Page 7 of Broken & Bound

I sneered, “You kept it a secret, fucker. We don’t do that shit around here.”

“I get that you feel that way. But it was never going to be a permanent secret. And just so we’re clear, I’d do it again.”

I shook my head. The audacity. I was about to unleash on him when he spoke again.

“She’s just as much my sister as she is yours,” he roared, gaze locking onto mine. His cheek twitched. “Always has been. Always will be. I’d go to the motherfucking ends of the earth for her. And you bloody well know it.”

“No, what I know is that you kept shit from me. Shit that involves my sister. How would you feel if—”

Nik jumped up, color rushed to his cheeks, and that darkness that he kept hidden in check flashed. He moved to unbutton his shirt. Instinctively I reacted, bracing my feet as well. Fighter stance taken.

“You want to fight me on this shit? Bring it on, Torturer. I lost my sister, be glad you still have yours to honor in any fucking capacity.”

Alek stepped in before either of us lost our shit and threw down. “Dostatochno.” Enough.

The single word cut clean through the room. “Brother?” he added, still gripping Nik. His palm rested on the nape of his neck, thumb kneading absent-mindedly.

A sharp exhale puffed past Nik’s lips, and his nostrils flared. Then as if nothing had happened, he nodded and took his seat. Alek turned to the screen.

“You sure you’re up for this, Dancer?” he asked.

The fucking kid nodded. “As much as I can be. I will have Marcel on speed-dial, and I won’t let her down.”

“This is a big deal. Trusting you with her like this,” Ivan said before adding, “It’s not that we don’t trust you, but you didn’t know her prior to and then after. We did.”

“Which is why she wants Pasha to be the one,” Marcel spoke up.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped as his focus settled on me for a second before shifting back to the screen.

“She doesn’t need someone who lived it with her,” Marcel continued. “Not for this. That comes with its own weight. Yes, we have the shared memory of her both before and after. But that complicates things.”

My jaw tightened, but Marcel didn’t stop there.

“It’s why the girls can’t know either. At least not until Isabella wishes to share it. Pasha offers stability. He won’t project or spiral alongside her. He can hold space differently, and that is critical.”

I hated that his explanation made sense.

With a thoughtful expression, Ivan spoke. “I trust Isabella’s instincts and the Dancer is nothing if not the epitome of the tattoo on his chest. Not only is he an official Death Squad member, but he is Russian. He’s every bit capable of seeing her through this.”

“It’s true. He is fierce, resilient, and protective. What more could we ask for? We vote,” Alek commanded.

‘Ayes’ rang out almost immediately, sealing it before I even opened my mouth. That anger surged again, sharper this time, cutting straight through what little restraint I had left. I grabbed the bottle off the desk and hurled it at the wall.

It shattered on impact, the sound cracking through the room. No one moved. No one said a word.

“It won’t matter what I vote, majority rules, so it is what it is,” I barked.

The words tasted like shit the second they left my mouth. It was only compounded by Isabella’s sobs. The call was disconnected, and Marcel left the room with his phone. No doubt calling her directly to soothe her.

Chairs shifted, and movement returned. One by one they filed out, leaving the wreckage where it was. Alek didn’t react, but his eyes narrowed. The door shut behind the last of them, but Alek remained seated.

“You gonna break anything else?” he asked.

I let out a humorless breath, dragging my hands over my face before leaning back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling.

“Nope.”

“Good. Because breaking shit won’t change the past.”