Page 43 of Never Distract a Biker

The twins exchange a glance, but neither of them argues. For a moment, I see something flicker in Alina’s eyes—hope, maybe, or admiration.

Alina’s voice cuts through the tension, light, and teasing. "What about Viktor?"

I freeze, the question catching me off guard. "What about him?"

"You’re carrying his child," she says with a sly smile. "Surely, that’s a connection worth exploring. There may be the possibility of softening aPakhan’sheart."

"No," I reply, my voice firm. The thought is ridiculous, and yet my cheeks heat as I speak.

"Why not?" Alina presses, clearly enjoying herself.

"Because ..." I struggle for words, finally settling on the simplest truth. "It would never work."

“Considering your condition, it worked once.” Yelena chuckles.

“Sex is different from love.”

“Then carry on having the sex till you find love. Especially if it was good.”

"Hell no," I say emphatically, my voice full of finality. “I’d rather caress a porcupine.”

The room erupts into laughter, the tension dissolving like sugar in water. Even Yelena cracks a smile, her earlier skepticism momentarily forgotten.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel a sense of camaraderie. These women—so different from me in every way—are becoming more than just Viktor’s sisters. They’re becoming allies, maybe even friends.

As the movie continues, I lean back and let myself relax, the sound of laughter filling the room. For now, the darkness outside this mansion feels a little less oppressive, and the future, though uncertain, doesn’t seem quite so daunting.

18

Viktor

The heavy silence of my office presses against me as I sit at my table. Alina’s words echo in my mind, sharper than the finest blade in my collection.

“She’s carrying your child, Viktor. You can’t just lock her up and forget she exists.”

Her accusation had cut deep, not just because it was true, but because it struck at a part of me I didn’t want to face.

I’ve avoided Scarlett since the day she arrived here, choosing the comfort of my investigation over confronting the chaos she brings into my life. Yet, she’s impossible to ignore. Her fire and defiance stir something in me that I can’t quite name.

My thoughts drift to that night in my car, the feel of her soft skin beneath my hands, the way her steel-gray eyes locked onto mine with equal parts of fear and hunger. My brain conjures up the moment the tip of my shaft first met her soft entrance, and I groan with lust.

Pushing my chair back, I rise with a newfound determination. Guilt gnaws at the edges of my resolve, but the heat rising in me tempers it, urging me forward.

I roll up my shirt sleeves and stride toward the door, leaving behind the familiarity of my office for something far more uncertain. Scarlett’s presence in my home isn’t just a complication—it’s a responsibility. One I can no longer ignore.

The corridors of the mansion stretch before me, dark and silent except for the measured echo of my footsteps. My mind races with questions I’ve avoided for days. Why did Scarlett choose to strip? Was it desperation, ambition, or something else entirely?

The idea of her standing on a stage, exposed to leering men, fills me with an anger I can’t rationalize. She’s here now, under my roof, carrying my child. And yet, I know so little about her.

As I approach her door, I pause, my hand hovering over the polished wood. It’s a rare moment of hesitation for me, thePakhanof the Makarov Bratva. What am I afraid of? Her anger? Her sarcasm? Or is it something deeper? Perhaps the way she makes me feel unsteady in a world I’ve built on control?

I take a deep breath and knock, the sound firm and deliberate. There’s no turning back now.

The door swings open, and there she is, standing barefoot and defiant in the soft glow of her room. Her eyes widen for a moment before narrowing, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

"Well, well," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. "To what do I owe the honor? Gods don’t usually visit mortals."

Her sarcasm is sharp, but I find myself amused rather than irritated. She’s small, barely reaching my chest, yet she stands as if she’s ten feet tall.

---