Page 74 of Never Distract a Biker

Her eyes, once warm with shared secrets, now glint with the sharpness of shattered glass. There’s no empathy there, no shred of our former bond. It’s as if she sees right through me, as though I am just another pawn in a game too complex for me to comprehend.

"Your connection to them," she says slowly, deliberately, "makes you part of this, whether you chose it or not."

Marina's shoulders rise and fall nonchalantly in a shrug that chills me to the bone. Her indifference is a slap, more painful than any physical blow could be. Words once spoken in confidence between us now turn into daggers as she twists them into something vile and accusatory.

"By getting involved with Viktor Makarov," she says, her voice dripping with disdain, "you roped yourself into this mess. Notonly are you spreading your legs for him but you are also carrying his bastard."

Her words hit like a punch in the gut, leaving me breathless. The accusation stings, the venom in her tone seeping into my skin, branding me with a shame I don't deserve. My hands instinctively move to my abdomen, protecting the innocent life growing there from her scorn.

With a cruel twist of her lips, Marina turns her back on me. She dismisses me as if I'm nothing—no, less than nothing. "You made the choices that led you here. Not me," she tosses over her shoulder.

My mind races, trying to find a flaw in her logic, a way to deny her accusations. But the truth weighs heavily on me; my choices and actions have entangled me in a web far more dangerous than I'd ever imagined. As Marina walks away, each step echoes in the hollow space she leaves behind. I'm left alone, grappling with the reality that I've stepped into a game of shadows, where even the closest allies can become the most ruthless enemies.

The cold, damp air clings to my skin as I struggle to find my voice, a voice that once laughed and confided in the woman before me. "But I thought we were friends," I manage to whisper, each word laced with pain so acute it feels as if my heart is being shredded from within.

Marina halts mid-step, her silhouette outlined by the dim light filtering through the musty warehouse. The pause is brief, almost imperceptible, yet it holds the weight of a final judgment.She doesn’t turn around; she doesn’t need to. Her next words are delivered with the precision of a knife sliding effortlessly through tender flesh.

"I do not do friendship, Scarlett." The chill in her voice is colder than the air biting at my cheeks. "You were someone I knew for a certain period of my life, and I wouldn't cry because you are no longer in it. No one is going to stand in my way."

Her words hang between us, suspended in the space where warmth and affection once resided. Each syllable is a nail sealing the coffin of our shared past, entombing any illusion of camaraderie I might have cherished. Marina's indifference cuts deeper than betrayal—it erases the bond I thought unbreakable, rendering it as inconsequential as dust scattered by the wind.

With the echo of her dismissal still haunting the air, I watch the figure who embodies my deepest regret move further away from me, leaving only shadows in her wake.

Vovka watches Marina as she sashays away, his eyes glittering with mad admiration. His lips curve into a smirk, and when he speaks, his voice drips with lust—and something far darker.

“Her coldness sets me on fire,” he murmurs, almost to himself. The words hang in the air like smoke from a lit match.

I shudder, my stomach twisting at the thought of these two callous people together. How did they even find each other? Vovka, with his reptilian disdain for anyone weaker than himself, and Marina, who hides her venom behind a mask of calculated charm. There isn’t a drop of empathy between them. Together, they’re a storm of destruction, capable of anything. My hand instinctively drifts to my bump, seeking reassurance for the life growing within me.

Vovka’s gaze snaps to me, and his eyes narrow as they travel down t belly. His expression twists into one of disgust.

“See you on the other side,” he says, turning on his heel without another glance.

The other side of where? Panic prickles at the edges of my mind. Are they taking me to another state? Shipping me off to Russia? I don’t have long to speculate because Vovka calls over a burly man, his voice sharp and cold.

“Bundle her into the cargo ship tonight and toss her out in the middle of the sea.” He speaks as if I’m not even here, as if my life and the life of my unborn child are nothing more than disposable inconveniences.

“No! Please, don’t do this!” The words burst out of me, desperate and raw. My voice cracks as I call after his retreating figure, but Vovka doesn’t even pause. He’s already halfway across the warehouse, his hands shoved casually into his pockets.

The burly man steps forward, grabs my arm roughly, and drags me back to the stinking cubicle they’ve been keeping me in. The smell of mildew and sweat clings to the walls, and the flickering fluorescent light overhead feels like a cruel mockery of hope. I’m shoved inside, and the door slams shut behind me with a metallic clang that echoes like a death knell.

I sink onto the filthy mattress, too numb to cry. Vovka’s words loop in my mind like a nightmare on repeat. Toss her out in the middle of the sea. I press my hands protectively over my belly and begin to pray, whispering fervent words to a God I’m not even sure is listening.

“Please, Viktor,” I whisper. “Please find me before it’s too late.”

Marina's betrayal plays in my head like a broken record, her icy words echoing in the hollows of my skull. How could she? The woman I thought I knew, who I'd laughed with, confided in—she's part of the Russian Mafia, an underworld that's as foreign to me as peace is now. And Marina doesn't just belong to it; she thrives in it, willing to climb over anyone to reach the top. Even me. Even her flesh and blood. Not once did I imagine that my life, and the lives within me, would mean so little to her.

The revelation burns, acid and bile rising in my throat as I force myself to confront the reality of Marina's words. She spoke of my demise with such nonchalance, as if discussing the weather or the price of bread. But the cost of her ambition is written in blood, and she's signed the check with my name. With our names—mine and my unborn babies.

The hours crawl by, each second heavier than the last. My fear feels like a hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing tighter with every passing moment. As evening approaches, my hope begins to fade. Maybe Viktor won’t come. Maybe he can’t.

I try to distract myself with memories of my childhood—my mother’s laugh, the warmth of our home—but the thoughts only make me sadder. I’ll never get to be a mother, and my children will never have memories of their own.

I think of Viktor and the love I’d only just begun to feel for him. I wonder if he would’ve loved me as much as I loved him. Would we have been good parents together? Or would his world—this world—have torn us apart anyway? The questions pile up until my mind is a tangled mess, and I eventually fall into a restless slumber.

The sound of the door creaking open jolts me awake. A burly man stands in the doorway, his silhouette blocking the light. He steps in and hauls me to my feet with a bruising grip.

“Put this on,” he growls, throwing a bundle of clothes at me. His tone is sharp as if I’m a waste of his time.

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