Page 19 of Forced By the Bratva King

I swallowed and nodded with immediate effect. “Yes, yes, I want to live.”

He stretched out his hand and toyed with my hair, then ran his finger along my arm. My body trembled at his touch, and the fear of what he might do to me was overwhelming.

He grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him while I whimpered at his hold. “I don’t plan to kill you, anyway.” He looked into my eyes. “I plan to keep you.”

Confused, I summoned the courage to ask, “Keep me? What—what does that mean?”

He scoffed and let go of my chin. “It means you'll become my wife.”

“Wait.What?” My eyes widened, and I nearly choked despite not having anything in my mouth.Wife? What exactly is going on here?

He smirked and walked away. “Get ready. You’re getting married.”

Frustrated, I threw my hands to my head as he left the room.

Everything was happening so fast, and there was no pause button to push so I could have a better understanding of the whole situation. So, this was his plan all along?Thiswas the reason he hadn’t killed me—so I’d be his wife?

The tears I had been holding back now started to trickle down my cheeks as I struggled to process what he’d said. I hadn’t known him from anywhere before the club, and just like that, he wanted me to marry him? Why would he want that? He and I belonged to different worlds; we were the exact opposite of each other, so how would this even work? He was a monster. I couldn’t marry a monster and subject myself to a life of misery. No.

Irina approached me with that pretty smile of hers. “This is a good thing.” She held my hand. “He will give you a life you couldn't possibly imagine.”

“Are you being serious right now, Irina?” I pulled away from her, tears still stinging in my eyes.

“You’re lucky he’s marrying you rather than killing you,” she said.

“I’mlucky?” I scoffed at the ridiculousness of what she said. “Irina, he kidnapped me, and like that wasn’t enough for him, now he wants to force me to marry him? Why? Why would he do that?” I sat on the bed, burying my face in my palms as I wept.

She sat by my side and took my hand. “He’s trying to save your life, my child.”

I jerked my head and looked at her; she seemed serious, like she meant it.

“He’s trying to save you,” she repeated. “You don’t understand. He’s doing this to save your life.”

I was hit by a wave of confusion, turning my stomach and making my head spin.

What was she talking about? How was this whole situation going to save my life?

Irina looked at me as if relieved that I was out of harm’s way, and she seemed to truly believe that.

This wasn’t how I’d planned my life, and even though I was searching for a serious man who’d marry me eventually, this thing with Artem Tarasov was definitely not what I wanted for myself. Now, I was trapped with the man who’d taken me against my will, the man who had just made it clear that I was going to marry him. I knew I didn’t have any other options, none whatsoever, and whether I liked it or not, I was going to his wife.

Irina wiped my tears, her smile still not slipping. “This is a good thing,” she repeated.

Not to me, it wasn’t. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to me.

Chapter 8 – Artem

“They gunned down Udinov, and we recorded about fifteen men injured,” Anatoli, one of my second cousins, said, directing his statement to me.

“Those fuckers will pay for what they did,” Kostya replied to him, his fingers rolling into a fist. He didn’t have to say it, but I knew he was still pissed about the death of that singer, amongst other things.

I had everything planned out, the perfect retaliation: to hit the Irish where it hurt. They wouldn’t see it coming until it was too late. Revenge, they say, is a dish best served cold, and I was already cooking.

My fingers drummed on the mahogany table in front of me as I watched the fifteen inner circle members deliberate on how to exert revenge. Each of the men present in this room had managed to gain my trust, and now, they were a part of every huge decision the Tarasovs were going to make, like this one, for example.

My men were angry, and I could see the rage burning in their eyes; they were itching for a rematch. Anatoli had even suggested bombing the Donovan mansion to send a message to other gangs thinking of making us enemies.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Alexander said, stroking his long beard. “These mindless animals need a drastic move before they can understand that we mean business.”