Page 89 of Sexting the Bratva Beast
His eyes flicker around the room, and I hold my breath. Please don’t let him notice that the bookcase has moved.Please…
Then, “You’re my niece. I promised my brother that I would look out for you. You’re my own flesh and blood, Cartier. You remind me so much of my brother.” If he is trying to inject some sincerity into his voice, it doesn’t work.
With Ivana’s cold hand in mine, and her blood soaking through my sweatpants, it takes my brain a couple of beats to process what Yuri said.
“When did you promise my father that you would take care of me?”
I’m trying to visualize the scene. Did it take place in my parents’ home after they were shot? Or did Yuri manage to take them to a hospital to try to save them? Perhaps the conversation took place before they were brutally murdered if they sensed that they were in danger.
But I can see in his eyes that this is more information than he’d wanted to reveal.
“The day that he was killed.” He doesn’t sound quite so confident now though. “What does it even matter? He was my brother. You’re his daughter. He’d be clawing his way out of his grave if he knew that you were sleeping with the enemy.”
“It matters to me.” I can’t hear Ivana’s shallow breaths, and every second that ticks by is a second closer to losing her. Because of me. “I want to know how they died.”
The queasiness in my stomach almost makes me gag. I can’t be sick. Ivana needs me.
“They were tortured. They didn’t die quickly, if that’s what you’re asking. They’d have felt every slice, every deadly wound. My brother,your father, would’ve been forced to watch his wife die first.”
I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t help forcing an image into my head of Andrej torturing my parents. Hurting my mom while my dad watched, powerless to save her.
And that’s when I know for certain that he would never be guilty of such a cold-hearted crime for the sake of a longstanding family feud set in motion by their ancestors.
“Who killed them?” I blurt out the question like there was a fuse lit beneath it.
“You still need to ask?” His eyes narrow. “Do you think I’d have followed you halfway around the world for a hunch that it might’ve been?—”
“Who?” I cut him off. I’m trying to unfurl Ivana’s fingers from around the gun without him noticing, but it’s slick with blood and keeps slipping out of reach.
A click from somewhere behind me sends my pulse galloping in a different direction. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I have to keep swallowing to stop myself from vomiting onto the carpet.
Yuri hears it too. With the weapon held at chest height in front of him, he swings his arms to my right like a robot moving automatically. I watch his gaze come into focus. Watch the information travel from his brain to his hand. Watch the slightest pressure on the trigger.
Then, the weapon flies from his hand and skitters across the carpet. Red splatters the wall and the door, and I feel something wet land on my face. It feels like raindrops. But Yuri is clutching his right arm against his chest, his eyes flitting frantically between the gun on the floor and the person emerging from the bookcase, and I can’t tell how many fingers he is missing because of the blood…
“Answer the question!”
Andrej’s voice carries straight to my core, and I want to throw myself at him, wrap my arms around his neck, and tell him how much I love him.
But Ivana’s finger touches mine, and I lean over her, willing her to open her eyes and tell me that she’s going to be alright, that it isn’t as bad as it looks. Her eyes are still closed, and I realize that it was my imagination playing tricks on me. The blood is spreading. I’ll never be able to erase the metallic smell from my consciousness for as long as I live.
Andrej approaches us. Our eyes meet, and the familiar spark of electricity fires up. But it’s quickly erased by the blood seeping through his sweater.
He’s hurt!
He must see the concern in my eyes because he shakes his head, a movement that’s barely there, telling me not to worry. But he’d have more success if he told the spider not to chase the fly. Our hearts might be in separate bodies, but they’re connected by invisible stitches. If anything should happen to Andrej…
“Andrej Ivanov.” My uncle’s voice is cold.
Why is he still here? Why doesn’t he scurry back through whichever hole he crawled out of and leave us alone? Hasn’t he done enough fucking damage?
My pulse quickens, torn between fear for Andrej and Ivana, and hot swirling rage for the man who followed me to Russia for some sick kind of misplaced vengeance.
Andrej aims his pistol at Yuri’s head, his arms steady, his gaze never faltering. “Answer the fucking question or you’ll be collecting the rest of your fingers from the floor.”
My eyes instinctively drop to the bloody stumps on the carpet, and I cover my mouth with a bloody hand.
“I’ve already told my niece that your father gave the order for her parents to be murdered.” His voice is smug, and I wish that I could shut him up.
