Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
When he begins to clean the sand from under my nails, a smile tugs at my mouth. I stare at my husband as he takes care of me, feeling unbelievably lucky.
“You have to wear gloves if you’re going to work in the garden,” he orders in his no-nonsense tone.
Rodian even puts lotion on my hands, and once he’s done, I whisper, “Thank you, my love.”
He cups my cheek and searches my face. “What happened?”
“When I walked into the kitchen, your mom and aunt were peeling potatoes and…” I shrug. “It brought back a memory.”
Tilting his head, he asks, “Want to talk to me about it? It can’t be good bottling it all up.”
“I don’t want to burden you with my issues.”
He braces a hand on either side of my butt and looks me dead in the eye with one of his brutal expressions that commands all my attention.
“You don’t have issues. You are dealing with severe fucking PTSD, Anastasia. Surprisingly well, may I add. And let me make myself very clear. You can never burden me. Let me help you in whatever way I can.” His eyebrows draw together. “Your mental health is just as important to me as your physical safety.”
I’ve never loved anything as much as I love Rodian in this moment, and it gives me the strength to say, “It was a memory of when I was peeling potatoes. Bogdan was shouting at me to work faster, and the guard who always kept an eye on me threatened to cut off pieces of me. It made the others laugh, and they all came into the kitchen, then one of the men hit me.” Once I’m done recounting that part, I continue, “After they ate, that man made me crawl through the night, and whenever I collapsed, he would kick me until I started crawling again.”
For the first time since it all happened, anger surges through me, speeding up my breaths. “I wish I could do the same to him.”
Rodian’s eyes narrow, his expression turning downright savage. “Can you face going back to the factory?”
His question catches me by surprise, and I think for a moment. “What happened to the men who were there?”
“Some were killed when I found you. The others are still there.”
They’re alive?
“What will happen if I go back?”
“You give the order, and I will kill whoever you want. But if you don’t want to go there, I can bring you photos, and you can just point out the men who hurt you.”
My tongue darts out to wet my lips, then I say, “Maybe if I go back to face the demons and see them die, it will help.”
“It’s your choice, moya Krasavitsa.”
When I nod, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number. A few seconds later, he orders, “Come pick me up in the helicopter. We’re flying out to the factory in Chekhov.”
Rodian
Looking out the window as we land, I’m pissed off with myself for not doing this sooner.
I’ve been so focused on Anastasia, I never thought once to stop and consider that some of the men who hurt her might still be alive.
It’s my fucking duty to defend her, and I slipped up.
Never again. It’s time to get my head out of the clouds and to do my fucking job as her husband and the pakhan of the Bratva.
Even though we’re wearing headsets, she leans into me to ask, “How are we going to do this? Do I just point out the men?”
I nod, gripping her hand tighter. “Yes. That’s all you have to do. I’ll handle the rest.”
I brought her medication in case she needs it, but so far, she’s doing really well. I honestly didn’t think she would want to return to the factory.
When we touch down, we remove the headsets and wait as two guards get out first before Sergei and Andrei follow.
A man appears in the open doorway, his eyes widening when he sees I’m here.
“Is he one?” I ask.
“No,” My wife answers, her voice sounding fragile. “I haven’t seen him before.”
I glance at Sergei and order, “You don’t leave Anastasia’s side. No matter what happens. She’s your priority.”
“Yes, sir.” He moves to her side while scanning the area.
When we enter the factory, most of the men are hard at work, converting the place into a functioning manufacturing plant.
“Pakhan!” someone shouts, and all the men stop what they’re doing.
“Show me who hurt you,” I tell Anastasia.
When she starts pointing out men, Andrei and the guards train their weapons on them, indicating for the fuckers to line up by a wall.
“The very tall one,” she says, and just then two make a run for the back door that leads to the pens.
Yanking my gun from where it’s tucked into the back of my pants, I don’t hesitate for a second and shoot one in in his thigh while one of the guards tackles the other to the ground.