Page 7 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“I was trying to get out,” she says in a small voice. “But I just… The rooms got worse. There were men and they looked at me… They tried to touch…”

Her breathing is getting panicked again.

“It’s okay,” I interrupt. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” she replies instantly. Her answer seems to surprise her. It sure as hell surprises the fuck out of me.

I frown. “You know?”

Her brow wrinkles as she tries to gather her thoughts. Her eyes keep going in and out of focus. Whatever she was slipped, it’s strong. She’s still fighting the after-effects, even if she doesn’t yet know it.

Before she can respond to my question, the door opens slowly. Acting on instinct, I grab her hand and push her behind me.

This time, the person at the door is exactly who I expect to see.

“Viktor,” I greet coolly, trying to salvage the situation despite the desperate girl trembling behind me.

He’s dressed to kill in a navy suit and a white collared shirt. His cufflinks catch the candlelight—a pair of black swans, set in metal. His alarmingly light blue eyes linger on me for a mere second before they fall on the unkempt bride trying to disappear under my shadow.

“What the fuck is this, Kovalyov?” Ozol asks, his tone rippling with annoyance. “We agreed to meet alone.”

“She’s not part of this,” I snap back.

He looks at me suspiciously. So I’m right in assuming she’s just a cosmic fluke that’s stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong fucking time.

“You told me you wanted to meet to discuss a truce.”

“Among other things.”

His eyes narrow dangerously. Movement flickers from just beyond the door. Enough to let me know that Ozol is not alone like he claimed to be.

“What kept you, Ozol?” I drawl. I know I need to play this smarter, but my hatred for the man runs deeper than he could ever imagine. It takes so much effort to keep the black rage from pouring out of me. “You were scared to meet me alone?”

“Says the man who brought the bride of Frankenstein to the party,” he retorts. “Why the hell is she dressed like that?”

The way he looks at her has me seething. Is that the way he looks at all his victims before he tears their lives apart?

I step right in front of her, blocking her from view. “Like I said, she’s not part of this. She stumbled in here moments before you did. Wrong room.”

“And yet you seem keen on protecting her.”

“From you?” I say. “Someone has to.”

He glowers at me. “You didn’t come here for a truce, did you, young Phoenix?”

“Oh, I did,” I tell him, my fingers twitching with anticipation. “And I plan on seeing it through.”

I push the girl to the side, forcing her behind one of the wing-backed armchairs. Then I whip out my knife.

Ozol moves at the same time. But when he raises his hand, it’s a gun he’s holding.

He sees the blade glimmering in my hand and laughs. “You brought a knife to a gunfight? Stupid Russian.”

I’m not scared for myself as I stare down the barrel of his gun. Death stopped scaring me a long time ago. My only point of concern is the terrified girl cowering behind the black armchair.

Viktor stalks closer. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid to ask for this meeting. Stupid to think you could walk onto my turf and leave in one piece.”

I spit on the floor at his feet. “I’m still standing,mudak.”

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