Page 106 of The Bratva Sinner

I thought she was weak. Broken. I thought she was running from her demons, not protecting me from mine. I was so angry ather for never giving me a real home. I was so pissed at her for disappearing into a bottle some nights.

“I’m sorry.” I sob into my knees. “I’m so sorry, Mama.”

Another wave hits and leaves me gasping for air between sobs. My throat burns. My head pounds. I don’t care. I need to feel all the pain before I can turn that into fury at the men who killed her.

I pull the photograph from my pocket, smooth it against my thigh, and look at her face again.

She looks so young. She has her whole life ahead of her in this picture. She doesn’t know yet that she’s going to marry a piece of shit who’ll trade their daughter’s life for his own. She doesn’t know she’ll be murdered while her daughter watches.

“I wish I could have saved you,” I whisper. “I wish I’d been stronger. Braver. I wish I’d known what you were protecting me from, so I could have helped you fight.”

But I was just a stupid, angry kid who didn’t understand.

I press the photograph to my chest and rock back and forth, the sobs coming in waves now. Deep, wracking things that make my ribs ache, and my lungs burn.

I think about the ring on my finger. A month ago, I was terrified of Maksim. Now, I sleep in his bed. I let him touch me in ways no one else has. I wake up with his arm around my waist and his breath against my neck, and I feel safe.

How did that happen? How did I go from being a scared girl with nothing to being someone’s wife? Someone’s partner?

And what would Mama think?

Would she be proud that I survived? Or would she be horrified that I married into the same world that killed her? I’m sleeping with a man who runs brothels and burns down buildings and kills people without blinking.

I’ll never know what she would think.

“I miss you,” I say to the photograph. To the ghost of the woman who gave up everything for me. “I miss you so much, and I never even told you. I never told you I loved you. I never said thank you for keeping me alive all those years.”

The last words come out in a harsh whisper.

I cry until there’s nothing left. My eyes are swollen, and my throat is raw. My body feels like it’s been wrung out and left to dry. There’s nothing left except a hollow, aching emptiness in my chest.

Outlaw shifts her weight nearby, and the leather of her saddle creaks. She’s stood there patiently while I fell apart.Good girl.

I wipe my face with my hands, knowing I probably look like hell. My eyes feel puffy. My nose is running. I’m a mess.

But I’m still here. Still breathing. Still fighting.

Mama would want that. She fought so hard to keep me alive. The least I can do is live.

I carefully tuck the photograph into my pocket and push myself to my feet on unsteady legs. Everything hurts.

I’m about to reach for Outlaw’s reins when I hear footsteps behind me.

I turn to see the guard pull up nearby on a side-by-side, get out, and move toward me. He’s not running, but he’s not casual. The look on his face tells me the time for tears is over.

My chest tightens.

“What?” I ask.

“We need to go back.” His hand is on his radio. “Now.”

“What happened?”

He moves to Outlaw and unties her reins.

I grab his arm. “What happened?”

He looks at me, and I see in his eyes that it’s bad.