Page 8 of Forced & Obsessed By the Bratva King
The other men don’t hesitate. Bloodthirsty and voraciously hungry for more violence, they arrive at the scene, pull out their guns, and aim straight at her head. But Mikhail catches her wrist easily as I lift the radio to my lips.
“Lower your fucking guns, idiots,” he growls. “Leo wants her breathing.”
I lower my radio, watching as she desperately twists in his grip. But against Mikhail’s strength, she writhes as uselessly as a ragdoll. The panic makes her even more reckless and, when one of the men moves closer, clamping a gloved hand over her mouth, she struggles harder.
Until her body slackens.
I lift the radio to my lips, gaze narrowing. “What thehelljust happened?”
Mikhail swears under his breath as her head falls limp against his arm. “She fainted,” he sighs into the comms.
I exhale slowly through my nose. “Bring her in. Without a scratch.”
“Understood,” comes his response, before static erupts through the radio and the channel closes.
Five minutes later, they carry her onto the yacht unconscious. I remain near the upper lounge as Mikhail brings her inside. Artem stays rooted by my side, one hand over his mask, the other clutching the gun holster on his belt. His eyes are steady and focused, with rage visible through every blink.
I drag my gaze from the gun to him, then lift a brow. “The girl’s unconscious,” I mutter in Russian, and he shrugs.
“You never know what cards our enemies have up their sleeves these days.” He faces me, and his voice comes through the mask, muffled. “Best to keep a bullet or two ready to blow her brains out if she decides to try something stupid.”
The corners of my eyes crinkle tightly. “Rest easy. This one’s not going to sneak up on you while you sleep with a hammer. You haven’t given her a reason to.”
“They don’t need a reason,” he clips out. “They’re all the same: vicious, malicious, emotional beings who only care about themselves. And when you’re no longer beneficial to them…”
He looks at me, then slowly slides his index finger across his throat.
I smile, making sure it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Who’d have ever thought the day would come when we’d see Artem inlove?”
“In…love?”He grimaces like he just bit into something sour. “Where did you ever get an idea like that?”
“Sasha hurt you a lot, didn’t she?”
His gaze hardens, and then there’s a tick in his jaw. “Sasha’s resting six feet under. What does she have to do with anything?”
“A lot. You’re projecting,” I say, then face him briefly. “And I don’t need misdirected shit flying around in the air right now, Art. Contain it.”
Artem scoffs in disagreement beside me while I take a step forward.
The overhead light sends a warm glow across the polished wooden floor and expensive leather furniture, but my attention fixes entirely on the girl in Mikhail’s arms.
Up close and surrounded by the broad statures of my men, she looks smaller, more fragile, almost as delicate as a flower. A flower that should be protected, preserved even. Not crushed by mafia soldiers whose hearts know nothing but darkness.
Again, her youthfulness and blatant innocence irritate me.
Honey-blonde hair spills from her tangled ponytail across Mikhail’s sleeve. Her face has gone pale beneath the marina lights. Long lashes rest against flushed cheeks, and her breathing comes shallow but steady.
“Her head hit the dock when she fell,” Mikhail mumbles, like the explanation is necessary to save his head from getting chopped off. “If she has a concussion, it’s probably not too bad. It’s the struggling that completely knocked her out.”
I stare at her another moment before speaking.
“Put her somewhere secure. We’ll have Carew check her vitals soon.”
Mikhail nods once, then adjusts her body in his arms. “Guest cabin?”
“For now, yes. And post someone outside the door,” I reply immediately. “The new recruit, what’s his name?”
“Ace,” Artem responds behind us.
