Page 32 of Beautifully Damned (Sinful Fates #2)
Ayla
I make the call, the phone rings once, twice… and then it connects. “Baba?” I heave.
“ Canim kizim ,” he breathes, his voice thick, older than I remember. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”
“Baba, I’m okay… I think.” What do I tell him? Yeah, Baba I’m not hurt physically, but I did sleep with the enemy, and now my pride hurts. That I betrayed him in the worst way just for a bit of fun?
“We offered them the best we could, but they’ve given us nothing in return. Roman has still not updated us. Did you hear anything? Did anyone tell you anything?”
“No, Baba, they are not telling me anything.” I say, shell-shocked. So my father did actually make an offer, and if he says he offered them the best he could, then he truly did offer him the best he could. Why hasn’t Roman accepted it and sent me on my way?
“I need you to listen to me. We have waited long enough. We can’t wait anymore. Drastic measures are being taken, kizim. We don’t have a choice.”
Panic engulfs me whole. That doesn’t sound good. “What do you mean stay calm? You’re scaring me. Don’t do anything. Please, Baba, you know we are no match for them.”
“We are not fools. We already offered him the best we could, and yet he refused. What more does he want?” He spits.
Why Roman? Why not accept? What do you want from me? This all could have been over if Roman just let it go.
“There are people moving. This will not be clean. I need you to do exactly what I say. You need to stay low. Find somewhere inside. Don’t be near windows. Don’t move unless you must. Just hide.”
“What do you mean hide? From what? I just want to come home. Please, I’m scared. I want my mother. I want Emir. Please don’t hurt anyone. Just talk to them. Maybe it’s not too late. Baba, no. Don’t do this.”
I can’t stomach the idea of people hurting because of me. Or worst of all…. That person being Roman . I’m hyperventilating, literally terrified out of my mind. This is escalating way too quickly, and it’s going to be worse than a nightmare.
Pop.
Pop-pop.
Gunshots.
The phone slips from my fingers, my ears ringing. No, no, no. I don’t even have time to dive under the bed before the door bursts open.
It’s Lola. And the look on her face makes the blood drain from mine. She storms toward me, fire in her eyes. Her hand tangles in my hair, yanking hard enough that my knees buckle. I cry out, grasping at her wrist.
“You don’t get to hide,” she hisses. “Not when your father just made my man a fucking target.”
How is that my fault? She drags me with her like a ragdoll, and I do fight back, but at the moment, with her man at risk, she literally turns into a demon.
I’m not sure two sumo wrestlers can get her off of me.
A vase explodes in the room when a stray bullet hits it.
I scream and try to dive underneath the bed again, but her grip tightens, dragging me up by the roots. The pain is dizzying.
She’s going to kill me. Or Roman’s going to kill me. Or my father is going to kill me with a stray bullet. I’m dead either way.
I stumble after her down the hall, down the stairs, tears streaming down my cheeks. Every instinct inside me is begging to run, but I’m anchored to her, to this chaos, to this nightmare. I pray silently that no one gets hurt, especially Roman. I pray for a peaceful end.
“Lola! Stay upstairs!” Mikhail’s voice echoes like a thunderclap.
The living room looks like a battlefield. Blood, glass, overturned furniture, flashes of gunmetal and violence. Mikhail is crouched behind the couch, firing with his weapon. Roman stands next to him, giving orders. A couple of men shoot from behind the piano. Even Elena is firing too.
Lola shoves me forward so hard I almost fall.
“Move,” she snaps, and I do. We run. I hear a bullet whistle past my ear, and then something burns hot across my arm.
I cry out, nearly collapsing. She grabs something from the table—a gun—and before I can ask what she’s doing, the barrel is cold against my temple.
“L-Lola, please—” I don’t want to die this way.
“Shut up.”
I can feel her rage in the tremble of her hands. Right now, she has what feels like inhumane strength because she’s defending her love. And I wish I were this strong.
“You listening, you fucks?” she screams. “One more bullet and her brains paint this wall!”
My legs shake beneath me. I thought she was my friend. On my side.
“I thought you were my friend,” I whisper through a sob, it slips out of me without permission. Shame curdles in my gut at my own naivety.
“Your Baba just sent men with machine guns into Bratva territory to collect you like a piece of lost luggage. Don’t talk to me about friendship.”
The shooting slows. Then it stops. I feel the weight of every eye on me. On us.
Roman’s voice breaks through the short lived silence, furious. “What the fuck are you doing, Lola?! Get that gun off her! Both of you, go upstairs!”
“You think the Pakhan’s gonna pull the trigger?” she sneers at the shooters. “Maybe not. Maybe he knows the etiquette of whatever this war is.” She glares toward him. “But I don’t care. I’ll do it. I’ll blow her fucking head off.”
I see something in Roman’s eyes I’ve never seen before. Fear . He’s afraid for me.
This is Lola. His future sister-in-law. His family. And I’m… the liability. The softness. The rot infecting his life.
And he knows it.
I see it all over his face, he doesn’t want this. But he understands why she’s doing it.
Because he can’t .
So she does.
She’s the executioner. And he’s the man with too many jumbled feeling to do it.
Roman reaches for me, trying to pull me away, but she won’t let go. It’s only when Mikhail catches her eye from across the room, some silent look exchanged between them, that her fingers finally loosen.
She shoves me to the floor.
“Go. I’m done babysitting.”
I hit the ground, knees bruising against the wood. The cold seeps into my skin.
Roman is immediately there, crouched beside me. “Ayla—”
But I flinch away from him. I scramble to my feet, heart still racing, and run upstairs before anyone can stop me. My legs barely work, slipping on the polished floors. I run until I can slam the door shut behind me.
And then I crumble.