Page 77 of Claimed By the Pakhan

I meet my team of assassins at the entrance and guide them in.

“Is it true about Luka? He’s been conspiring against us this entire time?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” I grumble, gravel crunching underfoot as we pass abandoned warehouses, heading toward the container yard.

Finding Luka in this area will be a fucking headache. Containers are arranged in a certain way to disorientate. Intruders lose themselves in the maze and have us to deal with when we shoot them on sight, trapping them in the web that Luka helped me fucking design all those years ago when we first established something.

He consolidated me after my father’s death, motivating me to step up and continue his legacy. I refined the business, took the organization from the streets and established it into something much bigger than a few messy hit and runs.

To make sure law enforcement never came knocking on our door, we made ourselves look legitimate, swapping out the streetwear for bespoke suits, fit with black ties and gold cufflinks.

Gold was easy to afford after we scammed a few innocent people, forcing them to pay debts they couldn’t afford. Luka was the creative director behind a lot of the ideas.

Now I fucking see why. He was in this for the long game, plotting to one day take everything from me.

Fog drifts in from the bay, the clouds growing thicker. A few hours of sunlight is all a state like Washington deserves for being home to the worst criminals in America who lie to their own kind.

Man eats man in the Bratva, but it never once fucking crossed my mind that trusted friends could turn on you.

I take heavy steps, a sweat still beading down my forehead even though the sun is now long gone. Now I see why my father isolated himself from his family. Opening yourself up to trust, confiding in another human being, is more catastrophic than any nuclear weapon. People see potential, not friendship.

I swipe a piece of hair from my face as we enter the container yard. Fia is the only real person in my life, more real than I can ever hope to be. My life has been based on lies, full of people never saying what they mean.

People only smile because I have money to my name. Remove the wealth and I become a man in love, which is arguably more powerful than anything the Bratva could have ever given me.

The atmosphere turns dark, containers stacking high into the air in every direction. I glance over my shoulder, signaling to my men to keep back as I create distance, disappearing into the next corridor alone.

Calling my men here was a mistake, since they increase my chances of survival. The thought of seeing another day after this one leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I’m undeserving.

Chasing after Fia, apologizing, doing everything in my power to make it up to her, still won’t change the fact that I forced her into this. Good doesn’t counteract bad. My death is the only thing that can reverse things.

“He’s up ahead.” A figure materializes in the distance, fog skirting up the sides of the corridor.

I march forward, shadows dispersing as I close the distance between me and the guard. For a man who remains neutral in all circumstances, unbothered by everything, the uneasy look on his face tells me that we have a problem on our hands.

“What is it?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself.”

Nausea rolls through me in waves, each one bigger than the last. I grind my jaw, knife clenched in my hand as I follow the guard down the dark corridor. He steps up into the container, standing aside to let me through.

Fia is unconscious, her head tilted back, resting against the back of the chair she’s been strapped to. Cuts and bruises line her face, the color drained completely from her face.

Pain stabs me in the heart, a seldom tear threatening to fall from my eye as I face the consequences of my actions. I lose over and over again, the same lessons repeating until I learn to face the music and put a stop to this for good.

The pain encourages me to yield, to drop the knife and let death take me, but she can still survive this.

I rush forward, gently cupping her delicate face in my hands, tilting her head toward me. Her eyes are shut, her mouth soft.Blood tints her lips a vibrant color, red lines trickling down from her mouth where Luka bust her lip.

I monitor her pulse, pressing two fingers to her wrist, measuring her heartrate. Her pulse might be stable, but things could decline if she remains in this state for a long period of time.

I need her out of here before she wakes up. Amnesia needs to work its magic and remove all of her memories. I want her away from this world, away from me.

I run my fingers over her face, estimating how many times she has been hit.

I remove my hands, feeling them start to shake. Anger surges through me like an electric current, each heartbeat ramping up the voltage. I feel charged, like a lightning bolt on the verge of striking. And I want Fia nowhere near me when I explode.