Page 80 of Never Distract a Biker

The gratitude in her voice has me flinching with guilt. Unable to hold her gaze anymore, I pull her back into my embrace. But even that does not stop her from talking, and I smile. I cradle her stomach and feel another wave of relief that the tiny bump is still present. She asks how I found her, but a noise stops me from answering.

The sound slices through the air. It’s a slow, deliberate, and mocking clap. My instincts flare. I spin on my heel, already stepping between Scarlett and the voice as it comes from the shadows.

“Well, well, well,” Vovka Sidorov drawls as he emerges, his figure illuminated by the glow of the dock’s flickering lights. The bastard is tall, broad-shouldered, and immaculately dressed, as if he’s here for a goddamn business meeting and not orchestrating my woman’s death. He steps forward, slow and sure, his confidence grating. A black pistol gleams in his hand, the barrel shifting slightly as he points it toward me before flicking it toward Scarlett. My blood runs cold.

Vovka’s lips curl into a snarl as his gaze pins me in place. “So it’s true,” he says, his voice laced with venom. “The rumors I’ve heard. Viktor Makarov is alive and well. And you do look well, all things considered.”

My jaw ticks, but I keep my expression neutral, the ghost of a smirk tugging at my mouth. “As you can see,” I reply smoothly, spreading my hands slightly. “Very much alive and very well.”

He doesn’t like my tone. Good. The gun trembles slightly, probably from rage but his focus is sharp. He’s assessing me, trying to decide whether to shoot me now or gloat first. “Hiding for twenty goddamn years,” Vovka spits, his face twisting with disgust. “Why? Why hide like a coward?”

I meet his gaze dead-on, my smirk widening. “Because, Vovka, I was waiting. Biding my time. Watching while my enemies revealed themselves—like you’ve done now.”

His nostrils flare, his rage swelling like a storm cloud, and I know my words cut deep. He’s a man who thrives on power, dominance, and the illusion of control. I’ve taken a hammer to all of it.

“You arrogant—” Vovka’s words cut off, his fury darkening his composure. The barrel of the gun swings toward Scarlett again, and I hear her sharp intake of breath behind me. My pulse surges with white-hot fury, but I force my body to remain still.

Vovka’s eyes gleam with malicious triumph as he sneers. “You may have escaped my men two decades ago, Viktor, but you won’t escape me today. Just like I saw to the death of Igor—” He pauses, and grins when he sees the flash of anger in my eyes. “—I’ll see to it that you, your whore, and whatever pathetic lineage you think you’ll build are wiped from this world.”

My fingers curl into fists, the bones in my knuckles cracking with the pressure. Igor. My father. The man whose murder I’ve carried like a stone in my chest for months. The man Vovka is now confirming he killed, and not just my father but my mother too.

“So, you motherfucking Sidorovs have been behind the killings in my family.”

“Not the Sidorovs, just me.” He gloats. “My idiot father was too weak to pull it off. I had to kill the fool myself. He kept us on the bottom of the Bratva chain. But that is all about to change.”

I take a step forward, my voice low and deadly. “You’re a dead man, Sidorov.”

The gun doesn’t waver. If anything, Vovka’s smile deepens, sick and satisfied. “Not before she is.”

And then I see it—the subtle shift in his hand, his finger beginning to tighten on the trigger. My body tenses, ready to lunge, ready to take the bullet if I have to. Anything to keep Scarlett safe.

But before I can move, a sharp voice cuts through the air.

“Drop it, Vovka!”

The sound of scuffling footsteps precedes two figures entering the scene, dragging a third between them. Lev and Zasha. Theyappear like wolves from the darkness, their hands locked tightly around the arms of their captive—Marina.

I smirk at my men’s move. Bringing Marina here is a ground leveler. She too is disheveled, her blonde hair tangled and falling around her face, her icy expression marred by a faint glimmer of unease. Her sharp blue eyes flick from me to Scarlett and finally to Vovka, who freezes completely, his gun still raised but wavering slightly.

The tension in the air shifts, thickening like molasses. For the first time, Vovka looks uncertain. He glares at Lev and Zasha, his eyes narrowing on Marina, and I see his mind working, assessing what this now means for him.

“Marina,” Vovka says slowly, his voice still laced with anger. “What is this?”

Marina’s lips press into a thin line, but she says nothing. Lev’s grip on her tightens, and Zasha smirks coldly. “Thought you’d like to see her,” Zasha says. “Since she’s been so loyal to you.”

Vovka’s gaze whips back to me, and I see uncertainty bleeding into his expression. He knows I’ve outplayed him, at least for the moment. Whatever leverage Marina has—or doesn’t have—it’s thrown him off balance.

I take the opening, stepping forward slowly, deliberately. “You’re losing control, Vovka,” I say, my voice calm but laced with steel. “And you know it.”

He sneers, but the confidence behind it wavers. “You think having her changes anything? You think this ends with you alive?” He raises the gun slightly again, but there’s a tremor in his grip.

I smile—cold and deadly. “No, I think it buys me time. Time to take everything from you, just like you took from me.”

Scarlett shifts behind me, and I glance back to see her staring at Marina, anger, disappointment, and wariness flickering across her face. I feel terrible for her because her friend’s involvement—her betrayal—must be very hard for her to process.

Lev steps forward, his grip firm on Marina’s arm as he passes her to me. “Your move, Sidorov,” he says. His voice is steady, but there’s a fire in his gaze. Lev is ready to kill, just like I am.

For a long moment, no one moves. The only sounds are the cargo ship's distant creaks and the water's lapping against the dock. Vovka’s eyes dart from me to Marina to Lev, his mind whirring as he calculates his options. I can see it—the slow realization that his grip on this situation is slipping.

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