Page 35 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

“Yes, boss.”

Resisting the urge to ask about Audrey, I end the call without another word.

Joaquin takes a sip of his whiskey, still scrutinizing me as if he expects me to take out my gun and shoot him. “Nazarov, what happened?”

I throw my phone back into my pocket. It’s been confirmed that the Mexicans, or at least someone their organization, was behind the attack, which means I can’t fully trust Joaquin. At least not yet. Not until he brings the guilty bastard to my feet.

“One of your men made the call that put a target on my back tonight.”

For a second, nobody speaks.

Emiliano is the first to recover. “That’s impossible.”

“Keep playing dumb and you’ll really piss me the fuck off,” I growl. “You Mexicans act like you’re above betrayal when you can’t even keep your own rats under control.”

Joaquin curses under his breath and slams his palm on the desk, the sound echoing through the office. “Who?”

“That’s up to you to find out.”

His expression darkens as he runs a hand over his jaw. “Someone’s trying to pit us against each other.”

“They already have.” I button my jacket and turn toward the door. Ruslan falls in step behind me. “What happens next depends on what you do with what I just told you.”

“Where are you going?” Joaquin calls after me.

I pause just long enough to glance back over my shoulder.

“To find the son of a bitch who thought he could touch my wife.” My voice is quiet, but the promise behind it is anything but. “When I find him, he’ll wish the bullets had killed him first.”

Chapter Nine

Audrey

The pain splintering up my arms forces my eyes open, and for a good minute, I struggle to remember where I am.

Squinting, I take in the room that’s three times the size of my apartment in the heart of Miami.

It’s dimly lit, with thick black drapes blocking most of the sunlight and only allowing very little illumination into the room. Still, I can tell everything is monochrome and expensive, which isn’t my style, and I couldn’t afford it anyway.

My memories slowly return.

Igor.

Our marriage.

And the attack last night.

Another wave of pain ripples through my arm, and I bite down on my lower lip to stop myself from screaming.

The sound of gunfire echoes in my head so vividly that I jerk toward the window before realizing it exists only in my memory. My pulse refuses to settle. Every sound reminds me of shattered glass and Igor’s body covering mine.

God, I can’t believe I got married to that handsome, heartbreaking devil, and less than a week later, I have an injury from a bullet. Chloe’s going to be shocked out of her mind when she finds up what I’ve been up to.

I sigh, then with my uninjured hand, I push myself up from the bed. I’m thirsty as fuck, so my first stop is the kitchen. The smell of fried bacon and eggs invades my nostrils before I make it inside, my stomach rumbling.

Turns out I’m so starving I could eat a horse or two.

When I enter the kitchen, I freeze completely, because standing in front of me is something I thought I’d never see.