Page 50 of Bratva's Vow
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WREN
I’d lied to the police.
Sitting in the back of the car, smushed into the far corner as far away as possible from the murderer I’d been sleeping with, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About the words I hadn’t said. About the ones I swallowed whole.
I could’ve told them everything.
The workers had heard the shouting match in Maxim’s office. They heard Bradley’s name, knew we fought about him. There was footage of me brushing off Bradley earlier in the lobby. Someone saw us leave the restroom a couple of minutes apart. Maxim had no choice but to let the police talk to me about Bradley’s “suicide.”
While they scraped up what was left of Bradley off the pavement, I had to talk. I’d been in no frame of mind to be composed, but luckily that worked in my favor. They could all tell I was shaken from the incident.
They asked questions over and over and in different ways.I was as truthful as I could be, backing up Maxim’s story. Bradley had been hitting on me since I started working at the office. Maxim had the footage to show the number of times he’d stopped by my desk to talk to me. No one disputed that. Maxim and I had argued because he found out Bradley was still making a play for me. Bradley cornered me in the restroom and asked me to meet him on the rooftop. Mostly true. Not so bad.
Until I had to confirm that Bradley threatened me that he would jump off the roof if I didn’t give him a chance. When I said no, he did just that. Motive for the suicide uncovered. No need to pursue the matter. Everything tied up neatly in a bow.
And yet it wasn’t.
Tell my husband I love him.
Bradley’s last words echoed in my head. A shiver ran down my spine, and I clutched my thighs. A tear slipped down my face.
I could have given them everything they needed. One word and Maxim would’ve been done. Hauled off in cuffs. I could’ve ended this whole nightmare and made sure the man who killed my father finally paid for it.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I lied.
I lied because I knew what they would have done to Maxim.
I lied because, even then, when my heart was broken and my skin crawled being near him, I still couldn’t bear the idea of watching him being dragged away.
And I hated him for that.
I hated Maxim Morozov with every single fucking fiber of my being.
I hated him because he let me fall for him.
Because he let me build this life, wrap myself in his arms, taste the sweetness of something that felt real and warm and safe while the whole time he knew.
He knew he’d taken my father from me.
And he knew I would hate him when the truth came out.
But he had still let me fall anyway. He’d still toyed with my emotions. Still climbed between my legs at night and gave me the sweetest pleasure.
My father’s killer.
The silence in the car was unbearable. Heavy and thick, pressing against my chest until I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Outside the tinted windows, the city rolled past, blurry and indifferent, like it didn’t give a shit about the fact that my entire world had been blown to pieces.
Maxim sat at the other end of the seat, legs spread, elbows resting on his thighs. He wasn’t looking at me. He’d barely spared me a glance since Sergei had shoved us into the car and told Dezi to get us out of there.
I kept my face angled toward the window, but I still felt him. Every tense, restrained movement. Every barely suppressed glance.
“Thank you,” Maxim said, his tone strained and uneven. “For not telling the truth back there.”
The words hit me like a punch. Not because of gratitude. But because he thought it made a difference.
