Page 10 of Betrayal and Vows (Bratva Vows #2)

Anton

W e are playing with fire.

I never believed in gravity until I met her.

She has me locked in her orbit, and I don’t think I will ever be free.

This is hell. I’m being punished for all the men I’ve killed. I’m forced to be near her without touching her.

“Come,” Lena says.

I arch one eyebrow.

“I need to change. Then I’m meeting the caterer.”

I’d love to spank her little ass for bossing me around, but I get it.

This is Lena—Bratva princess.

I follow her out of the dining room and up to her bedroom.

“Let me check the room,” I say for the benefit of the cameras.

She crosses her arms and heaves a big, dramatic sigh. “This is silly. I’m in the Orlov home. No one is going to try and kill me when I’m here.”

“Except me,” I mutter as I walk by her and into her room.

She fights her smile, but I see it.

“I don’t have time for you to sweep the room,” she calls out.

She walks into the room and shuts the door.

The second she does, I’m on her. My body pushing hers against the wall.

Her breath hitches as I pin her against the door, my hands braced on either side of her head. The scent of her strawberry shampoo fills my nostrils, making my head spin.

"You're going to get us both killed," I growl against her ear, but even as I say it, I'm pressing closer. My body betrays every rational thought in my head.

"I don't care," she whispers back, her hands fisting in my shirt. "I can't stop thinking about you."

My jaw clenches. "You have to."

"Do I?" Her blue eyes challenge me, defiant even in the face of death. "Tell me you don't think about me every second of every day."

I can't. Because it would be a lie.

My mouth crashes down on hers, swallowing her gasp. She tastes like the mint tea she had with breakfast. Her tongue meets mine, desperate and hungry.

My hands slide down and around to grab her ass, pulling her flush against me. She moans into my mouth, and the sound nearly undoes me completely. I want to devour her. Mark her. Make her mine in every way possible.

She’s wearing a pair of leggings and a sports bra. The damn woman tried to kill me with her little ass bouncing along on the treadmill. And I had been forced to pretend I wasn’t watching her tits bounce along with her perfect ass.

My hand slips under the waist and goes straight to her core. “You’re wet, Lena.”

She groans when one finger slips inside.

"Always for you," she gasps, her hips grinding against my hand. "Only for you."

The admission nearly breaks what's left of my control. I add another finger, watching her face as she bites her lip to keep from crying out. Her walls clench around me, so tight and perfect.

"Anton," she breathes, her nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt. "Please."

I know what she's asking for. What we both need. But the rational part of my brain—the part that's kept me alive for thirty years—screams warnings.

"We can't," I rasp, even as my thumb finds her clit and circles it. "Not here. Not now."

"I don't care about the consequences," she whispers fiercely. "I need you."

Her words shatter something inside me. I spin her around, pressing her chest against the wall. My hands make quick work of her leggings, pulling them down just enough. She braces herself against the wood, looking back at me with those blue eyes dark with want.

"You're going to be quiet," I command, my voice rough. "Not a sound."

She nods, biting her bottom lip.

I free myself from my jeans, positioning myself at her entrance. For a moment, we both freeze. This is madness. Suicide.

But I'm already lost to her.

I push inside with one powerful thrust. Her mouth falls open. I’m so fucking hard for the woman, I’m going to embarrass myself. I only get three thrusts before she’s soaking me with her climax.

It triggers my own and in the back of my mind, I’m laughing at myself.

Three pump chump.

That’s what Dmitri would say.

Footsteps echo in the hallway outside.

I jerk back, both of us breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed. She looks thoroughly kissed and completely beautiful.

"Fix your hair," I command quietly, zipping up my pants. "And your lipstick."

She rushes into the adjoining bathroom.

The footsteps pass by her door without stopping.

Five minutes later, she returns to the room wearing a pair of jeans, knee-high boots and a black top with shoulder cutouts. She’s put her hair up and lip gloss on those swollen lips.

"This has to stop," I say, though my voice lacks conviction.

"I know."

She walks toward me, her eyes locked on mine.

Her hand brushes across my chest. "But I can't. Not yet."

We step out of her room. Dmitri is there with a look of irritation.

I say nothing and walk right by him.

Lena is back to her bratty persona, bitching as she walks to the sitting room.

I’m going to tell her to chill on the brat thing. It’s annoying.

The next three hours are hell.

Too many faces. Too many variables. Every person who steps onto this property is a potential assassin. I don’t know what is worse—watching Lena complain about flower colors or watching the steady stream of strangers crowd into the sitting room.

I’m cataloging threats with the precision of a man preparing for war.

Every one of these fuckers has managed to get past security, but I don’t trust them. It’s easy to pretend to be something you’re not.

Lena is proof of that.

The wedding planner breezes through the door in a tight pencil skirt and heels that look lethal. I watch her and Lena kiss each other’s cheeks before they sit down. She's brought a shadow. A tall, thin man with dark hair and nervous eyes carrying a leather portfolio.

I don’t like him.

"Lena, darling, this is Marcus, my new assistant. He'll be helping with the final details."

I step forward before the stranger can get within ten feet of her. "Stop."

Marcus freezes, his portfolio clutched against his chest like a shield. The wedding planner's smile falters.

"Excuse me?" she stammers.

"Who the fuck is he?" I direct the question at the planner but keep my eyes locked on Marcus. Something about him sets my teeth on edge. Maybe it's the way he won't make eye contact. Maybe it's how his hands shake slightly as he grips that portfolio.

