Page 8 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

A slow smile pulls up the corners of his mouth. “Not for long.”

3

Elyssa

I’m caught between two angels of death.

The man closest to me is all darkness. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark, handsome features. He’s wearing dark pants and a black t-shirt underneath a black leather jacket that fits him perfectly, accentuating the raw power of his arms.

The man standing against the open door is his opposite. He’s got light hair and pale blue irises. His skin is ashen, almost sallow. And he’s dressed as though he’s going to a wedding.

Somehow—of all the rooms in all the buildings in all the world—I’ve managed to stumble into the worst possible one I could have chosen.

And I’m forced to look to a devil for protection.

There’s no denying that the dark-haired man is a devil. It’s radiating from every inch of him—raw, brutal power. The way he spoke to me, the way he grabbed me, the pure fury in his eyes when I first opened the door.

And yet, of the two, he’s the less threatening one. Because even though his words—“I asked who the fuck you are”—hit me like a whiplash, there was something almost like concern dancing on the edge of them.

“You going to shoot me, Ozol?” my dark-haired protector asks. “Before we’ve even discussed terms?”

“Discussed terms?” the man called Ozol asks. “Something tells me that you don’t want to discuss terms at all.”

He looks at the gun in Ozol’s hand without the slightest trace of fear. It may as well be a toy for all the effect it has on him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I know you’ve been keeping tabs on me for a while now,” Ozol says. “Did you really think I wouldn’t be doing the same with you?”

“Find anything interesting?”

Ozol smiles. I shiver automatically. It’s a disgusting, sinister smile. He makes my skin crawl, without reason or explanation.

“I’ve discovered a vendetta you’ve decided to lay at my feet. Unjustly so.”

“You’re going to stand there and deny it?”

“That is exactly what I’m doing,” he snarls.

My protector looks furious. But even in his state of fury, he contains his reaction. He doesn’t give into hysteria like I would have. He’s the kind of man that Father Josiah would have been impressed by.

Father Josiah.Just thinking about him sends me into a tailspin of guilt.

I glance down to my bloodied fingers, and I have the sudden urge to rip them from my hand.

My vision blurs, but I’m not crying. Truth be told, I don’t think I have any more tears left to cry. On top of that, the fogginess keeps draping over me in waves at the most unexpected times. Sometimes, I feel as though I’ve got my bearings, and just then, my body seems to quit on me.

It’shisvoice that pulls me back from the horrific truth of my sins—of what I’m running from.

“You may have everyone else fooled, Ozol. But I know who you are. I know how you make your money.”

“My dealings don’t concern you.”

“They have in the past.”

“I had nothing to do with their deaths. You ought to run a tighter organization, Kovalyov.”

Deaths?I seize up, caught between wanting to know more and wanting to never hear another word either of these men speak.

“I’ll ask you again…” Ozol begins, his tone twisting into darkness.

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