Page 2 of Brutal Vows

“Why?” he snarls.

“Why what?” I demand through gritted teeth as he trails the gun up the side of my neck.

“Why you protect my boss?”

The feral, frozen wasteland shining from his asymmetrical blue eyes—the scar pulls his brow in a lopsided scowl—freezes me to the very core of my being.

“I didn’t. I protected my friends,” I respond.

The unhinged fascination swimming in his gaze fills me with disgust.

“Stupidsuka. They no do same for you,” he nods toward my coworkers, “but I do.” He taps his chest with his gun in his fist as though my fear makes him proud. “Now and later. When we kill your friends, I keep you. Protect you,da?”

My skin crawls at his lascivious tone.

“I’d rather die.”

I curse my wayward tongue but refuse to take back the words since they’re true. I’ve suffered at the hands of evil men before and I won’t do it again unless it’s to save my sister. Anyone else can go to hell.

He curls his scarred lips into a terrifying smirk and leans closer until his nose almost touches mine.

“I do not mind. A pet is more fun,da?”

My sister saves me with an urgent command. The monitor beeps in warning. I lean back and lift my brow in question.

He scowls and shoves me toward the head of the operating table.

I stumble and hiss when my thigh bangs into the corner of the IV stand, but I catch myself and check the patient’s linesbefore diving back into calculating his medicinal needs. I shield my sister from both the tension in the room and my inner turmoil as a few other men enter and exit the room at odd intervals—each stepping over the dead body without reaction—to speak in Russian with the monster overseeing the operation.

Several hours later, with my feet numb from standing and my lower back aching, I switch mental gears as my sister completes the last stitch and snips the surgical thread.

As her team winds down, I launch into full-throttle mode, beginning the first of many steps to bring the behemoth safely out of deep sleep.

My spine throbs as I adjust his medicines and check his responses, but I lean over and peel his eyelid open to ensure his pupil reacts to the light before instinctually reaching for my clipboard to log the changes.

Realizing my mistake, I pull the cart closer instead. The Russian monster’s eyes roam over me. Ants crawl on my skin.

Half a dozen men burst into the room. Even though their language sounds naturally harsh to my ears, their urgency raises the hairs on my nape.

I freeze as a blood-encrusted hand grabs my arm. With both hands on the bag clamp as I adjust the flow, I can’t drop my arms to protect myself without flooding the patient’s veins, and after such an extensive surgery, he may never recover from the imbalance.

Every muscle in my body locks up as the Russian monster presses himself against my back. Bile rises in my throat as he murmurs in my ear.

“You still have duty to boss,da? Be good girl and come with me. Get him the best drugs. Now.”

As the thugs push the surgical team away from the table and transfer the patient to a rolling bed, I give a stiff nod, pretendingacquiescence, and knock his hand off my arm as I move the IV bags to the hook above the bed.

“The medicine is down the hall in the—”

Gunshots echo from the front of the building. He curses and gestures with his gun. I use the chaos and slip to the other side of the bed as I follow his crew. He directs half the men toward the shooting and the other half toward the back exit.

The moment his heel crosses the threshold, I slam and lock the double doors together before bolting them to the frame and dropping to my ass against the wall. His furious yelling curdles my heart, but I shift further away from the door and scan the room for my coworkers. He kicks the door twice, then curses and promises to return before stomping away.

We cower in exhausted, shell-shocked silence as the battle rages outside. My sister, who sits on the floor behind the surgical table between her assistants, pulls her face shield, mask, and glasses off her face. The deep lines bracketing her eyes and the divots on the bridge of her nose from the weight of the glasses may be the only outward signs she shows of her ordeal, but her emotional upheaval sends waves of stress through our bond.

With her concentration broken, she struggles to remain in control, but she shoves me away like she always does when she isn’t operating. I pull my presence tight around myself and avert my gaze, trying to give her the space she needs to cope.

I’ve caused her so much pain over the years. She has every right to pull away from me. Because of me, she no longer has a mother. Because of me, she lost her family and friends. Because of me, she can never return home.

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