Page 9 of The Bratva's Forced Bride
“Ah ... this must be the girlfriend.”
That voice again. It had me turning away from Logan’s busted lip to the source. And when our eyes finally met, I felt my mouth go dry.
He was closer now. Much closer. I saw the blue in his eyes, piercing and angry; the firmness of his jawline, the fullness of his mouth, and the arch of his thick brow as he scrutinized me. His lush, dark hair was combed back, smooth, without a single strand out of place, and he had one hand in his pocket, the other still holding his gun. He had an undercurrent of violence about him that sent a shiver running down my spine.
Logan was handsome, but this man had a savage aura and a charm that would make a woman forget how to breathe. He exuded calm confidence and control. And menace. His gaze ... it was intimidating. Like a rogue businessman who only exists in novels; like villains who emerge from the shadows.
And when he looked down at me with a devilish smirk, I felt as if the earth was trembling beneath me. Judging by his fine wrinkles, he had to be older than Logan, but he still had a handsome face. Like a harmless young adult, and not like a scary man with a gun.
“And who would you be, pretty lady? I am Mark. Mark Varkov,” he extended the hand from his pocket. Long, slender fingers and sinewy forearm.
Logan wobbled and grunted beside me, and I suddenly remembered where we were. A few feet from Jacy’s, with a beaten-up Logan in my arms. And he—Mark—wanted my Logan dead. I clenched my teeth and tried to look as fierce as possible. But Logan beat me to it.
“Stay the fuck away from her!” Logan growled. “She has nothing to do with any of this. Leave her out of it.”
His outburst made Mark chuckle and he returned his hand to his pocket. “Definitely the girlfriend,” he snarled as his eyes roamed over my body. He turned around and motioned to a much bigger man in a black suit with hawk-like eyes. “Yuri ...”
The rest of the words were lost in the jumble of Russian letters and meanings. The guy made rapid progress and had a white handkerchief in his hand. I didn’t need to understand the language to know that my life was at stake too. Logan tried to fight while I screamed a bloodcurdling “No!”
The brawny man was not deterred. He tore me away from Logan and covered my nose with the handkerchief. I struggled. I kicked. I lashed out. I did everything I could to get away, to wake up from this horrible dream. But his grip was tight and the fight inside me was weakening by the second. My eyes became heavy. Chlorine.
The last thing I saw through blurred eyes and burning tears was the pain in Logan’s face as he watched my body collapse.
I’d once heard in a song that life and love were like flowers and fun until it was not.
Funny, how that played out tonight.
Chapter 5 - Mark
“Naivete in grownups is often charming, but when coupled with vanity it is indistinguishable from stupidity.” – Eric Hoffer.
One word would have sufficed to describe her—exotic. Like fine wine made from forbidden fruit on a tropical island. Or like a seductress who is locked away and only accessible to the most distinguishable personalities. I preferred the latter. It suited her.
But one word wasn’t enough.
Her beauty cannot be captured in mere words from a dictionary. As I stared at her, I felt like a fucking teenager looking at a woman for the first time again. The sight of her legs and body curled up and unconscious on the bed like a captured princess, was priceless.
Petite and cute, with a curvy ass peeking from her shorts and slender hips. Long brown hair that brushed the dip of her small waist, olive skin radiating the warm glow of the early morning sun, and full lips, looking like they had no other purpose than to be kissed, sucked. Tasted. High cheekbones, perfectly sculpted jawline ... she was so fucking perfect.
But I knew better. She wasn’t. No one was. If she got the chance, she’d run off with that asshole Logan without hesitation. She’d believe every word he spewed out of his stupid mouth, no questions asked. And if he told her he loved her, her insides would melt, and she'd give in to him like a fucking puppet. Then he’d pull the rug out from under her feet and leave her in the wreckage. Just like he left Irina.
I clenched my fist and took a long drag on the cigarette between my lips.
“She looks comfortable,” Yuri said, coming up beside me with a bottle of water. He’d taken off the suit and looked like he’d cleaned up. With a nod to the girl, he asked, “What do you plan to do with the Latina?”
“Half-Latina,” I mumbled, exhaled a cloud of white smoke, and just kept looking at her. It was hard not to. She might not have been perfect, but was undoubtedly enthralling, captivating, and beautiful. “Archie’s American, her mother was Mexican.”
“Okay.”
He hadn’t expected that much information from me. I shouldn’t have cared, but it was hard to ignore Archie Mason’s daughter. Addison Mae. I’d done all my research on her, and I’d conducted it myself. Twenty-one, business graduate from the University of Chicago. And that was it. She kept a low profile, never got into trouble, and had a small social circle. Very small. Her circle’s name was Maria Simmons.
She stirred on the bed, kicked the sheets, and her eyelids fluttered. Handing Yuri the cigarette, I pushed off the wall and approached her. With a dissatisfied grunt, Yuri shut the door behind him. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared down.
Her eyes, large and brown and full of questions, grew to the size of saucers as she looked up through thick, long lashes. Her lips quivered as she looked around, peering over her shoulder like a frightened kitten to figure out where she was. “Where is this? Where am I? Where’s Logan?”
“Easy, princess. So many questions. Calm down.”
“Calm down? How can you tell me to calm down?” She couldn’t be any more shocked. Her mouth fell open and she gawked like I’d grown an extra head on my shoulder. “This is crazy. You’re crazy ...”