Page 97 of Brutal Vows

She heaves it out, opens the back passenger door, and tosses it on top of Milana’s cabin bag. “You better not have messed that up. We don’t have time for mistakes. Now get out, slowly. And leave the guns behind, cowboy.”

Cowboy. Fuck me. Nobody has ever called me a cowboy before. I smirk, slipping right into character, trying to break the tension.

“I’ve never even ridden a horse before. May I?” I ask, lifting my hands an inch off the dashboard.

“Place the guns you have in the back. That said, if you use them and this whole delicate operation goes belly-up, know that I blame you for being a fucking trigger-happy cowboy.”

“Masha—” Milana cuts in. “I⁠—”

“I know what I’m doing, Milana. I’ve lived my entire life in the Bratva, most if it right here in Saint Petersburg. I know how these fuckers operate. Now let me lead the dance.”

I glance at Milana and our gazes meet. She’s petrified. She trusted Masha—with her baby—and now this. My sixth sense told me we were walking into a fucking trap, but I didn’t dare mention my suspicions to Milana, not when she trusted her friend like she did. With the tiniest of nods, Milana indicates I should do as Masha instructed. She still trusts her.

With a frustrated shrug, I pull the guns from my body and slide them onto the floor in front of the back seats, out of sight.

“Good. Any other weapons?”

“No.” I’m totally unprepared for what’s to come, with only Chertnikov’s 3D-printed composite gun and ball-bearing bullets in the door’s side pocket where Milana left it.

“You can get out now.” Masha steps away from the door, giving me space to get out of the car. As I straighten next to her, making sure she clocks my height as I stare down at her, she gives me the once-over. “Motorbikes are more your thing, I understand.”

“Yes.” I take in her face, the shine of burnt and stretched skin covering most of it, her one eye beautiful and perfect, the other open only a slice, melted closed by the acid. My whole being revolts, and bile stirs in me for what they’ve done to her. Acid. A Russian favorite to ruin beautiful women.

This. This is what they’d subject Milana to. Will I kill my wife to spare her the worst? For all I know, this isn’t the worst. How much could a body take—how much would they force her to endure? I drop my gaze, remembering I shouldn’t stare. “I have several bikes back home.”

“Good. You’ll be happy to know I’ve left one for you in the shed, with two helmets. It’s an off-roader that will take you through the forest to the main road. It will be snowing tonight, so your tracks will be covered. You’ll have Annushka with you, just like this.”

What is she on about now? She’s rambling, but the gun is still pointed at Zoe.

“What—”

“Be glad it isn’t a horse. I was so tempted. Now move. Before Annushka starts crying.”

I round the car, my mind not exactly latching onto anything she’s saying. Half of me registers she’s a threat; the other half tells me she’s busy with her own vendetta and our lives have just become twisted together like an inseparable DNA strand. Whatever we do tonight, how we react to her instructions, is going to dictate how this night turns out.

Everything planned to a T. From both sides. But it’s as if we’re staging two different plays. A heads-up would have been nice, but we would have blocked her plans before she was even out of the gate.

Fuck it. Now she’s given us our first curve ball to mess with our carefully laid plans. And I bet that’s not going to be the only one.

46

MILANA

I slip the secret gun in my coat pocket then scoot across the seats, my heart in my throat, my gaze tracking Luca’s and Masha’s every move. My whole body is quivering, and I want to vomit, but it feels as if there’s this heavy boulder pressing down on me. Luca was right—Masha was a risk he counted in, whereas I just didn’t consider her as one, because I know her. But this… We’re all in danger. What the hell is she up to?

And Annushka. She’s so quiet…did Masha drug her? All I want is to have her in my arms, to hold her close and breathe her in. I buckle up once I’m in the passenger seat. As Luca slides into the driver’s seat, I brush my palm over the plastic gun, but I don’t feel in charge at all.

Can I actually do it? Pull it from my pocket, turn, and shoot her? Kill her?

It’s at close range, one bullet. The gun is loaded. But even this thought seems to tighten the imaginary fingers around my throat. I struggle to breathe, panicked. I’m not fast enough and don’t have enough experience…and it’s Masha. Whatever is going on in her mind, whatever this is, she isn’t crazy. In fact, she’s one of the cleverest women I know, and the Bratva culled every part of her until only this was left. A husk with empty eyes.

I can’t.

Luca reaches for my fingers where they’re cold and quivering on my lap and he squeezes them. I meet his gaze.

“Stay calm,” he whispers, urgently. “Go with the flow. Two vans. We need to lose them first.”

I nod, knowing he’ll be doing everything he can to extricate us from this situation. We are being watched.