won’t run?” He watched me closely.
“Yes.” I said it quickly. Too quickly.
He let out a low, humorless chuckle, sitting back on his heels. “You’re a terrible liar. I know you too well, Wren. The second I let you out of this room, you’ll try to escape me, and that’s not an option.”
I swallowed tightly, bitterness rising sharp in my throat. “Pity I didn’t know you at all. Just the man you pretended to be.”
That landed. Hard. Maxim’s face darkened, his jaw ticking. “You do know me.”
I barked a laugh that sounded closer to a sob. “Do I? Really? The same man I shared jokes and breakfasts and lazy mornings with? Because the one I see now has a lot more blood on his hands.”
He lunged up and paced like he couldn’t stay still. Like my words were biting into him worse than bullets.
“I have killed, yes,” he snapped, voice gravel rough and violent with emotion. “I’ll kill again if I have to. But I don’t murder innocents. I end threats. There’s a difference.”
“Bullshit. You’re seriously standing there telling me you’ve never killed the wrong person before? Never made a mistake? Never looked at someone and decided they didn’t deserve to breathe for your convenience?”
Silence.
That silence said more than words ever could.
I stared at him, heart twisting cruelly in my chest. How could I have fallen for this man? “Thought so.”
Maxim’s eyes gleamed with something fierce as he stalked back toward the bed and loomed over me. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“All Bradley did was warn me,” I whispered, barely able to say it. “And you killed him for it. Because you were jealous of—”
“Warn you?” Maxim’s mouth twisted in fury. “Bradley wasn’t innocent, Wren. You think he cared about you? He cared about hurting me. He cared about getting revenge. That car accident you were in? You think that was random? We found the fucking driver. He confessed. It was a hit directed at you, Wren. A hit ordered by the chief of police. Why do you think I had to rush you out of TagX before we finished playing? The chief had someone follow us there. If not for Sergei, I would have been dead. Do you think it’s a coincidence our whereabouts were always known?”
My stomach dropped.
“Bradley,” Maxim snarled, lips curling. “Every time he hovered near your desk, talked sweet, asked you questions, he was feeding the chief everything. He was the leak. That’s how they knew where we’d be for TagX. He used you.”
I shook my head, the room tilting slightly from how fast my thoughts spun. “No. You’re twisting this. You’re making it up to justify what you did, and Bradley’s no longer here to defend himself.”
“I’m not making anything up!” Maxim pounced on me on the bed, crowding me. He gripped my arms so tight I gasped, forcing them above my head. “Wake up, Wren. The world isn’t nice. People don’t play fair. They use, they exploit, and when men like me aren’t around to stop them, they burn people like you alive. I do what has to be done so you never have to.”
His words hit like thunder. They shouldn’t have made sense. They shouldn’t have chipped at the edges of my anger.
But they did.
“No,” I whispered weakly. “You don’t get to paint yourself as the hero.”
“I’m no fucking hero. I’m just yours, so don’t blame me for ending a life to protect you.”
His mouth crushed down on mine, fierce and brutal, swallowing the rest of my protests. Heat slammed through me, angry, bitter, and starved for the taste of him, even though I hated that I craved it.
And I did crave it. My lips parted under his, my fingers curling into his shirt as I kissed him back just as desperately. Every broken thing between us poured out through that kiss. Frustration. Grief. Lust. Love. Hate.
But it wasn’t enough to drown out reality.
I ripped my mouth free with a sob, shoving hard at his chest. “Stop.” I slid off the bed and stumbled away from him like his touch had burned. “No. I can’t—I can’t do this.”
“Wren—”
“I need to shower.” My voice trembled, but I clung to the excuse like a lifeline. “I… I need to clear my head.”
Before he could stop me, I bolted, my legs shaky as I fled to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind me.
My back hit the wood as I slid down, burying my face in my hands.
My heart wouldn’t slow down. My lips still tingled. My whole body felt wired and desperate and utterly betrayed by my weakness.
I almost gave in to him.
Almost.
And the worst part was, a small, broken part of me still wanted to.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MAXIM
Istared at the bathroom door, where a faint wisp of steam curled beneath it.
Too long.
He was taking too long.
