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Bought and Pregnant by the Russian Bratva

Page 18

by Isla Brooks

“‘Kay.” He shrugs, unbothered. “I’m going to be straight with you Meera, because you seem like you’d prefer my cutting through the bullshit. You’re in a fucked-up situation. Chances are, you didn’t do anything to deserve being in it. But you’ve ended up here. And we’re going to need you to help us understand how and why. That’s all this is.”

“That’s all this is,” she repeats coldly.

“I know how that sounds,” Iosif says. “I do. My wife—well, this was before she was my wife—was dragged into my life, and our world, because her dad was a cunt who sold her off. I saved her. Because she’s a person, not a pawn. And I believe Leonid wants the same for you.”

Meera swallows thickly, and stares at him.

“So, I’m not sitting here assuming the worst about you. I’m asking you to help us understand.”

“Understand wh—” Meera begins.

Valentin cuts her off, stepping away from the door where he’d been perched, and walking up with his arms crossed over his chest. “Many things. For example, is your dad a cunt, too? What’re the chances he put you in this position?” From somewhere in the depths of him, Valentin pulls out an abrasive villain I know he isn’t. From the way Meera’s complexion turns ashen, I also know she believes in the persona.

Her jaw drops.

Valentin barrels on. “Are you close to him—close enough that he’ll come looking for you—or are you an expendable chip to a gambling problem?”

Her eyes turn glassy, and I watch her blink furiously against the building moisture. “Fuck off,” she gasps, like he struck her.

I straighten my spine, refusing to let it buckle. The look on her face doesn’t make it easy.

“Meera, please make this easy on yourself,” Iosif insists.

“Or don’t,” Valentin sneers.

I can see the fear distort her features, and it hits me with a pang. The back of my neck prickles with heat, but I force myself to keep watching. I ignore the glance I can feel Trifon slant my way.

“We aren’t close. But he doesn’t—he doesn’t have any addiction but to his job, as far as I know,” Meera forces out.

“Define ‘aren’t close’,” Valentin snaps.

“He calls occasionally! We make small-talk. We see each other a few times a year. It isn’t—”

Valentin steps closer, getting in her face until I can’t glimpse it behind his head. But I can hear him demand, “When did you last speak to him, then?”

“Last—Last night,” she chokes out. Her voice tremors. The sound slices at my fucking soul.

No one bothers correcting that she wasn’t taken last night. It was two days ago. But maybe it makes them feel as fucking awful as it does me, since Trifon steps up and cajoles, “Was it an odd conversation? Did anything raise any flags for you?”

I find myself stepping to the right to get my eyes on her again. I regret it when I spot the twin streams of tears spilling down her cheeks. “You said was,” Meera blurts, and points at Iosif with one of her bound hands. “You said your wife’s father was a—Are you going to kill my dad? Why are you doing this to me?”

The question hangs in the air like acrid smoke. Iosif considers her for a beat, before he turns his head toward Trifon. “We don’t kill people without a reason,” Trifon says, brows raising at her. “We don’t typically go around buying people, either.”

Meera mutters darkly, and I’m too far away to catch what she says. Whatever it is, however, does make Iosif snort, which means it was probably nothing good. He pushes away from the chair, shaking his head.

“Leonid doesn’t want to marry you,” he says too cheerfully.

I choke on air. “What the fuck?”

“She said,” Iosif shares, “‘no, just the woman you marry.’”

Trifon cuts past the humor, and says, firmly, “All we want is information.”

“Then why is he—” Her voice cracks. She tips her chin toward Valentin, who is looking right at her with the dark focus of an apex predator. “Why is he talking to me like I’m a criminal? I haven’t done anything. To anyone. Ever.”

“And we should take your word for that?” Valentin challenges.

She glares at him, her eyes wet but furious. “Clearly, I can’t control what you do. If you want to be a sick animal, then that’s what you’ll be, isn’t it?”