Page 82 of Never Distract a Biker

“Oh, and not only does the winner get to keep both Bratva, they also get to keep the whore.” Vovka says leering at me. “I find myself in need of a new one seeing as my old one does not know how to follow instructions.” He frowns at Marina’s body.

“No,” I whisper, the word barely audible.

Vovka stretches out his hand, and one of his men steps forward, placing two gleaming jackknives into his palm. The sight of the blades sends a chill down my spine.

“This fight is unbalanced.” I scream. “You are not fighting fair.”

“My fight my rules,” Vovka grins wickedly.

He twirls the knives effortlessly, the sharp edges catching the light. “Let’s see if you’re as strong as I heard,” Vovka says, a sinister grin spreading across his face.

I can’t stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks. Fear clenches my heart like a vise, squeezing tighter with every passing second. I know Viktor is strong, that he’s survived things most people couldn’t imagine. But there’s something unhinged about Vovka—something unpredictable and dangerous.

I clasp my hands together, resting them against my bump as I murmur a prayer. Please, let him come out of this alive. Please.

The air between them grows heavy, charged with tension and malice. Vovka takes a step forward, the blades gleaming in his hands. Viktor remains steady, his face unreadable as he prepares for the fight.

I force myself to take a shaky breath. No matter what happens, I have to believe in him. I have to believe that he’ll find a way to survive this madness. For the sake of his Bratva, his sisters, myself, our children, and himself.

38

Viktor

Vovka steps into the makeshift arena, his every movement deliberate, exuding menace. His cruel smile widens, and the wicked glint in his eyes is a promise of pain. He rolls his shoulders back, flexing his muscles as though savoring the destruction he intends to unleash. Behind him, his men stand like shadows, their presence a silent testament to their loyalty.

Scarlett’s voice slices through the charged air, trembling with dread. “Viktor, don’t do this!” Her words are filled with desperation, her hands gripping his arm as if her touch alone could pull him back from the brink. “You don’t have to fight him! You don’t have to prove anything to him! We can walk away and start afresh.”

I turn to Scarlett, my chest tightening at the sight of her tear-filled eyes. Her love for me shines bright. “This isn’t about proving anything,” I say, my voice low but resolute. “This is about ending it.”

Her grip tightens. “You could get killed, Viktor. Please, think of the babies—think of me!”

My jaw tightens as her words pierce through the cold armor I’ve built around myself. For a brief moment, I consider her plea. But this isn’t just about me or even us. It’s about justice for my parents, Keeping the Bratva safe, and ensuring that Vovka’s reign of terror ends tonight.

I place a hand over hers, my touch firm yet gentle. “I’ll come back to you,” I promise, meeting her gaze with unwavering determination. “But I have to do this.”

Scarlett’s lips tremble, her hand reluctantly slipping from my arm as I step into the arena.

As I walk toward the center of the circle, I can still feel the weight of Scarlett’s plea lingering in my chest. Her love and concern are a tether pulling me back, a warmth I never thought I’d feel. But the image of my father, his lifeless body riddled with bullets, flashes in my mind, hardening my resolve.

Vovka stands there, watching me with that smug grin, his posture casual yet predatory. Every step I take solidifies my decision. Scarlett’s plea is etched into my mind, but so is myfather’s voice—the man who taught me that weakness invites chaos.

I glance over my shoulder at Scarlett one last time, nodding to reassure her, then focus entirely on Vovka. The air between us crackles with tension. He may think he’s won before we’ve begun, but he’s underestimated the depths of my fury and resolve.

The men on both sides form a circle, their expressions a mixture of anticipation and bloodlust. The ground beneath their boots crunches softly as they shuffle into position, their faces illuminated by the faint glow of the dork lights filtering through towering stacks of containers.

The makeshift arena feels oppressive, the weight of the crowd’s silence pressing down on me. I roll my shoulders, loosening the tension that’s coiling there, and crack my knuckles. My gaze locks on Vovka as he bounces on the balls of his feet, his grin widening with each passing second.

“Do you feel that?” he sneers, his voice dripping with mockery. “That’s fear.”

“No,” I reply evenly. “That’s the sound of your downfall.”

A murmur ripples through our men at my words, but I don’t take my eyes off Vovka. He’s the predator at this moment, but I’ll make him prey soon enough.

Without warning, Vovka lunges at me, his speed is surprising for a man of his size. His movements are precise, his body coiled like a serpent ready to strike. The glint of his blade catches the light, and I brace myself, stepping aside at the last second.

But I don’t retreat. Instead, I counter with a calculated strike—a hook aimed at his ribs. The impact reverberates through my knuckles, a satisfying confirmation of my aim.

Vovka snarls, more annoyed than hurt, and lunges again, his blade slicing through the air. This time, I duck low, my instincts taking over as I dodge his attack. I can feel the heat of the blade as it narrowly misses my skin, but I don’t flinch.

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