Page 32 of Betrayal and Vows (Bratva Vows #2)

Lena

I t's been a week since we crossed the border, and I can see Anton unraveling.

The cottage is barely more than four walls and a roof—one room with a wood stove that smokes when the wind shifts.

The kitchen is the size of a closet, and no electricity.

We have candles and oil lamps and each other.

But Anton paces like a caged animal, checking the single window every few minutes, his jaw clenched with frustration.

We’re both waiting.

Waiting to die.

Waiting to live.

Waiting.

"The contact was supposed to be here three days ago," he mutters, running his hands through his hair. "Something's wrong."

I look up from the book I'm pretending to read.

It's in Georgian, so I can't understand a word anyway.

My nanny had been from Georgia and I knew some words but not enough to understand a story.

The idea was to look calm. I’m hoping to settle Anton by appearing to be completely unbothered by our situation.

Which is dire.

We’re rationing food, but that will only last us for so long.

"Maybe he's being careful. Maybe?—"

"Maybe he's dead. Maybe Vadim got to him. Maybe we're trapped here while they close in on us." His voice is sharp with self-recrimination. "I should have had a backup plan. Should have?—"

"Anton." I set the book aside and stand. "Stop."

He turns to me, his blue eyes wild with guilt and rage. "This isn't what you deserve, Lena. Hiding in some hovel, eating stale bread and canned soup. You should be?—"

"I should be married to Mikhail." The words stop him cold. "Is that what you think I deserve? A palace prison with a monster for a husband?"

"No, but?—"

"Then stop apologizing." I cross to him, placing my hands on his chest. "I don't care about electricity or hot showers or fancy food. I care about being with you."

He covers my hands with his, but I can feel the tension thrumming through him. "You shouldn't have to live like this."

"Like what? Free?" I laugh softly. "Anton, this is the first time in my life I've ever chosen where to sleep, what to eat, when to wake up. This cottage might be falling apart, but it's ours. No guards, no surveillance, no one telling us what to do."

"We're fugitives."

"We're together." I reach up to cup his face. "That's all that matters to me."

He leans into my touch, his eyes closing briefly. When he opens them again, some of the wildness has faded. "I'm working on getting us out of here.”

“I know you are. I’m enjoying my time with you.”

I slide my hands down his chest and slip them under his shirt.

Sex.

Yes, I am using sex as a weapon.

It’s the only way to distract him.

And if I am going to die any day, I want my fill of this man. I want to die a happy, sated woman. And I want him to feel the same.

“Solnyshko.”

I kiss him, quieting the protests.

“My cock will fall off at this rate.” His soft smile against my lips tells me my plan has been effective.

“Oh no. I should kiss it better.”

I drop to my knees in front of him, preparing to distract him in the best way.

But there’s a noise that stops us both.

He quickly pulls me to my feet. His finger goes to his lips, telling me to be quiet.

I grab the large branch we collected to use as one of our many crude weapons.

His hand goes to the gun that’s always at his side.

Three soft knocks. Pause. Two more. Pause. One final knock.

Anton relaxes marginally. "That's the signal." But his hand stays on his weapon as he approaches the door.

"Who is it?"

"A friend.”

Anton opens the door to reveal a woman in her forties with graying hair and tired eyes. She's wearing practical clothes and boots caked with mud.

"You're late," Anton says.

"Border patrol increased their sweeps. Had to wait for them to move on." She steps inside, glancing around the cottage with obvious distaste. "You're lucky I came at all. Word is there's a bounty on your heads that could buy a small country."

My stomach drops. "How much?"

"Enough to make even honest people consider betrayal." She looks between us. "Vadim Orlov is not known for his patience. Or his mercy."

"When do we leave?" Anton asks.

"Tonight. I have a car hidden in the woods. Private airfield is two hours away." She pulls a manila envelope from her jacket. "New passports. You're newlyweds from Prague on your honeymoon."

Anton takes the envelope, checking the documents quickly. I peek over his shoulder at my new identity. Anna Novák. The photo is mine, but everything else is foreign.

"The plane will take you to Madrid," the woman continues. "From there, you're on your own. Your mother's friend will meet you at the airport with keys to the safe house."

“Three o’clock. That’s when you leave. The guard has been given a nice gift. He will be taking a piss at three fifteen. If you leave earlier or later, you will not pass.”

Anton nods. “Understood.”

She looks at me and then Anton. “You know you will likely die, right?”

It wasn’t the typical send off, but I suppose I appreciate her honesty.

