Page 17 of The Bratva Sinner

Damien moves past me with Sampson behind him. I stand over Slick Hair, who’s writhing on the concrete.

“You’ll live,” I tell him. “But next time someone from the Sokolov family shows up, maybe just do what we ask. You’re lucky it’s me. My brothers are very into torture. I don’t like how messy all of that can be, but when I’m forced to resort to such measures, I do like to play.”

Five minutes later, we’re back in the car, with the shipment secured and on its way to Sergei’s warehouse. Damien is laughing as he pulls out onto the main road.

“What?” I ask.

“You should’ve just shot him first. Could’ve saved us twenty minutes.”

“I tried talking.”

“For about thirty seconds.” He glances at me. “You’re distracted today.”

“I’m fine.”

“Is it the girl?”

I don’t answer, which is answer enough.

“You pulled her out of Bekir’s hands in front of half the city. You brought her to your house. Your house, not one of the safe locations. That was a choice.”

“It was my choice.”

Damien shakes his head. “Just be careful. We don’t know anything about her. She could be working for them.”

“She’s not.”

“You don’t know that.”

But I do. The fear in her eyes wasn’t an act. Lila is what she appears to be—a survivor who got caught up in something she doesn’t understand.

5

Lila

I wake up feeling almost human. My head still hurts, but I can think straight.

One of the guards took me to the kitchen, where I found Maksim sipping coffee and scrolling on his phone. It was all so… normal. I know this situation is anything but normal, though. I don’t know who he is or what he does, but he’s not a typical businessman.

He's attractive. Older, maybe in his mid-thirties. He's got at least 15 years on me, maybe more. His hair is jet black, and his eyes are pale blue, similar to mine. And that smile. That smile is a weapon. I bet it’s worked on a lot of people. It's working on me right now, and I hate that I can't stop it. I don't know why I feel comfortable around him.

But I do.

It bothers me, makes me feel like he’s winning a game I don’t know the rules to. Is he purposely trying to disarm me? No one does anything without expecting something in return.

He looks up when he sees me and flashes that smile. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”

“I want to leave,” I blurt out.

He nods. “Okay. Would you like some breakfast first? Coffee, maybe?”

Why is he being so nice? I don’t like it. I shouldn’t trust it.

But I need to keep my strength up. I snatch a banana from the fruit bowl on the island. “I’m good.”

I keep the island between us, watching him.

He sips his coffee and gestures to one of the empty stools. “Have a seat.”