Page 2 of The Bratva's Forced Bride

“You cost me ten times more, shithead.” I shook my head. “Yuri, bring him closer.”

“No!” Ruslan trashed on the chair, resisting Yuri’s grip. He grabbed a hold of the chair and jacked him forward, close enough to bump the man’s knees against mine.

“Please ...”

I put the gun under his chin and watched him freeze.

“I’m not stupid, Ruslan,” I muttered, tracing the muzzle from his chin down to his throat. “And I find it hard to believe that a man with your qualifications is as stupid as you claim.”

“Boss, please ...”

“Oh, now I’m your boss?” I shared a laugh with Yuri, dragging the muzzle even lower, and stopped at his chest. “What happened to having fun with Malik?”

He sniffled and coughed. “Please, forgive me, ... I don’t want to die.”

“Forgive? Last time I checked, forgiveness was God’s business. I, on the other hand, give the traitors what they bloody well deserve.” The gun traveled back up, across his chest, past his throat, and stopped in front of his mouth. “I should put an end to you. I should put an end to your miserable existence ...”

His lips quivered; blood, mixed with sweat, rolled down his forehead, and he shook his head. I pressed the gun deeper. Steel clinked against teeth. All it took was one bullet; one bullet and his head would drop with a hole in his mouth; one bullet and the light would slowly go out of his blue eyes, just as he deserved.

He ratted me out. Broke news and sold extremely expensive information about a secured deal to Malik Hayes—an aspiring punk who pulled some strings with cowardly politicians, ruled some tough gangs from the streets and suddenly thought he was the king of New York, which put him on my most wanted list. Thanks to Ruslan Volkov from the kitchen department, who had been working undercover for three months—as we found out later—Malik got involved and the deal went south.

So, if I were to pull the trigger now and watch his limp body slump to the ground, my actions would be justified.

But ...

I slid out the gun from his mouth. “It’s not your time to die yet.”

Relief shot from his eyes in the form of salty tears and his shoulders shook as he cried, “Oh, thank you, boss. Thank you so …”

“I said ‘It’s not your time to die yet,’ idiot. I have better use for you now.” Fear swiftly replaced relief and he gulped. I brought out a burner phone from the desk drawer and handed it to Yuri. “You played me, so now it’s time to pay the asshole back in his own coins. You're going to call him and tell him exactly what I tell you. Word for word, Ruslan. No fucking jokes, you hear me? Because trust me, you don’t want to fuck with me. Not now, not tomorrow, and not ever again!”

“Yes ...Yes, boss.”

“Read out the number. When Malik picks up, tell him you have intel on some goods coming from Brazil in three days, but it’s sensitive info and you can only tell him more in person. He needs to meet you at Greene’s Orchard, nowhere else, your info, your rules. Tell him you have access to everything he needs to know.”

With a shaky sigh, he read out the number and Yuri dialed in. He moved the phone closer to Ruslan’s mouth and turned on the speaker. Malik picked up after the third ring. They talked— Malik sounded cautious like a juvenile thief and Ruslan kept his eyes on me the whole time as he repeated everything, I’d asked him to say.

“Good.” I nodded as Yuri handed the phone back. That I had a better use for Ruslan didn’t mean I had a use for the man who’d sent him. If I couldn’t take my anger out on the man weeping sweat and blood in my office, Malik had certainly gotten the short end of the stick.

“What are we going to do with him?” Yuri raised an eyebrow expectantly. The mad desire to make Ruslan wish he would never see the light of day again was written all over his face. If I didn’t do something to stop him, he’d just beat the shit out of the guy. Or kill him.

Knowing Yuri, the latter was most likely the case.

Logic may have triumphed over bloodlust this time, but it did nothing to quench the raging fire inside me that burned with the senseless, overwhelming urge to shoot something or someone.

I got up from the desk and returned to the leather chair. “Take him back to his fucking cell. I’m done with him for now. But who knows, we may have to explore the technical genius in him in the future.”

Yuri signaled to the two men standing at the door and together they dragged crying Ruslan out, still tied to the chair.

“You’re angry.”

“I am.”

I stared at the red stains on the carpet, and it struck a match that fanned the flame in my chest. “What’s so fucking funny?”

Yuri smiled, took another chair next to the desk and if I'd had a chance, I would have wiped the stupid smirk off his face. His hands lifted as if to surrender, and a phone vibrated in his pocket as he said, “Nothing.”

When he took the phone out of his pocket, I eyed the thing as if it were an added annoyance. He stared at the screen and grinned even more.