Page 20 of Betrayal and Vows (Bratva Vows #2)

Anton

I pace the perimeter like a caged animal, checking sight lines and exit routes for the hundredth time today.

The wedding starts in four hours.

Four fucking hours until I watch the woman I love promise herself to my half-brother.

The grounds are crawling with security.

Vadim's men, Mikhail's personal guards.

A lot of faces I don't recognize.

Everyone's on high alert, which makes what I'm planning either impossible or the perfect cover.

I catch sight of Dmitri heading toward the main house, and my pulse kicks. He's carrying the message.

Our last desperate play.

I force myself to keep walking, to look like I'm doing my job instead of planning to steal the bride and run like hell.

The plan—if you can call it that—is simple.

Crude.

Raw.

Dangerous.

During the ceremony, when everyone's focused on the altar, I create a distraction.

Dmitri cuts the power.

In the chaos, I grab Lena and we go over the wall at the far corner of the property.

It's not sophisticated. It's not even smart. But it's all I've got.

I make my way toward the old gardening shed, taking the long route to avoid the main security checkpoints.

The shed sits in the shadow of the property wall, overgrown with ivy and forgotten by everyone except the groundskeepers.

Perfect.

I glance around once more, then slip inside.

The air smells of earth and rust.

Tools hang from pegs on the walls, and bags of compost are stacked in the corner.

I move to the loose floorboard I discovered last week and pry it up.

The backpack is still there.

Not much in the way of survival, but it will have to do.

There’s some cash, fake IDs Dmitri managed to procure, a change of clothes for both of us, and my backup weapon.

It's pathetic compared to what we'll need, but we'll figure it out as we go.

We have to.

I shoulder the pack and step back outside, scanning the wall. Eight feet high, topped with decorative iron spikes that look painful but not impossible to navigate.

I've gone over it twice in my head.

I boost Lena up, she goes over, I follow.

We have maybe thirty seconds before someone notices we're gone.

Thirty seconds to disappear into Moscow and somehow make it out of Russia alive.

I toss the backpack over the wall. I don’t want to risk the thing getting hung up when we climb over.

The sound of footsteps makes me spin around, hand moving instinctively toward my gun.

Dmitri emerges from behind a cluster of pine trees.

And I know immediately.

Everything I need to know is written across his face. The defeat. The apology. The fucking devastation.

My heart stops.

"No," I breathe.

He doesn't speak. Just shakes his head once.

"What did she say?" The words come out rough, desperate.

"She wouldn't see me." His voice is flat. "Told me not to come to her door again."

I lean back against the shed wall, the wood rough against my shoulders.

"She's done," I say. It's not a question.

"Anton—"

"She's fucking done with me." The words taste like poison. "She meant what she said last night."

Dmitri steps closer, looking around the area. I can tell all of this makes him nervous.

He’d be a damn fool if he wasn’t scared shitless.

"Maybe she's scared. Maybe she thinks?—"

"No." I cut him off. "You didn't see her face. She's made her choice."

The silence stretches between us. In the distance, I can hear the wedding preparations. The string quartet tuning their instruments. Caterers calling out orders. Laughter from guests enjoying the garden and a little pre-wedding cocktails.

The sound of my world ending.

"We could still go," Dmitri says quietly. "Leave her. Get out while we can."

I look at him like he's lost his mind. "Leave her?"

"She doesn't want to be saved, Anton. You can't force someone to choose freedom."

"She's not thinking clearly. Mikhail's gotten to her. Threatened her family, probably. She's scared?—"

"Or she's a Bratva princess who decided she'd rather live in a palace than run for her life with a man who has nothing to offer her."

The words hit like a physical blow. Because they're exactly what she said to me last night. Word for fucking word.

I push off from the wall, pacing toward the fence and back. "You think she meant it? All of it?"

Dmitri's silence is answer enough.

"Fuck." I drag my hands through my hair. "Fuck."

"Anton, we need to go. Now. Before the ceremony starts and security gets even tighter."

I stare at the main house, at the windows of what I know is her room. Is she up there right now, putting on her wedding dress? Is she thinking about me at all, or has she already erased me from her mind?

"I can't leave her with him," I say finally.

"You don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice."

