Page 30 of Betrayal and Vows (Bratva Vows #2)

Anton

I adjust the straps on my pack one final time, checking the weight distribution.

Everything we need for the next three days is on my back.

Not much to show for two lives, but it's enough to keep us alive until we reach the Georgian border.

If we reach the Georgian border.

Dmitri emerges from the cabin.

He's not coming with us.

We both know this is where our paths split, at least for now.

"You sure about this?" he asks.

"No, but it's the only play we have."

Through the window, I can see Luda fussing over Lena, pressing another loaf of bread into her already overstuffed pack.

The old woman has been mothering us both since we arrived, but Lena especially.

I think she sees something fragile in her that needs protecting.

She's not wrong.

I see it.

But I also know Lena is a lot stronger than she looks.

"The mountain pass is treacherous this time of year," Dmitri says quietly. "Snow, ice, wolves. And that's before you factor in the border guards."

"I know."

"You could wait until summer. Better weather, clearer paths?—"

"We don't have until summer." I turn to look at him. "You know that."

He nods, his jaw tight. We both know Vadim's reach is already extending into these remote areas. Every day we stay increases the risk of discovery.

"I should come with you," he says for the third time since we made this plan.

"No." My voice is firm. "Someone needs to stay behind. Muddy the trail. Make them think we went a different direction."

"Bullshit excuse and you know it."

He's right. The real reason I want him to stay is selfish. If something happens to me on that mountain, if I don't make it, I need to know someone will come looking for Lena. Someone will make sure she reaches safety.

But I can't say that out loud. Dmitri would insist on coming, and then we'd all die together instead of just me.

And if I don’t make it back, Dmitri will carry out my plan for revenge.

He’ll kill Vadim and Mikhail.

"Promise me something," I say instead.

"Anything."

"If you don't hear from us in two weeks?—"

"Anton—"

"Two weeks," I repeat firmly. "If you don't hear from us, assume the worst. Get yourself somewhere safe and disappear. Don't try to find us. Live."

His blue eyes flash with anger. "You think I'd abandon you?"

"I think you're the smartest man I know, and smart men know when a cause is lost." I grip his shoulder. "Promise me."

"Fuck you."

"Promise me, Dmitri."

Lena steps out.

It’s a cool morning, but it will warm up by the afternoon. I’m hoping it doesn’t get too cold tonight. There is always a chance of snow, but let’s hope it doesn’t happen.

We’re really doing this.

Three days through the Caucasus Mountains. Smuggling ourselves out of Russia like fugitives.

We are fugitives.

Lena’s bundled in a coat that’s too big, her hands buried in sleeves. Her eyes are fierce when they meet mine. Not scared.

Not yet.

She looks determined.

And angry.

God, I love her.

“Goodbye, Dmitri,” Lena says.

Dmitri hugs her and when she brushes her lips against his cheek, I move.

I pull her back and push him away at the same time.

She laughs softly. “Anton.”

“He knows better,” I growl.

Luda stands in the door.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Good luck.”

We walk into the trees.

I keep telling myself this is the dumbest thing I’ve done yet.

I’m walking to Georgia.

Who does that?

The climb is brutal. By midday, we’re sweating under our layers. My back is aching from the pack, and my right ankle is already sore. But I don’t complain. I’m used to pain. Lena isn’t.

But she doesn’t say a word.

When we finally stop, it’s in the shadow of a boulder that juts out. The wind whistles through the pines above us.

She pulls off her pack and unzips it. We both drink from our water bottles.

Then Lena pulls out the sandwiches Luda had made for us.

We eat in silence for a while.

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

“Yep. Great.”

“Lena.”

“Anton, I’m fine. It’s not bad. A hike. It actually feels good to be out here. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to just go for a walk.”

“You’ll be able to do lots of hiking in Spain.”

“ We ,” she corrects. “Both of us.”

I don’t say it, but I can’t picture myself living there with her. Living without the Bratva chasing me. But I need her there. I need her to be safe.

And then I’m going to finish what I started.

“We need to move,” I say. “Can you walk a few more hours?”

“Yes.”

We walk for another hour before Lena breaks the silence.

"Those pictures you found," she says, her voice cutting through the sound of our boots on the rocky path. "How many were there?"

I adjust my grip on the walking stick I carved this morning. "A lot. Twenty. Thirty. Maybe more."

"From when you were a child?"

"Some. Most were from the last twenty-five years." I pause to help her over a fallen log. “All this time I thought I was invisible—he was watching."

