Page 69 of Never Distract a Biker

They shuffle uncomfortably, eyes darting between each other, searching for a lifeline that isn't there. Grigori's voice breaks first, a pathetic stammer that grates on my already frayed nerves. "We—we were watching, boss. Just like we should. She went to the—"

"Spit it out!" My fist crashes down on the metal table, the sound resonating like a gunshot. They flinch, and it takes everything in me not to reach across and throttle them.

Pavel finds his tongue next, though it hardly fares better than Grigori's. "The bathroom area ... we saw her go in. We didn’t seeher come out." His gaze flicks to the floor, unable to meet my searing stare.

"Then?" I snarl, leaning in close enough to see the tremor in his hands.

"Yelena ... she went looking after a few minutes," Grigori continues, the words tumbling out in a jittery rush. "Came out frantic. That's when we knew."

"Knew what?" I press, though the answer boils in my veins like poison.

"Scarlett was gone. Abducted." Pavel's admission is a death knell, sealing their fate as surely as any sentence I could pronounce.

My anger, sharp and icy, carves through the room, leaving no room for excuses or forgiveness. These men had one job, and they failed.

"Did you know?" My voice slices through the heavy silence, a sneering blade that has them recoiling. "Did you know she's pregnant with my children? That she carries the heirs to this Bratva in her belly?" The words are venomous, my snarl baring the raw edge of paternal fury.

Pavel and Grigori exchange a glance, their Adam’s apples bobbing like they’re choking on the thick air. They nod, eyes wide with fear, the knowledge of what's at stake now etched into their expressions.

"Has the Bratva ever failed you?" I lean back in my chair, arms folded, the question hanging between us like a guillotine.

"No," they murmur in unison, voices barely above whispers, knowing full well the sanctuary the Bratva had provided them. The brotherhood that had been their salvation until today.

"Then do you understand the magnitude of your failure?" My gaze pins them like insects to a board, waiting for them to squirm under the weight of their incompetence.

They swallow hard, their nods slow and laden with dread. Their silent admission is all the confirmation I need—they have failed the Bratva, failed me, irrevocably.

I don't even blink as I turn to Lev and Zasha, who stand like silent sentinels by the door. My eyes, cold and unforgiving, lock onto theirs. "Dispose of them," I command, each syllable dropping like a stone into the stillness.

Lev and Zasha don’t flinch; there's no hesitation in their step as they move forward. They are the embodiment of loyalty and obedience—traits Pavel and Grigori should have shown. The two men before me quiver, their fates sealed by my order, their ends decreed by my word.

"Please, Viktor—" Grigori begins, but his plea is cut short by the finality in my gaze.

"Out," I say, not to the condemned but to my loyal soldiers. And as they usher the traitors from my sight, I know the Bratva willnot suffer such betrayal again. Not under my rule. Not while I draw breath. The Bratva will not become weak under my reign.

32

Scarlett

Suddenly, the van's tires screech against the gravel in a violent protest, jarring me from my thoughts. My body lurches forward, and I brace myself against the cold metal wall. They've stopped. I press my ear to the side of the van, straining to hear over the pounding of my heart. The front doors creak open, and heavy boots crunch on the ground outside. Muffled Russian words float through the air—harsh, staccato sounds that slice through the silence inside my prison.

"Viktor," I whisper to myself, the name tasting bitter on my tongue.

The men's voices grow louder, more animated. An occasional laugh punctuates their speech. A sound devoid of humor, chilling in its casual cruelty in the most terrifying way.

My breath catches as the sound of footsteps draws nearer to the back of the van. Fear coils in my stomach, tightening until it's hard to breathe. My pulse quickens, each beat resounding in my ears like a drum of war, signaling impending doom. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to disappear into the shadows, to become nothing more than a wisp of air.

But I am not invisible. I am here, flesh and bone, heart flapping frantically in my chest—a trapped bird desperate for escape yet bound by invisible chains. The footsteps stop, poised just beyond the thin metal that separates me from them. My fate rests in the hands of these merciless strangers, and every fiber of my being screams for salvation.

"Please," I murmur, a silent plea to the universe. But there are no saviors here, only predators and prey. And as the footsteps resume, coming ever closer, I know which one I am.

The lock twists, a metallic click heralding dread. The door of the van is yanked open with such force it groans in protest. A man leans in, his features before hardening into something cruel and unyielding. "Hello bitch," he greets me mockingly, a smile playing on his lips that doesn't reach the coldness in his eyes.

For a fleeting second, I see what might have been considered handsome—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, a straight nose. But any semblance of attractiveness is ravaged by the evil etched deep into his expression, twisting his features into a mask of malice. It's a face you can't forget, one that haunts your nightmares, promising pain and terror.

Panicked, I scramble backward, my hands clawing at the metal floor, seeking escape. But there's none. I feel like a cornered animal about to be picked up by its predator. His hand shoots in, fingers entwined viciously in my hair, yanking me out as if I weigh nothing. My scalp burns, and a sharp cry is torn from my throat. Tears spring to my eyes, blurring the world into a mess of lights and shadows.

He drags me toward the building, my legs stumbling to keep pace with his strides. Each step is agony, each tug a reminder of my powerlessness. I am at his mercy—a concept alien to the likes of him—and at this moment, I understand true helplessness. It's not just the physical pain but the realization that I am nothing more than an object to be moved at will, my humanity stripped away with every pull, every mocking word.

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