Page 32 of Impregnated By the Bratva

Makari raised his hands again as he spoke. “Please, Grace, I promise we’re only trying to get the truth from him.”

As his words finally sunk in, it struck me. They thought he was the man from the shooting or one of the men who came after me. I felt a surge of anger forcing its way up.

“No!” I screamed. My voice broke slightly as I continued. “Why didn’t you ask me to help? Those men have done nothing. I have never seen them before!”

Walking backward up the stairs away from him, I continued. “If you only asked me to identify them! This wasn’t necessary. They didn’t do it!”

Feeling my full functioning return, I ran to my room. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t even want to see him anymore. I shut the door and fell down on the bed, burying my head in the pillows.

My body shook as I cried. Hearing footsteps approaching, I swallowed my cries. I knew it was him. Turning, I moved up to sit against the headboard, pulling my legs up to my chest. What would he do to me now that I’ve seen what they do?

I jumped as he knocked on the door. Taking a deep breath, I tried calming my voice as I spoke. “No, go away.”

“Grace,” Makari’s voice came through the door. “Please let me come in.”

I sat staring at the door, hoping he would go away. But he didn’t. The door opened slowly, and Makari popped his head around the side. “Please, Grace, let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” I huffed. “I want to leave. Please let me leave,” I added pleadingly.

Makari stepped in and closed the door behind him. Shifting back more, I pulled the pillows up. I hugged them to my body, trying to form a shield between us.

“You can’t leave,” he said softly.

“No, I can’t stay here. I have to leave,” I replied.

Makari lowered his head. I could see he was breathing in deeply as his chest expanded and fell. “It’s not safe, Grace. You know that,” he added.

Looking at him pleadingly, I could hear the fear in my tone as I spoke again. “No, it’s not safe here. Take me someplace else, then. I refuse to stay here in this house with the two of you. I will still do my part, but I can’t be where you are torturing people.”

Makari’s face dropped. It looked like I had slapped him. He sighed before responding. “Okay, I will call my brother. You can stay with him and Tasha, then, if that will put you at ease?”

“Yes,” I replied shortly. I watched as he turned and left.

I quickly gathered my things and packed my bag. I sat on the edge of the bed until he came back.

“Okay,” Makari said, opening the door. “Vadik and Tasha are on their way. Can I help with your bag?”

“No,” I grumbled, holding it tight. “You have done enough.”

He turned and walked downstairs. I followed behind him, leaving a couple of feet between us. My heart was still stuck in my throat, and my nausea was almost at breaking point.

Makari opened the door and walked out. I sat down on the steps as he stood in the driveway, waiting for his brother.

Chapter 17 - Makari

Watching her leave with Vadik and Tasha made me feel ill. I wasn’t comfortable with her being out of my reach. Yet, I understood where she came from. This world was nothing like hers.

What Grace saw downstairs must have been horrible to someone like her. I couldn’t imagine what she felt or thought. This wasn’t how I wanted her to see me, but what was done was done.

Closing the door, I went back downstairs to where Pavel was watching our suspects. Up to now, we’ve been taking it easy. But I had to get to the bottom of this soon. I no longer felt the need to show mercy. In fact, I was cooking with rage. I grabbed the rag from his mouth and tossed it to the floor.

Picking up the knife, I lifted the man’s face. There was no room for argument, and I made that clear in my tone as I spoke. “Why did you shoot at us?” I trailed the blade up and down his chest.

He remained silent, and I felt my left side muscles jump. Lifting my arm, I forcefully inserted the blade back into his leg. His screams echoed off the walls, but I didn’t care. Taking hold of his hair, I pulled his head back as I repeated myself. “Why did you shoot at us? Not once, but on multiple occasions. Who do you work for?”

He couched and looked at me. “Why?” he said. His voice was hoarse, and I had to get closer to hear him. “Fuck you!” he said, spitting at me.

I wiped the spit away with my clean hand before twisting the knife and pulling it out. He screamed louder. I stood back, watching as blood gushed from his leg. His face turned white as his screams stopped, and his head flopped to his chest.

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