"What do you think he was doing?" she asks finally. "I mean, what was the point? If he knew who you were, why not just kill you?"

It's the question that's been eating at me since I found those files. "I don't know. Vadim always thinks he's three steps ahead of everyone else. Maybe he was waiting for the perfect moment. Maybe he enjoyed the game."

"Or maybe he needed you alive for something."

The thought has occurred to me. Vadim doesn't keep people around without a reason. "Maybe."

We climb in silence for another half hour. The path is getting steeper, more treacherous. I can hear Lena's breathing getting heavier, but she doesn't complain.

"Do you think he knew?" she asks suddenly. "About Mikhail's guards trying to kill you at the wedding?"

I stop walking and turn to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if Vadim was watching you so closely, if he knew everything you were doing—did he know Mikhail was going to try to murder you?" Her blue eyes are intense. "Or was that Mikhail acting on his own?"

"I don't know," I admit. "But it's a good question."

"Because if Vadim knew and let it happen, that means he was ready to let you die. His own son." She shakes her head. "But if he didn't know; if Mikhail was acting without permission..."

"Then Mikhail just signed his own death warrant," I finish. "Vadim doesn't tolerate disobedience. Especially not from someone he wants to be his heir."

"But Mikhail isn't his heir. You are."

"Mikhail doesn't know that. And Vadim has spent thirty years building him up, grooming him." I start walking again, my mind racing. "Unless that was part of the plan too. Build up a false heir, then tear him down when the real one reveals himself."

"God, your father is sick."

"He's not my father," I say automatically. "Biology doesn't make a man your father."

Lena catches up to me, her hand briefly touching my arm. "You're right. I'm sorry."

We walk until the sun begins to set. I find a place to set up our camp. We don’t have a tent. It’ll just be us under the stars.

I build a small fire while Lena does her best to make us a small bed.

As night falls, we each eat another sandwich.

We don’t have a lot to say. We’re both lost in our own thoughts.

Lena leans into me. Her head rests against my shoulder.

"You ever done anything like this?" she asks.

"Hike?”

“This. A trek. All of it.”

“We were sent out for a week at a time,” I tell her.

“During your training?”

“Yes.” I stare into the flames, the memories surfacing before I can stop them. "When I was eleven, they sent Dmitri and me out into the wilderness. A group of us."

She lifts her head, her eyes searching mine. "Sent you out? What do you mean?"

"For a week," I say, my tone matter-of-fact. "No food. No shelter. Just a knife and whatever we could find. It was part of the training."

Her eyes widen, horrified. "Alone? At eleven?"

"Yes." My jaw tightens. "Only the strong survive."

She sits up fully now, her hand gripping my arm. "Anton, that’s—that’s insane. You were children."

I shrug, trying to downplay it, but the memory claws at me. "It’s how they weed out the weak. Dmitri and I… we made it. Others didn’t."

Her voice trembles. "What do you mean, others didn’t?"

I don’t want to tell her this. I don’t want her to know the darkness I’ve seen, the things I’ve done. But she asked. And I can’t lie to her. Not anymore.

"There were five of us," I say quietly. "Dmitri, me, and three others. By the third day, one of them was gone. He tried to steal our food. We fought. He didn’t make it."

She gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. "You—you killed him?"

"No," I say quickly, though the truth isn’t much better. "He got lost. Fell into a ravine. We didn’t go after him."

Her eyes fill with tears. "Anton…"

"By the fifth day, another one was sick. Fever. Couldn’t keep anything down. Dmitri tried to help him, but…" I trail off, the image of the boy’s pale, lifeless face flashing in my mind. "He didn’t make it either."

She’s crying now, silent tears streaming down her face. I reach for her, pulling her into my chest. She doesn’t resist, but her body shakes with sobs.

"The last one," I continue, my voice barely audible, "he tried to leave. Said he couldn’t do it. Said he was going back. But they don’t let you quit. Not ever."

"What happened to him?" she whispers, her voice trembling.

"He didn’t make it either," I say simply. "When we got back, they told us he was weak. That he didn’t deserve to survive."

She pulls away, her eyes searching mine. "And you believed them?"

For a long moment, I don't answer. The crackling fire fills the silence between us. Finally, I shake my head. "I didn't have a choice. Survival isn't about right or wrong. It's about doing whatever it takes to live."

Her fingers trace the scars on my knuckles, reminders of fights I've long since forgotten. "You were just a child," she whispers, her voice breaking. "You shouldn't have had to live like that."

"It made me who I am," I say, though the words feel hollow. "Stronger. Tougher. Ready for anything."