Page 11 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
He already knows.
The car pulls away, tires crunching over gravel and silence.
I close my eyes.
And I see her again.
Soft smile. Big eyes. That faint crease between her brows when she’s thinking too hard.
She has no idea what’s coming.
No idea that the shadows she’s been feeling for months now…were me.
She’s about to find out.
Tonight, Jennie Whitlock stops being a dream.
Almost half an hour later, we pull up to her building, and my jaw tightens the second I see it. Brick chipped at the edges. Rust creeping down the stair rails. A busted porch light flickering like a dying pulse. The kind of place that breeds danger in silence and hides it in every corner.
I hate this place.
I’ve hated it since the first time I saw it. Since the first time she walked out that cracked door with her bag slung over one shoulder, smiling like the sun didn’t care where it shone.
But I know this is all she can afford. Tuition. Rent. Waitressing nights just to scrape by. It’s the only life she’s been allowed to live.
Until now.
Because all I can think about is how easily I can change that.
How I can give her everything. Walls that keep danger out. Windows that lock. A home with heat, safety…silence. A home that I guard.
Zalar doesn’t say a word as I step out and close the car door behind me. The wind bites at my collar. The street is quiet except for the low thrum of a neighbor’s music two floors up.
I climb the stairs and raise my fist.
For a moment, I hesitate.
Then I knock. Soft. Measured.
A beat passes.
Then I hear footsteps.
The door opens.
And there she is.
Jennie.
It’s the first time she’s standing directly in front of me like this. We’ve been in the same room several times, when she attends Zoe and Lukin’s parties, or at the nightclubs, but we’ve never spoken or paid attention to each other. No. She’s never paid attention to me. I always pay attention to her. There’s never been a time in the past year since I met her for the first time that she doesn’t occupy my mind. She has driven me to obsession.
I’ll not be blamed for what happens from here on.
I stare down at her, my body and soul awakening in response to her nearness. Fucking hell.
She’s beautiful. She’s soft. Ethereal. Divine brown eyes, lips parted in surprise, hair tied up like she always wears it when she’s comfortable. Her skin glows in the hallway light, and for a second, I forget the world.
She looks at me—
