Page 42 of The Pakhan's Sold Bride

Nestor sighs heavily and looks away from me for a long while, obviously trying to pull his thoughts together.

“Nestor—I heard you say on the phone that you know who did it. You didn’t even sound surprised by any of it. As though this kind of thing is perfectly normal to you.“ I pull his attention back to me with the insistence of my tone.

Nestor nods, he brushes his fingers through his short, dark blonde hair, and says.

“It was my stepbrother and his father.”

My blood runs cold. His stepbrother really wants him dead? Likedead-dead?

“Why?” I snap, my tone harsh.

“I told you why.” He knits his brows as he looks at me. “Lara, it’s because they want the businesses.” He takes a step towards me, and I step back.

“Don’t give me the same bullshit answer as before, Nestor. I’m tired of this. All the secrets, the half-truths. It’s not normal for your family to be trying to kill you over a business. What kind of business is it? Why is murder an acceptable solution?Why did I almost die tonight?”

My throat goes tight around my words, and I choke back the tears threatening, stinging against my eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he sighs.

“No, I don’t care about sorries or regrets—all I want is the truth. Youmarriedme. You got me to move in with you. And now my life is in danger because of choices that have nothing to do with me. I demand the truth.”

His shoulders slump down as his defenses drop.

“Okay.” Nestor closes his eyes, his face looking pale. “I’ll tell—I’ll tell you.” He sways slightly and grunts in pain as he clutches his side, slipping his hand beneath his jacket. We both look down at his hand, and it’s coated in blood from where he touched his ribs.

“Nestor?” I squeal in horror. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Uh.” He groans, swaying to the side. “I think, maybe—"

I rush forward and wrap my arm around his waist and pull his arm over my shoulders. He’s so much taller than I, but at least I can provide a little bit of support as I lead him to the sofa.

“Take me upstairs. I have a first aid kit in my bathroom.” His words are strained.

“I think the adrenaline wore off,” I huff, trying to hold his weight as we climb the stairs.

“You don’t have to hold me up, Lara, I can lean on the railing. Maybe I should’ve gone easier on those cakes after dinner,” he chuckles, but as soon as he laughs, his whole body goes rigid with pain.

“Stop making jokes,” I snap at him, guiding him into his bathroom. He sits on the edge of the bath, holding on to the vanity to steady himself as he lowers himself down while I fuss around him in panic.

“Are you going to pass out?” I ask.

“No, I don’t think so,” he groans.

Without asking, I start gently tugging off his jacket. He doesn’t say a word, letting me do whatever I’m doing.I have no idea what I’m doing.

I slide the suspenders off his shoulders, letting them hang from his pants, then I unbutton his shirt, each loosened button revealing more of his perfectly formed body.

Clenching my jaw, I ignore the way my skin heats and my heart beats faster. The way my breath catches as I let my eyes wander over him.

Nestor is sitting on the edge of the bath in his black pants, slightly bent forward from the pain. Shirtless, his muscles taut.

“Sit up, I need to see what’s going on. You might need stitches.”

He sits up straighter. My eyes trace over his chest, and for a moment, I’m distracted by the number of scars I see drawn across his skin. I reach out and touch one, then realize what I’m doing, and my cheeks flush bright pink with embarrassment.

He notices and smirks at me.

“What happened?” I ask, distracting myself and him.

---