Page 1 of The Bratva's Forced Bride
Chapter 1 – Mark
“In a world of shadows, loyalty is a currency and betrayal is a deadly sin.” – Anonymous.
“Again.”
The zeal and malice in Yuri’s eyes gleamed and his lips twisted into a smirk as he swung his arm and aimed at the jaw of the beaten man tied to the office chair.
The sound of knuckles hitting bone through skin echoed in a sickening crunch and bounced off the taupe-colored walls. He screamed, gurgled, and spat a long trail of thick red blood onto the carpet.
I sighed. Yuri glanced at me. He knew what my dismay meant: the asshole had ruined the fucking carpet.
The red stain slowly seeped into the light brown low pile Berber, and after a bored yawn, I twirled a finger in the air. Yuri caught the signal. I didn’t need to say a word.
Again.
His fists flew from the side, connected with his cheekbones this time.
He uttered a painful, “Oof!” The man’s head lolled from side to side, and his damp, blond hair fell onto his forehead. His lip was busted, and his face was covered in blood. I’d pegged him to be a lot stronger than... that. A spineless coward, worth no more than a few bucks. And definitely not worth my time and energy.
“Don’t be a fucking pussy now,” Yuri scowled with disgust. The man whimpered, and then his mouth moved.
I grabbed my gun from the table, pushed back the comfortable high-back leather chair, stood up, and took aim. He was about to spit again.
“Swallow it.”
He blinked, his cheeks puffed out and tears mingled with the bloodstains on his face. He shook his head.
I cocked the gun. “Swear to God, I’ll blow your brains out right now if you don’t swallow that fucking thing. Can’t have you ruining my carpet, do you hear me?”
Reluctantly, with his head bobbing up and down and fear in his eyes, he gulped.
“Good! That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I smiled, rounded the desk, leaned against it, and faced the man. My gun dangled casually in my hand on my thigh. “I don’t know about you, but being filthy rich is no excuse for spending thousands of dollars on fucking carpet replacement. Now that that’s settled ...”
Yuri backed away from him and handed me the computer tablet from the table. With my free hand, I scrolled through the details—nothing but a boring profile of my prisoner—and looked up. “Ruslan Volkov. Thirty-two, single, works as head chef in the kitchen department—we have a kitchen department?” I asked Yuri.
He scratched his neck. “He works in one of our restaurants.”
“Hm,” I frowned and continued to scroll through the information on the screen. “And he had access to the details of the Swiss-New York deal because ... Ah, I see.” I dropped the tablet on the desk. “You have a knack for it too. Not only does our man have exceptional culinary skills, but he's also unofficially in the tech department. Turns out he’s a bloody spy. Fucking explain this to me!”
He broke out in louder wails, panting like he was going to faint at any minute. “Please,” he heaved, coughed, and sputtered.
Fuck.
The bloody bastard. More red stains on the carpet. He didn’t know it, but he was successfully hastening his death delivery. “Maybe we should put some duct tape around your fucking mouth?”
“No!”
“Then, why, goddammit did you do it?” I slammed my hands on the table. So fucking annoying. “Stop ruining the fucking carpet and give me one goddamn reason why I shouldn’t end you, right here, right now.”
“I swear, boss, I didn’t mean to deceive you. Malik said it would be harmless. He was part of the deal but heard rumors that he was going to be passed over—halfway through it. He said he just needed the info to make sure and that was all.”
“How much?”
Confusion lingered in his gaze, and he looked from Yuri back to me. “What—what ... I don’t understand.”
“How much did he pay you?”
“Five ... Five million, boss.”