Page 6 of The Bratva Sinner

I turn on my heel and walk away. I'm halfway across the floor when I hear a sharp cry of pain that rings out loudly enough to break through the music.

I spin around to see the girl on the floor with her hand pressed against her cheek. One of Bekir's men is standing over her with his hand still raised.

I'm moving before I can think about it. Mike and Sampson are converging, but I get there first. I grab the Albanian by his collar and slam him against the nearest wall. His head makes a satisfying thud against the concrete.

"You just made this very simple," I say. "Touch her again, and I'll break every bone in your hand."

"Maksim." Bekir's voice carries a warning. "Walk away."

I release the jackass and turn to face him. The girl is still on the floor, pushing herself up with shaking arms. Her dress has ridden up past decency.

"How much?" I look at Bekir.

His eyes narrow. "What?"

"How much did you pay for her? I will buy her."

"She's not for sale."

"Everything's for sale. That's your philosophy, isn't it?" I stand slowly, positioning myself between him and the girl. "Name your price."

“She’s. Not. For. Sale.”

The girl is barely conscious and clearly traumatized.

"Everyone has a price." I pull out my phone. "Name it. I'll send the money right now."

One of his men shifts forward, but Bekir holds up a hand. "You don't understand. She's been purchased. Our boss made a deal years ago.”

"Then give him back his money."

"It doesn't work like that." Bekir's smile is ugly. "This one is special. Personal transaction. We're just the delivery service."

I should walk away. I can't save them all. I've learned that lesson the hard way too many times. For every girl I pull from the fire, ten more are waiting to take her place. It's an endless cycle, and I'm not a fucking hero.

"Get out of my club," I say finally. "Take your merchandise and leave. I don't want any part of this."

Bekir's smile widens. "Smart man, Sokolov. For once."

I turn and walk away. The music pounds in my ears. A brunette in a silver dress intercepts me, sliding her hand up my chest. "Maksim, baby, I haven't seen you in weeks.”

I let her talk as I climb back up to the VIP section. Cinder gives me a questioning look, and I nod once. Cinder puts her hand on the woman’s arm. “Maksim isn’t interested.”

“Back off, Cinder. You don’t get to keep him to yourself.”

I grimace because I know how Cinder reacts to anyone who insinuates we’re anything more than friends. I’m not sure why, and I should probably ask her one of these days, but she gets very offended by the suggestion that she might be sleeping with me. I think I should be offended.

“If you want to keep working here, you’ll leave him alone,” Cinder warns. “I brought you in because I was feeling charitable. This is the second time you’ve pissed me off. Three times, and you can find another house.”

I move to the railing and scan the crowd below. Cinder returns to stand beside me. Royalty, surveying the kingdom.

“You’re harsh,” I say.

“Don’t ask me to handle something if you don’t like the way I do it.”

“Do you know them?” I ask her.

“No. I avoided the Albanians. The smart girls always did.”