My shirt clung loose and open against my skin, sticking to my chest with sweat. My slacks hung low on my hips. A glass of whiskey sat untouched on the nightstand beside me, condensation trailing slowly down the side. I’d gone downstairs, poured myself a drink, talked to Dezi about Wren’s day before he left, then returned upstairs, and Wren was still in the shower.
Perhaps waiting for me to go away, but too many days had passed already. It was about time for him to come to terms with being a Pakhan’s lover. While the position came with certain dangers, there were perks too. The biggest being that I was crazy about him. He could get anything out of me if he asked. Anything.
Except bringing his dad back.
The knot in my stomach was tighter than any drink could loosen.
He’d been in there for forty-five minutes. The water never stopped running. The sound of it mocked me, the steady rush like static filling my head.
I raked a hand through my hair, fingers gripping tight enough to sting.
Fuck this.
I’d been patient enough with him.
I pushed up from the bed, shedding the shirt completely, letting it fall in a heap. My pants and underwear followed. I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t knock. Just stormed across the room and pulled the bathroom door open.
The steam hit me first, thick and suffocating. Hot and oppressive like the fucking silence between us.
My heart dropped.
Wren.
He was on the floor of the shower, knees pulled tight to his chest, his face buried in them. The spray beat down relentlessly, plastering his hair to his head, soaking his skin. His shoulders shook with quiet sobs, the sound so raw and broken it punched the air right out of me.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
I’d seen death. I’d caused it. I’d witnessed men beg and scream and weep.
But nothing ever shredded me like this.
This was the boy who used to curl up next to me and mumble about silly things at midnight when he couldn’t sleep. The one who swapped my coffee for a healthier drink because he cared about my well-being. The one who protested when I kissed his neck but whined when I stopped.
Now he was… this.
Small. Fragile. Completely fucking destroyed.
Because of me.
Something cracked inside me so sharply I actually staggered. The tight leash I’d been holding all these weeks snapped like wet paper.
I didn’t think. There was no thought left.
I stepped right into the scalding spray with him. The water burned my skin, but it was the least of my concerns.
Wren jolted when I pulled him upright. He didn’t resist, didn’t push me away when I dragged him into my arms. He sobbed harder, his hands fisting in my shoulders like he hated me and needed me all at once.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered fiercely, crushing him against my chest. The water soaked us both, hot and merciless. “Baby, I’m so fucking sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I swear on my life.”
He clung harder, his cries muffled against my collarbone. “It hurts so bad, Maxim,” he choked out, breaking in real time right there in my arms. “I don’t want to forgive you. I don’t—I can’t. You’re horrible. You’re a criminal. You killed him. You killed them. I can’t love a man like you.”
The words gutted me. But I didn’t argue.
“I know,” I murmured against his temple. “I know what I am, Wren. I won’t pretend I’m not.” I framed his face with my hands and pressed my lips to his wet forehead, then lower, over his clenched eyelids. “I never wanted this for you. I never wanted to be the reason you cry. I just wanted to keep you safe. Even if that makes me a monster.”
He finally opened his eyes, glassy and red, mouth trembling as he tried and failed to hold it together.
I kissed his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. Desperate, reverent.
“Moya zhizn,” I whispered. “I know I hurt you, but let me make it better. Let me hold you. Please. I need you to let me in. I swear I can make it better if you allow me.”
His lips parted, but nothing came out. His expression cracked, shattered, and he surged up, kissing me like he was drowning and I was the only thing left to hold on to.
The kiss was a sob. It was agony and fury and grief poured into frantic lips and teeth. He kissed me like he hated me, and I kissed him like I needed him to survive this mess between us.
Every press of lips and slide of tongue tasted like punishment. The sweetest punishment. My head spun. My lungs burned. I didn’t care.
His fingers clawed into my hair, dragging me impossibly closer.
I groaned into his mouth, sliding my hands down his slick back, gripping tight as he arched against me. We kissed like we were trying to erase everything that came before this moment and couldn’t quite manage it.
Wren broke first.
He tore his mouth away, panting harshly, his forehead pressing to mine. “I hate you,” he gasped, voice breaking apart.
“I know,” I murmured, running my fingers along his spine. “I know, baby. Hate me. Hate me all you need. Just don’t shut me out.”
His hands trembled against my shoulders, but he didn’t let go.