"Not this time." Dmitri grabs my arm. "Listen to me. If you stay, you die. Today. Probably during the reception, when everyone's drunk and happy and no one will ask too many questions about the bodyguard who had an accident."

I know he's right. I've known it for days. But knowing and accepting are two different things.

"She has my ring," I say quietly.

"What?"

"My mother's ring. She's still wearing it." I touch the chain around my neck, feeling the weight of her grandmother's cross. "If she was done with me—really done—she would have taken it off. Given it to you to give to me."

Dmitri looks at me with something that might be pity. "Anton..."

"One more try." The words come out before I can stop them. "One more chance to get through to her."

"How? She won't see you."

I'm already moving, heading back toward the house. "Then I'll make her see me."

"That's suicide."

Maybe. But I'd rather die trying to save her than live knowing I gave up.

The house reeks of roses and lilies, the scent so thick it feels like walking into a perfume bottle.

It’s cloying. Overwhelming in the worst way.

Everywhere I look, there are white flowers.

Cascading from the staircase banister, arranged in towering displays in every corner, draped around doorways like funeral wreaths.

Which, I suppose, is exactly what they are.

Staff members rush past me carrying crystal vases and silver candelabras. I can feel the tension in the air with the panic of last-minute preparations. A woman in a black uniform nearly collides with me as she hurries down the hall, her arms full of white silk ribbons.

"Excuse me," she mutters, not bothering to look up.

I blend into the chaos, just another body moving through the house. I adjust my jacket to conceal my weapon. There’s a new rule—no guns in the house.

At least no guns the guests might see.

My heart pounds against my chest as I climb the main staircase.

To my last chance.

The upstairs hallway buzzes with activity. Women I don't recognize flutter between rooms in matching pink dresses, clutching champagne flutes and giggling nervously. The sound grates against my nerves like fingernails on glass.

I can hear music drifting up from the ballroom below. The string quartet practicing their processional. The sound that will walk Lena to a dark future, should she choose.

In less than three hours, they'll play it for real as Lena walks down the aisle to destroy both our lives.

I'm twenty feet from her door when I feel it. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Time slows. It’s the prickle of awareness that comes from being watched.

My training kicks in automatically. I scan the hallway without turning my head. Two of Mikhail's guards stand at the far end, their positions too casual to be coincidental. Another one lingers near the guest bathroom, pretending to check his phone.

They're waiting for me.

I keep walking, my pace steady and professional. Just a bodyguard making his rounds. But my hand drifts toward my weapon. I calculate distances, angles, cover points. Three men, maybe more I haven't spotted yet. The hallway is long and narrow—a killing box if this goes sideways.

I'm five feet from Lena's door when they move.

The first one comes from behind, trying to grab my arms. I spin and drive my elbow into his gut, doubling him over. The second guard rushes me from the front. I barely manage to catch him with an uppercut that snaps his head back.

But the third one has his gun out, and I hear the distinctive click of a safety being released.

"Enough," a voice says from behind me.

I turn slowly; hands raised and find myself staring down the barrel of a pistol. Behind him stand four more guards, all armed, all wearing expressions that tell me this was planned down to the last detail.

“Get him in the room,” one of them says.

I’m dragged into my room down the hall. Away from Lena.

Dmitri happens to come up just as I’m being shoved into the room.

I take my chance and attack. No way in hell I’m going down without a fight.

The first guard rushes me again. I drive my elbow into his throat. He drops, gasping. The second one swings a baton at my head, but I duck and slam my fist into his kidney. He stumbles backward.

"Take him down!" one of them shouts.

There are too many. Six men flood my small room, but I don't give a fuck about the odds. I grab the lamp from my nightstand and smash it across the nearest face. Blood sprays the wall.

"Anton!" Dmitri lunges forward, but two guards grab him, slamming him against the wall.

A baton cracks across my ribs and fire explodes through my chest. I swing wild, connecting with someone's jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone breaking under my knuckles gives me a savage rush.

"Hold him still!"

Hands grab my arms, my shoulders, trying to pin me down. I throw my head back, feeling the cartilage in someone's nose give way. He screams and loosens his grip just enough for me to break free.

I reach for the gun at my hip, but a boot kicks my wrist and the weapon goes flying across the room. Another blow to my back sends me to my knees.

"That's enough," a familiar voice says from the doorway.