Page 68 of Bratva Prince
Fuck Arman for stealing this moment from me.
Arman chuckled. The sadistic bastard was actually laughing at Willow’s pain, mocking his daughter with cruelty and abuse, tormenting her with the possibility of killing our baby. He reminded me a lot of my own father—may he burn in Hell.
Rage burned through me. To say I saw red was not even the beginning to the fury that had swept through my body, lighting my very limbs with a fire that coursed through my veins like lava, igniting me from the inside.
“Ivan!” Willow’s voice snapped me out of my clouded rage. “Get out of here. Go get Misha and Dimitry and tell them to—”
“Shut her up!” Arman yelled, taking a panicked step forward as his cronies covered Willow’s mouth with their disgusting, dirty fingers.
They dare lay a hand on her?
Big fucking mistake.
For the second that Arman stepped forward, he was distracted. I dove into his side, tackling him to the ground. His guards were quick to react, turning their guns to me.Good luck shooting me without hitting your boss.
Not that it mattered. The minute I had Arman’s throat pinned beneath my knee, Misha, Mihailo, and the rest of my men, emerged from behind the trees and piled into the scene, shooting the other three men in a matter of seconds.
Arman shoved me forward, jerking out of my grasp, and reached for his gun that had fallen to the ground. He swung the pistol to Willow, pointing it at her belly. “Poor Ivan will never get to know his own child.”
Big mistake number two, mother fucker.
Bam!
Right between the eyes, I shot the son of a bitch. His blood covered the side of Willow’s face and body. She screamed, jumping back from the bits and pieces of his flesh and brains that were spewed about the lawn.
I rushed to her side, my arms wrapped around her, gripping her tight. Her fingers lace through my hair. Our mouths meet in an inferno of too many emotions, her pain from years of abuse, and my burning desire to finally have each other back in my arms where she always belonged. I quickly pulled away, my hand jumping to her belly. “Oh, shit. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
Blood smeared across her face and onto mine, staining my clothes in splotches of red. Oh well, nothing I hadn’t dealt with before.
She let out a light laugh, nodding her head. “Yes, I’m okay.” But her laughter grew until she was hysterical—maniacal, almost.
I glanced around in confusion. Mihailo and Misha both had one eyebrow cocked, and I shrugged. I guess it was better than crying?
After a minute, she looked up to the sky, and tears were streaming down her face. My hand rested on her shoulder, the other returning to her belly. “Willow, are you okay?” My voice was soft, an attempt to calm her. I wasn’t sure what was going on with her.
“Willow!”
We all turned to see her mother sprinting toward her, hair a disheveled mess, eyes wide as she took in the scene of her dead husband and his cronies. I released my hold, allowing her mother to rush into her daughter’s arms.
“Oh, Willow,” she weeped, embracing her daughter. “Thank god you’re okay.”
“Mom, what the hell are you doing here? You could’ve been killed!” Willow screamed.
“I followed your father. I knew he would do something terrible, and I couldn’t let him hurt you. But by the time I found you guys, he was already dead.” She let out a half-laugh, cocking her head to the side. “I guess you didn’t need me, after all.”
What would she have done, anyway? I didn’t know her mother, but one woman against a group of armed men… probably wouldn’t have ended well. Though, the sentiment was touching.
Willow smiled, grabbing her mother’s face to get her attention. “We’re free, mom.” It was low, almost a whisper at first, but then she shouted, “We’re finally fucking free!”
A grin spread on her mother’s face as they both held each other, laughing together at the gift they’d finally been granted.
Misha let out a chuckle from behind me, mumbling, “I guess they hated the bastard more than we did.”
With her mother still wrapped in one arm, Willow called me over, grabbing me with her other hand and pulling me in. “Thank you,” she whispered, tears staining her face and snot bubbling at her nose.
But I didn’t care.
The woman I loved was finally freed from the cage her father had trapped her in.
