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24
KRISTOFF
I readied the gun that Viking would swallow and put it on my desk. This night, which was supposed to be an opportunity to tighten our bonds with the Sokolov Bratva through a marriage, had turned into a clusterfuck of epic proportions. I couldn’t stop it unless I went into an all-out war with Sokolov, or kill Elena to take her out of the equation. The first option was unworthy of apakhan. I’d die a thousand deaths for Viking, but I never broke my vow for anyone. Neither should he, without accepting the consequences. So I considered the second option, weighing the outcome.
Viking was worth far more than a woman I didn’t care about, even if she was the mother of his child. There weren’t many people I cared about, but Viking was at the top of that list. He’d always stood by my side, never wavering while we built an empire together. I wondered how he’d react if he found Elena dead. Would he be relieved that I’d taken the decision out of his hands by killing the object of his hate, or would he be pissed?
“Who’s with Elena right now?” I asked Damon, who leaned against a windowsill.
He gave me a scrutinizing look. “Don’t do it. If you take her out, the big guy will never forgive you. He’s totally gone for her. He just doesn’t realize it yet.”
Damon had the uncanny ability to look at a situation from all angles and calculate the most likely outcome within seconds. It was one of his best qualities. I just didn’t like it when he confirmed something I didn’t want to hear. I liked it even less that he could read my intentions so clearly. Then again, I’d trained him myself, so I also felt a surge of pride.
I put one bullet into my pocket and holstered the gun.
Viking had made his bed of thorns, now he had to lie in it. Claiming a woman in our world had consequences.
Damon picked up his phone and exchanged a few words while glancing at me. Then he hung up, his expression unreadable.
“What now?” I asked.
He was silent for a beat. “Katya has found the Bulgarian.”
She was pacing outside my garage. I sent away the guard who had spotted her. Her skin was pale. I expected to see condemnation in her eyes, but there was none.
I pondered why I hadn’t wanted her to see what I was capable of. I didn’t like the answer. Fear. An emotion I detested and wasn’t aware I suffered from anymore. It was pointless to fear anything since it never changed the outcome. Sokolov’s words from years ago still resonated within me.
Never be afraid, ditya. Fear leads to mistakes. Mistakes lead to failure. Be fearless. One day, you will die anyway. It might as well be this day or any other given day. Accept it. Live by it, and you will be invincible.
Perhaps that was the crux of it—she made me feel vulnerable. Something I didn’t care for at all.
I stopped right in front of her. She didn’t move for a beat. Then, to my astonishment, she clasped her arms around me and buried her face in my chest.
I was lost in the heat from her body that encompassed me. She seemed just right, as if her little frame was made to mold to mine. We stood there for a moment. She was shivering, so I brushed my hands over her back until she stopped.
Then she pulled back, her eyes filled with a look I couldn’t quite decipher. It wasn’t horror or revulsion, but something else I couldn’t put my finger on. Something that almost seemed like understanding, which was impossible. She could never understand. Her next words confirmed that.
“Please let him go.”
“No.” He’d hurt her. Almost raped her. Even thinking about it made me see red.
“Please. It’s been months. This…It isn’t normal. It isn’t healthy.”
I pulled away from her. “In case you still haven’t figured it out,I’mnot normal.” Neither was I healthy in the head.
She gasped but didn’t deny it.
I turned away from her and went back inside. My punching bag was calling for me.
I should have known she wouldn’t just let me be. Katya was relentless. I’d been pummeling the punching bag for only five minutes when she appeared in the gym. The few men who were sparring left upon seeing the determination on her face. Or perhaps it was because they all knew what was about to happen in an hour—Viking’s atonement to the Bratva. My mind wasn’t in a good place.
Her sneakers didn’t make a sound as she approached me. I continued beating the bag, picturing my mother’s killer before me. His face always had the same expression—the slick grin of a politician who had paid for pearly white Hollywood teeth. I wanted to smash all of them.
I didn’t know for how long I continued pummeling the bag while Katya sat on a bench beside me. After I murdered the invisible bastard inside my head once more, I took a break.
She was immediately by my side, helping me out of my boxing gloves.
“We won’t talk about that Bulgarian fucker,” I said before she could start.
