Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
All my life, I’ve been good, and in exchange, I’ve been protected.
But this?
He’ll hurt me. He’ll cut me.
I turn to make a run for the door, but a body blocks my way. A strong hand gently takes my arm, and Anton leans down. “Sorry, but you’re the guest of honor. We can’t have you getting away.”
My god. I’m trapped. I’m caught.
They’re going to put me in a cage again.
“Dasha.” Dad appears at my side and steers me away from Anton. All the men are staring at me now. The two strangers at the far end seem unhappy about this—and one of them is probably my future husband.
Valentin is speaking to them in urgent, quiet tones.
Probably explaining my disability.
My stupid broken brain.
“You can’t do this,” I say, choking back a sob. I have to be good. If I’m good, they’ll treat me well. Straight back. Follow the rules. Raised chin. Do everything just right. “Please, Papa.”
Except I’m crumbling to pieces.
“Be brave,” Dad whispers, cupping my cheeks with his broad hands. “Do this for the family. I promise, they’ll be kind to you. This is a sacrifice, and it’s a painful one, but you’re doing it for the greater good.”
What greater good? What good is any of this?
All I want is my living room, my podcasts, and my comfy blankets.
Maybe a nice pair of slippers and some tea.
That’s all I’ve ever needed.
I just want to be left alone.
“Dasha, it’s time.” Valentin’s voice is smooth and commanding. If he knows I’m on the edge of having a panic attack, he doesn’t let it show.
The two strangers are gone, disappeared into the main chapel.
“Fucking psychotic,” Evan mutters, looking disgusted, but he doesn’t move to stop this.
He’s as powerless as I am.
“Be strong,” Dad says, lightly nudging me toward Valentin.
I walk to him woodenly. Straight back, chin up. Be good and proper, and they won’t hurt me.
I swallow to keep myself from throwing up in my mouth.
“Do the right thing,” Dad calls as I stagger to the entrance.
Valentin looms at my side. He seems as grim as a man leading me to a noose.
“One foot in front of the other,” he mutters and pushes open the door.
The chapel is bright. The lights slam into my face like a punch to the nose. I stumble forward, knees wobbly. My dress feels so hot. What was I thinking wearing long sleeves to a wedding? I’m not even in the right color.
Green. Is that bad luck? Probably.
I should be in white right now.
My husband is standing at the altar with the priest. The handsome man with the good hair and the full lips. The man I couldn’t stop staring at. He looks bored or angry, and god, he’s so attractive. It makes my heart race. It opens a dizzying, yawning chasm, and I feel like I’m falling. My chest hammers really hard, so fast my vision is blurry and my breathing is coming in stutters.
Too fast. I don’t recognize the faces in the pews. All men. Bratva, Brotherhood, who knows. I can’t think.
Can’t breathe.
“Urrkkk,” is all I can say.
Choking on my words.
Before I pitch forward in the aisle and fall flat on my face.
Chapter 2
Dasha
“Give her some space. Water, get her some water. Back the fuck off and let the girl fucking breathe.”
Someone’s holding me.
That’s probably not good.
Why am I on the floor right now?
The carpet is scratchy and weird.
Big, powerful arms and a broad, muscular chest grip me tight, which is actually kind of nice. I like the way he smells too: sharp and masculine with a musky edge and a whiskey undertone.
My eyes flutter open, and I’m staring at the ugliest mural I’ve ever seen in my life.
Naked babies in thong diapers shoot arrows at pale, dead-looking winged ladies.
Cherubs. Angels. Right.
I’m in a stinking church.
“Here, pisik,” a voice whispers. It’s low and smooth, like velvet down my cheek. “Drink a little bit.”
A cold bottle of water presses to my lips, and I take a few sips.
“There you go. That’s a good girl.”
My chest patters and my stomach twists. Good girl? God, I really like hearing that. I must still be only half-awake because something flutters between my legs. I drink some more, just to please the big man with the good voice.
“That’s better,” he murmurs, and I twist around.
And suddenly I’m very much aware of what’s happening.
The stranger I’m supposed to marry is kneeling at my side, my shoulders in his lap, one arm wrapped protectively around me.
Dangerously close to my breasts.
There’s a semi-circle of curious faces nearby: Dad and Evan, both looking equally horrified; Valentin Zeitsev; other members of the Bratva; and some Brotherhood men as well. One leans over and murmurs to Valentin, and both stare in my direction.
“Don’t worry about them,” the man whispers. He offers more water, and I turn him down.
“What happened?”