Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Maykl takes my hand, pulling me closer to his side as we advance.
Through the steam, I see six figures sitting in a hot tub.
“Come on in. There’s plenty of room,” a redhead says.
The occupants are arranged in pairs. A blond man drapes his tattooed arm around the redhead’s shoulders. Kat, the young woman from the pottery studio, sits with another tattooed man, and a small, dark-haired woman is nestled against another blond man.
Maykl kicks off his boots and strips to a pair of swim shorts. I don’t have a swimsuit, but I’m not shy. I strip down to my bra and panties and follow him into the tub.
“Kira, this is Maxim and Sasha, Adrian and you already met his girlfriend, Kat, and Nikolai and Chelle.”
I lift a hand in shy greeting as I immerse myself in the water. Maykl catches my waist and pulls me back against him to settle on his lap.
“I’m sorry for the loss of your sister,” Maxim says, answering my question of whether these people knew anything about me. If they’re angry at me for what I’ve done, it doesn’t show. Everyone relaxes casually in the hot tub as if I’m just an ordinary woman–Maykl’s new girlfriend, not the woman who planted bugs and sent their security information to the FBI.
I double check his expression, but he doesn’t seem to be sneering. His comment appears genuine. Perfectly polite.
Very un-bratva-like.
“Yes, sorry for your loss,” Nikolai murmurs, and the other man, Adrian, nods his agreement.
“I hate when everyone knows something I don’t,” Sasha complains. “But I’m sorry for your loss, too.”
“Um. Yes. Thank you.” What does one say in a situation like this? I’m sorry I tried to screw you, and please don’t kill me? “Uh, thank you for letting me scatter her ashes today.”
Maxim’s casual position doesn’t change. “It was not my call.”
Okay, so he’s not the pakhan. He seems to carry himself with that kind of authority.
“Your freedom comes at Maykl’s pleasure and that of our pakhan.”
The dark-haired woman named Chelle tenses and throws me a worried glance. Nikolai covers her ears. “Ear muffs, freckles. Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
“What’s going on?” Sasha asks.
Maykl’s fingers splay across my belly. It feels possessive but also protective. Like he’s letting me know we’re a unit.
“Nothing, sugar. It’s handled. You’re safe,” Maxim tells her.
Sasha cocks her head. “Was I not safe?”
“You’re safe,” he repeats firmly. To me, he says, “Your nephew and his new family will fly out to meet you tomorrow.”
My lips part in surprise. His new family. Wow. Maykl tried to warn me of this, but I still haven’t digested it. “Fly from where?”
Maxim shakes his head. “You’ll learn it all when the time comes.”
I lift my gaze to study Maykl. He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I relax. It can’t be horrible, whatever it is they have planned for me. It doesn’t feel wrong.
Nothing about any of these people feels particularly menacing although I know all three men are bratva. They must be dangerous criminals. Yet, seeing them with the women they obviously adore makes them completely different.
Normal, almost.
Whatever normal is.
Certainly not me.
They all seem very human. The women aren’t junkies or whores. They appear to be beautiful, intelligent women who are in love with their chosen partners.
And Mika is flying out to meet me.
That may be a lie or a manipulation, but it doesn’t feel like one.
“Kira said she’d like to learn to throw pots,” Maykl offers.
“At you,” Nikolai mutters.
Maxim smirks. A joke. These men joke with each other.
Kat smiles at me. “You should. I can teach you. Want to come down tomorrow?”
“I’d love to.” I answer her immediately, even though Maykl said it was something I had to earn. I’m daring him to contradict me.
He doesn’t. His fingers trace around my knee in the water.
“I’ll be in the studio by noon if you want to meet me.”
Now I look back at Maykl. Because the truth is, I can’t go anywhere unless he lets me. There are still two guards standing behind the door to the rooftop to make sure I don’t escape.
“She’ll be there,” he says.
Ribbons of warmth slip and slide through me, weaving a pattern around my heart. Suddenly, the effort of keeping the walls of hate I erected against the bratva up takes more energy than just letting them crash and crumble. I don’t want to stay on guard. I want to let go and trust. These people make me feel like that’s possible.
Logically, I know they are very dangerous. That my life is in their hands. And yet, I also sense that if I would just trust them, everything will come out right.
These people seem happy. Their relationships appear healthy, loving, and full of respect. I guess I want what they have. Want to be a part of whatever it is that’s going on in this organization.