Page 121 of Bratva Menace

Fear and worry punched me in the gut. What happened? Is Lukyan okay? Is Cedric? Is this why he didn’t answer my call?

I jumped through the giant fucking hole IN THE FRONT OF MY HOUSE, whipping out my gun. The foyer and lounge room were almost completely destroyed. Plaster and wood littered the floors. The furniture was all over the place. Glass crunched beneath my feet with every movement I made.

“Lukyan! Cedric!” I yelled out, my fear going into overdrive. I swung my gaze left to right, searching. I knew the possibility of whoever did this still being there was slim, but I kept my gun up and my senses on high alert as I scanned the area.

“Lyla,” a deep voice groaned from somewhere in the lounge room.

That was when I noticed the body lying amongst the rubble. “Cedric!” I ran over to him, dropping to his side. “Fuck, are you okay? Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.” He groaned again. His face and clothes were covered in dirt and dried blood.

I ran my hands over his upper body. He cried out in pain. “Shit. We’ve gotta get you to a hospital. Where’s Lukyan?”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?” I grunted with excretion as I tried to pick him up, but he was so heavy, it was a struggle. “What do you mean, gone?”

“It—was—his family,” Cedric wheezed out, flinging an arm over my shoulder and attempting to stand. He couldn’t. His legs buckled immediately, and it took all my strength to keep him up. “I—saw them. His—father. The Butcher.”

No. No, no, no. “Lukyan wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t.”

His eyes locked onto mine, a mix of pain and sadness. “I saw him walk out, Lay.”

My whole world came crashing down.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

LUKYAN VOLKOV

The water from the shower cascaded down my back, so hot it was almost scalding. Steam surrounded me so heavily that I could barely see anything around me. I was trapped under the pressure of the water, unable to move, my thoughts all but consuming me.

I should be happy, shouldn’t I?

I was finally home. Finally able to do what I’d gone all that way to do, and yet, my mind wasn’t at all focused on the task as it should have been.

It was on Lyla.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I wondered if she had returned home yet. If she knew I was gone, and if she did, was she okay? Was she upset? Angry? Confused?

I had a feeling she would be all of the above when she found out.

“Fuck,” I blew out, leaning against the tiles. Guilt was swirling inside me, potent enough for me to question if I’d done the right thing. If I should have just stayed.

I didn’t want Lyla to think I had just abandoned her. That she showed her true self to me, and I just ran at the first chance I got.

But that’s exactly what you did, isn’t it?

Guilt slammed into me again, and I tried to shake it off.

It wasn’t about her. She should know that, right? We were in the middle of a war that would forever define us. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t stay locked up in that house forever. I had a duty to my family. An obligation to help.

I wondered how I could fix it.

If she would even forgive me for leaving.

I touched the column of my throat in reminiscence. I missed the collar. Her collar. I missed its heavy weight around my throat. Missed what wearing it represented. That I was hers. Owned by her.