Page 35 of Beautifully Deranged

“Something like that.” And just like that, I become the charming girl, the sweet girl, the girl who could be anyone, anywhere, with nothing clawing at her insides. I am a lie wrapped in a smile.

I walk outside, and for the first time tonight, I can finally breathe. I’m not going to cry over him. Not now. Not ever. I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t care. As long as I’m moving away from him, it’s enough.

A sound brushes the edge of my awareness.

Soft. Measured. Like a shadow stretching too close. I glance over my shoulder, but the street is empty.

It’s nothing. My mind is playing tricks on me. I turn down another path, trying to shake the feeling, to lose whoever might be out there. But the sound lingers, just behind me, refusing to disappear.

Running makes you prey. It makes them chase. So I don’t run. I pivot, my apartment complex coming back into view. Just make it back. Just make it inside. A hand reaches out—

I throw my weight into the first punch, my knuckles cracking against solid muscle. Another punch. Then another. My breath is ragged, fists flying, striking whatever part of him I canreach.

“Fuck—” the man grunts, his grip on me tightening. “Relax. I don’t want to hurt you.” He takes a blow to the stomach, sucks in a sharp breath, and finally lets me go.

I stumble back, panting. It’s the stranger who gave me the business card. “What’s your name again?” I shout, furious and ready to report him to the police.

His lips twitch. “Roman.”

“What the fuck do you want?” I spit, wiping my mouth.

“You never called me.”

“For what?”

“For the commission work.”

I make an educated guess. This stranger, who looks eerily like Mikhail, who shares the same last name, who approached me once before about this mysterious “commission work”, is Mikhail’s brother. And judging by how Mikhail had stressed how mediocre I was during that phone call... he was speaking to him that day.

“Why the fuck would I do that? I thought Mikhail already told you how mediocre I am.”

“Oh, so you heard. No wonder he called for Lara.”

Lara. The name twists inside me like a jagged knife. “Oh, nice,” I grumble. “A shared slut.”

“Careful. Not many people get away with talking to me like that.”

“And who am I talking to?” I mock.

“The Pakhan.”

Fuck. The blood drains from my face.

What the hell has Mikhail pulled me into? The fucking Bratva, really? I swallow hard, forcing my expression to stay neutral. “Well, it was nice chatting, but I should—”

He catches my wrist. “You know what Mikhail said on that phone call wasn’t true.”

I yank my hand back. “Don’t care.”

“We need a good artist. And fast.”

“What does that have to do with me? I mean, the Bratva has a lot of other resources.”

“Not good enough,” he hisses. “We need a forger. You know how skilled an artist has to be to make a forgery believable?” His eyes narrow. “You’re not mediocre. Mikhail only said that to protect you.”

I scoff. “Protect me? And yet here you are, trying to drag me into the very thing he wanted me out of.”

“You and I both know you were in this world long before Mikhail came into your life.”

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