Or maybe it's the fact that no one mentioned bringing extra personnel onto the property.

I was given a list of her many, many fucking appointments and this guy is not on the list.

"I told you," the planner says, her voice rising an octave. "He's my assistant. Marcus has been with my company for?—"

"I don't give a shit how long he's been with your company." I take another step toward Marcus, who actually backs up. Smart man . "I wasn't told anyone new would be here today."

Lena watches the exchange and then smiles.

"Anton," she says, playing her part perfectly. "He's just here to help with the planning."

"No." I don't take my eyes off Marcus. "He's not."

The man finally speaks. "I-I have references. Identification. Whatever you need."

"Empty your pockets."

"What?" The wedding planner looks appalled. "You can't just?—"

"I can do whatever the fuck I want," I snarl, moving closer to Marcus. "This is private property. You want to stay, you follow my rules."

Marcus's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. "This is unnecessary. I'm just here to work."

"Then you won't mind proving it." I hold out my hand. "Phone. Wallet. Keys. Everything."

He hesitates.

My hand moves to the gun at my back, but I don't draw it. Yet. "Last chance."

Everyone in the room is still. Mikhail’s other guards are at the door. They are watching the situation.

Finally, Marcus drops the portfolio and empties his pockets.

I gesture to a chair in the corner. “Sit there.”

He does as I say.

Everyone appears to relax a bit—except me.

My eyes are constantly searching for the threat.

It’s almost funny because I know I’m the greatest threat in this house.

My need for Lena puts her in jeopardy. Her need for me is dangerous.

And then, just like I know the sun will rise tomorrow, I feel a calm wash over me.

She cannot marry him.

She won’t.

I won’t let it happen.

I’m going to steal her.

Rescue her.

Call it selfish. Call it delusion. I don’t care what it is anymore.

All I know is that she makes me want again. And wanting anything in this world is dangerous. But Lena?

She’s worth it.

She’s mine.

Vadim and Mikhail walk into the room with guards following in their wake.

How evil do you have to be to need guards with you in your own home?

I study the Orlov family dynamics with new eyes. I’ve never been privy to the inner workings of the family. I’ve only ever seen them during business deals or the occasional celebration.

Watching father and son in the privacy of their own home is enlightening. It tells me more than thirty years of research ever has.

Vadim plays the part of the powerful father, but it’s hollow. He treats Mikhail like a weapon. Like a tool he tolerates but doesn’t trust.

There’s no affection.

Mikhail, for all his rage and bravado, is still chasing something he’ll never earn—his father's approval.

There is no resemblance between them. If I didn’t know they were father and son, I would assume they were strangers.

I watch them as they talk to the planner about a tent or some bullshit.

I remember something I overheard once. My mother had been talking to someone while I was supposed to be asleep in my room.

"He doesn’t even know. Vadim would kill them both if he found out."

Maybe Mikhail isn’t Vadim’s son at all.

I study them like a scientist studies an experiment. Could it be true?

They leave the room with the planner leaving a short time later.

“I’m ready to go to my room,” Lena says. “I need to get ready for dinner.”

I say nothing and follow her like a trained dog.

I go through the same process, clearing her room while she waits. I don’t try and touch her. I can see the desire in her eyes, but I won’t risk it.

“Will you be in the dining room?” Lena asks softly.

I shake my head. “No. Vadim has requested it be a private dinner. His guards will be outside the door.”

“I want to see you.”

“No. Eat dinner. Then go to bed. Do not come to me.”

She looks sad, but it’s for her own good.

I leave her room before I do something stupid.

That evening, I find myself in the security office. With Vadim’s personal guards keeping watch, Mikhail’s guards are taking the night off.

I need to see just where the cameras are and make sure Mikhail hasn’t put any in her room.

The Vadim head of security thinks I’m doing an assessment to make sure I can properly guard Lena.

Right now, she’s a top priority. They need her alive.

I pour over surveillance footage, happy to find there does not appear to be any cameras in her room.

However, there are several in the hallway outside her bedroom. As I’m scanning the footage to make sure she and I weren’t caught doing anything, I see something.

I pause and rewind.

It’s from earlier in the sitting room.

I can’t believe I didn’t notice it.

Vadim is watching me.

He’s watching me watch Lena.

And he’s smiling.

Not suspicious.

Satisfied.

Like a man watching a plan unfold exactly the way he intended.

My blood goes cold.

Does he know?

Or is he hoping ?

Is this what he wanted all along?

I rewind again. Watch his expression frame by frame.

It’s not approval. It’s control.

He’s playing us.

Now, more than ever, I have to be careful.

He’s testing me… and Mikhail. Will he tell Mikhail I’m fucking his future wife? This life is all about power and manipulation. Will Mikhail kill me to prove he’s man enough to take over the family?

Back in my room, I pull open my dresser drawer. I carefully open the small box I’ve had since I was a very young boy.

I pull out a child's drawing. My touchstone. I haven’t looked at it in a long, long time. Every kill puts me just a little farther away from the boy that did that drawing.

The crude stick figures are of a family of three.

Mama. Papa. And the little boy standing between them.

Me.

Not Anton.

The name I was born with.

Alexei.

My thumb brushes across the handwriting barely legible.

“When I grow up, I want to keep people safe.”

Such a simple wish.

And so fucking na?ve.

I fold the paper, tuck it back into the box and replace the box in the drawer.

Time to remember who I really am.

Time to become him again.