“We know,” I reply. “And we’re ready.”

She says nothing as she walks out the door.

I’m nauseous. We’ve been waiting for this moment and now that it’s here, I’m freaking out. I know the danger. But the danger here is just as bad.

Anton looks at me, his hands going to my shoulders. He gently squeezes. “Lena?—”

“Don’t. Don’t try to tell me this is dangerous. Don’t tell me you’ll sacrifice yourself so I can run. Just don’t. We’re going. That’s it.”

I see the slightest crook of a smile. My man wants me to be brave. He’s proud of me. I can see it in his eyes. I know he’s a proud, strong man. I know he must protect me with his life.

But the feeling is mutual.

If we die, we die together.

"Lena, once we get on that plane—once we land in Spain—there's no going back. Are you sure about this?"

I think about my old life. The marble floors and crystal chandeliers. The suffocating rules and endless expectations. The marriage to a monster that would have destroyed me piece by piece.

Then I look at Anton. Really look at him. The scar above his eyebrow. The way he holds himself like he's ready for battle. The gentleness in his eyes when he looks at me that no one else gets to see.

That fierce protectiveness that makes me feel invincible.

"I've never been more sure of anything," I tell him.

He kisses me then, fierce and desperate. "I love you."

"I love you too. Always. Forever. From this life to the next. You are mine, Anton."

Anton seems to relax a bit. I open a can of soup for our lunch while he checks around outside.

I’ve already accepted I will never see Russia again. I know there is a good chance I’ll never see my mother, Kira, or Anastasia again.

But I’ll have Anton.

That thought will carry me through.

Suddenly, I hear Anton speaking to someone.

I reach for the branch just as the door opens.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I see it’s the woman who brought us to this place a week ago.

I assume she’s here to say goodbye. Not that it’s needed.

She holds up a basket.

I smile. “Thank you.”

Anton’s expression worries me.

Why do I get the feeling this isn’t just a food delivery.

“What is it?” I ask.

"Lenoid knows where you are and where you will go." The old woman delivers the message with no emotion. No inflection.

I freeze.

My eyes go to Anton’s.

“How do you know this?” He takes the basket and moves the loaves of bread, a couple of apples and a block of cheese around.

“Elena,” she answers.

That can’t be right. My mother wouldn’t take the risk.

When Anton and I simply stare at her, she sighs. “Dmitri. Elena spoke with Kira who talked to Dmitri. We have our ways.”

The woman sounds irritated that we dared to question her. I understood there was an underground network in place. My mother was an intricate part of that network. We had learned that she had helped many people escape Russia over the years.

Anton’s arms wrap around me. He’s so warm. So solid. And yet the ground under our feet feels like it could give way at any moment.

“What do we do?” I ask the question not really expecting an answer.

The woman reaches under her shirt and pulls a piece of paper. “Elena wants you to have this. The decision is yours to make.”

“What is it?” I ask as Anton takes the paper.

“A flight,” Anton says. “Back to Moscow.”

That can only mean one thing—Spain is no longer an option.

Safety is off the table.

We will have to live life on the run. No home. No guarantees.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “Moscow?”

I stare at the paper in Anton's hands, my mind struggling to process what I'm seeing. A flight manifest. Two seats. Moscow. Tomorrow.

“I don't understand," I repeat, my voice barely a whisper.

Anton's jaw is tight as he looks up from the paper. "Your mother is suggesting we go back and finish this."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stumble backward, shaking my head. "No. No, that's insane. That's a death sentence."

There's pain in his eyes when he meets my gaze. "We already have a death sentence, Lena. At least in Moscow, we have a chance at a real life."

"A real life?" My voice cracks. "Anton, they'll kill us the moment we step off that plane. This isn't a chance at life—it's suicide."

The old woman shifts uncomfortably near the door, but I barely register her presence. My entire world has narrowed to Anton and the madness he's suggesting.

"Your father knows Elena helped you escape," he says quietly. "Everything is falling apart."

My stomach drops. "Is my mother in danger?"

Anton doesn't have to answer. I can see the truth written across his face, in the set of his shoulders, in the way he won't quite meet my eyes.

She's already dead. Or she will be soon.

"Oh God." I press my hand to my mouth, bile rising in my throat. "This is my fault. I did this to her."

"No." Anton's voice is sharp. "This is Vadim's fault. This is the life we were born into. But now we have a choice."

"What choice?" I laugh, but it comes out broken, hysterical. "Die in Georgia or die in Moscow?"

"Fight back," he says simply. "Stop running and fight."