Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
The normality was jarring.
These people had no idea what existed just blocks away, what I'd just escaped.
Still, I was not safe.
This was merely a moment's reprieve.
The gun pressed against the back of my thigh like a fucking telltale heart.
I’d taken it for protection, but now realized it was evidence too—evidence of what I'd witnessed, what had been done to me.
Taking it to the police and asking for protection wasn’t even worth thinking about.
I should dispose of it, but not yet.
Not until I was truly safe.
Because Pavel would come for me.
And when he did—I didn't know if I would survive.
But I knew I wouldn't surrender again.
CHAPTER 7
PAVEL
"Your turn, Durak," Gregor taunted, slapping down an ace on the table. "Defend that, if you can."
I exhaled a stream of smoke and assessed my hand.
Six cards left against Gregor's three. Not promising.
"Fuck you," I muttered, tossing down my only defense—the ace of spades.
Cheers and jeers erupted around the oak table where my brothers and cousins had gathered in the basement of Gregor's house. Leather armchairs, hunting trophies, and vintage vodka advertisements adorned the wood-paneled walls of what his wife Samara insisted on calling his man cave.
Glasses clinked as Damien poured another round of the cheap American vodka they'd selected as part of my punishment.
The liquid burned twice—first my throat, then my pride.
"Perhaps our little brother should request lessons from his runaway girl," Kostya suggested, deftly rearranging his cards. "She clearly outplayed him tonight."
I gripped my glass tighter, jaw clenched as I absorbed the barbs.
This was tradition—when someone fucked up badly enough, we gathered for Durak.
The card game's name translated to "fool," and tonight, I wore that crown.
"Place your bets for the next round," Gregor announced, gathering the cards to shuffle again. "And while we're at it, who thinks Pavel will track down his runaway before she empties his gun into his thick skull?"
Damien snorted, raising his shot glass of vodka. "I hope she pistol-whips him. Would be a better love story than whatever the fuck this is turning into."
"I'll track her down," I countered, "and unlike some men, it won't take me three years to find her. We all know the only reason you two found Samara and Yelena was sheer dumb luck."
I turned to Damien, enjoying the flicker of rage in his eyes. "Didn't Yelena try to shoot you before you forced her to marry you? At this point, I'm still very much ahead."
"Strictly speaking," Damien corrected, raising a finger, "she never actually shot me."
"Only because you removed the bullets," Artem interjected with a rare smile.
"Still counts," Damien insisted.
"She pulled the trigger," Kostya pressed with a grin.
Damien smirked, pulling on his shirt cuffs. "It was foreplay. You wouldn't understand."
Gregor leaned forward and placed his hand on Kostya’s shoulder. “Says the man whose girl knocked him out while his shriveled cock was still in his hand.”
Mikhail pounded the table with his fist as he laughed. “What did she use again?”
“A lamp,” offered Gregor with a smirk.
"Fuck you both,” Kostya countered with a laugh. “And strictly speaking she hit me before I could get my dick out.”
Gregor tossed his head back with a bark of laughter. “Somehow that’s even worse.”
Meanwhile, Damien raised his glass in mock salute. “To the fallen!”
After we all drank, I folded my forearms on the table and turned to Damien. “In fact, if we're keeping score, didn’t Yelena hit you with a fucking brick? Alina stole from me. She didn't try to kill me."
Mikhail reached for the vodka bottle. “Your gun.”
My brow furrowed. “What?”
“Alina stole your gun from you…not exactly an insignificant detail.”
I gave him the middle finger even as I pushed my shot glass toward him to fill.
Kostya gave me a wink. “Give my little brother a break. He wasn’t thinking with the right head at the time.”
The whole table erupted into laughter.
"You all realize I can kill you, right?" I asked mildly, arranging my deliberately poor hand.
Another aspect of being the Durak—playing at a disadvantage.
"Yeah, yeah." Gregor waved dismissively. "But not before you prove you're not the biggest idiot at this table."
"I'm not the one mistaking a blow job for lifelong commitment, so maybe that point has already been proven. Just because you fell for your bride after she made you come doesn't mean I have the same affliction."
Damien’s chair scraped back as he pulled a knife from his boot.
Artem seized his wrist, forcing him back into his seat while fixing me with a warning glare.
Wives were off-limits.
I knew it, but being the Durak made me reckless. I lifted my chin in Damien’s direction. “Izvini.”
He nodded his acceptance of my apology.
Gregor, ever the strategist, opened with a seven of hearts. A deceptively weak start.
Kostya countered effortlessly, dropping a nine of spades on top.
As always, my brother's defense was impenetrable.
Artem leaned back, calculating his move. "You know, Pavel, it was an interesting choice to leave your gun behind for her to steal.”