Page 22 of The Bratva's Forced Marriage

I sat idly on the bed, brush in hand, staring at a cold plate of roast meat and potatoes on the bedside table. The food had been brought over an hour ago by a young, nervous maid who was perhaps my age, but I couldn’t work up an appetite.

I felt wrong and out of place in this house. After Rafail’s stiff, forced proposal, I struggled to sleep, trying to distract myself, but it was firmly embedded in my mind. Sighing, I dropped the hairbrush next to the food tray and flopped back onto the bed. Staring at the ceiling was more comforting than accepting the reality I had been thrust into.

The door opened and closed. I didn’t need to turn around to know it was him. I recognized his powerful scent and felt his commanding presence the second he entered.

His heavy footsteps pounded through the room, and he appeared in my peripheral vision. Today he was wearing his uniform —a black shirt, two buttons undone, black pants, and no jacket. He gave the food on the bedside table a cautious, disapproving glance and I heard a low growl. His disheveled dark hair shaded his eyes and emphasized his intense expression as he looked down at me.

“Get up.”

The thought of defying his command crossed my mind, but I immediately pushed it aside. I had left the stage of denial behind me. This reality was mine. I was threatened with eternal imprisonment if I didn’t agree to his marriage proposal.

What was the point of fighting with him, with a man who could end my life in the blink of an eye? None.

Reluctantly, I stood up, huffing and quietly suppressing a tiny voice that wanted to question the reason for his appearance.

Two days had passed since the proposal. Two days in which we had not seen each other. He looked as sinfully attractive as ever, but I didn’t want to talk to him. And the tiny lift of his lips told me that he had gotten the message.

He moved past me to the door. “Come,” he said. “You have a visitor.”

Now, that stunned me. A visitor? Liam? Ava? Someone else?

In my head circled the possibility that someone had learned of our abduction and had come to rescue us, but if that was the case, I knew Rafail could have seen the person’s intentions from miles away. But I couldn't bring myself to ask him.

Quietly, I followed behind him down the wooden stairs to the living room which was made of more fine wood. It was then I noticed that Rafail’s house was built like a big cabin with glass windows, and to confirm my suspicions, as I stole a glimpse at the windows in the foyer, we were in the middle of nowhere.

I gulped and continued forward. When we reached the living room, he stopped and nudged me inside with a gentle poke of his finger. I was about to protest but stopped when I heard my name.

“Juliana?”

My head jerked in the direction of the female voice, and I stared past the fireplace and the dark curtains in the living room to a woman with frizzy red hair standing next to a gray sofa. “Oh my God!” Hot tears stung my eyes and I rushed to her with open arms, Rafail already forgotten. “Ava!”

She collapsed in my arms, and we sniffled and cried together. I stroked her hair, and she rubbed my back. She smelled of metal and sweat. I lifted her head from my shoulder and scrutinized her face, looking for injuries. “Are you okay??”

She smiled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I am okay.”

“Ava,” my lips turned downwards. “You don’t look good. Did they hit you or something? Have you had something to eat?”

My heart clenched with guilt. While she was left somewhere to rot, perhaps with a few plates of prison porridge and stale bread, I had a plate of roast and potatoes untouched upstairs.

She had bags under her eyes, I discovered a few bruises on her wrist, and she was trembling. I led her to sit and held her hands in mine, struggling not to cry. She was wearing the same yellow vintage fleece sweater and black skinny jeans she had worn the day we were kidnapped.

She stroked my cheek with one finger and when she drew back, tears shimmered on it. I hadn’t even realized that I had been crying. “What’s wrong?” She asked.

I shook my head, trying to put on a brave face. “Nothing.”

She did not believe me. The pointed look in her green eyes told me so. “Bull shit! Talk to me, Julie. I've been told there’s a chance I’ll be free in a few days. But why? Why so suddenly? What have you done? Because I have a feeling you had something to do with it.”

I could not hold back anymore. The tears fell free from my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. “I have to marry him. I have to, to save you and Liam.”

“What?” she gasped, and quickly shook her head. “No, you don’t have to.”

“You don’t understand,” I tried to argue, but she wasn’t having it.

“Shh,” she peered over my shoulder like she had a secret to spill and dropped her tone to a low hush. “Listen to me, Juliana. You don’t have to get married to him.”

My brows furrowed. “What are you talking about? You don’t know this man, Ava. He...” I swallowed the rest of my words. Somehow, I didn’t want to tell her about the intimate moments we’d had. I was angry with myself, but even then, I wanted to keep those memories private. “He is a dangerous man.”

“And I know someone who is just as dangerous,” she interjected.