Page 36 of Betrayal and Vows (Bratva Vows #2)

Lena

I roll Anton onto his back, his head lolling to the side.

Blood pools beneath him, spreading across the concrete like spilled wine.

"No, no, no," I sob, pressing my hands against his chest, trying to find where the bullet went in. There's so much blood. Too much blood. "Anton, stay with me. Please stay with me."

His eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy. "Lena," he whispers, and blood bubbles from his lips.

"Don't talk," I tell him, my voice breaking. "Save your strength. Someone will help us. Someone has to help us."

But even as I say it, I know it's not true.

The gunfire continues around us, Popov's men and what's left of Vadim's organization tearing each other apart.

No one is coming to save us.

I find the wound—a hole just below his ribs, pumping blood with each heartbeat.

I press both palms against it, putting all my weight behind the pressure.

The blood seeps between my fingers anyway.

"Help!" I scream over the sound of automatic weapons. "Somebody help me! He's dying!"

No one hears me.

Or if they do, they're too busy trying not to die themselves.

Anton's hand finds mine, his fingers cold and weak. " Solnyshko ," he breathes.

"No," I shake my head frantically. "Don't you dare say goodbye to me. Don't you fucking dare."

His smile is soft, peaceful in a way that terrifies me. "I love you."

"I love you too, which is why you're not allowed to die." Tears blur my vision as I lean down to press my forehead against his. "We're supposed to go to Spain, remember? We're supposed to have a life together."

"You'll have a life," he whispers. "A good one. Without all this violence."

"Not without you." My voice cracks completely. "I can't do this without you, Anton. I won't."

The blood won't stop. No matter how hard I press, no matter how desperately I beg, it keeps flowing. His face is getting paler by the second.

"HELP ME!" I scream again, my voice raw and desperate. "PLEASE, SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

But the gunfire is dying down now. Soon there will be silence. And then what? Do I run? Do I stay here and die with him?

Anton's breathing becomes shallow, labored. His eyes are closing.

"Stay awake," I command, shaking him gently. "Look at me, Anton. Look at me and stay awake."

He struggles to focus on my face. "My beautiful girl," he murmurs. "My brave, beautiful girl."

"I'm not brave," I sob. "I'm terrified. I'm falling apart."

"You're the strongest person I know." His voice is getting weaker.

His eyes are closed. I can feel his heartbeat. Slow. Barely there, but he’s alive. I look around. I will drag this man?—

Rough hands yank me away from Anton's still form. I scream, clawing at the concrete, trying to crawl back to him. His blood is everywhere—on my hands, my clothes, seeping into the warehouse floor.

"No!" I shriek, kicking wildly as they drag me backward. "Let me go! Anton!"

But he doesn't answer. Doesn't move. The pool of crimson beneath him keeps growing.

The devastation hits me like a physical blow. My mother lies crumpled against the far wall, unmoving. Anton's blood pools beneath his motionless body.

Everyone I love—gone.

Raw fury explodes through me, burning away the shock. I am not going down without a fight.

I twist violently in my captor's grip, my elbow connecting with his ribs. He grunts, his hold loosening just enough. I wrench myself free and bolt toward Anton's body.

His gun. I need his gun.

My knees hit the concrete hard as I dive for the weapon lying beside him. My fingers close around the grip just as hands grab my ankles, dragging me backward across the rough floor.

"Get off me!" I snarl, kicking frantically. My heel connects with someone's face and they curse, blood spurting from their nose.

But there are too many of them. Three sets of hands haul me upright, pinning my arms. I thrash like a wild animal, teeth bared.

"Fucking bitch bit me!" one of them howls as I tear a chunk of flesh from his wrist.

I spit his blood in his face and lunge for another one, my fingernails raking across his cheek, leaving deep gouges. He backhands me hard enough to make my ears ring, but I barely feel it through the rage.

"Hold her still!" someone barks.

I slam my head backward into the nose of the man behind me. The crunch is satisfying. His grip loosens, and I slip free again, stumbling toward the exit.

But they're faster. Stronger. They tackle me to the ground, my chin scraping against concrete. Someone's knee presses into my spine.

"Enough," a voice commands. Cold. Authoritative.

Through my tangled hair, I see polished shoes approach. Stefan Popov crouches down, studying me like I'm an interesting insect.

"The famous Lena Rostova," he muses. "You've caused quite a bit of trouble."

I spit blood at his feet. "Go to hell."

He chuckles, then nods to his men. "Bring her. And make sure she doesn't cause any more problems."

Something hard strikes the back of my skull. The warehouse spins, then goes black.

But even as consciousness fades, one thought burns through the darkness:

They may have taken everything from me, but this isn't over. Not even close.

***

My wrists burn as zip ties cut into my skin. I bite down hard on my tongue, tasting copper as pain shoots through my mouth. The scream building in my throat dies, replaced by the metallic tang of my own blood.

A man with dead eyes lights a cigarette, studying me like I'm livestock. "Vadim promised you'd fight. But crying? Pathetic."

Anton never let them see him cry. Neither will I.

I force my face into a mask of stone, even as my heart shatters into a thousand pieces. Even as I wonder if I just watched the only man I will ever love die.

I look around. I’m in the back of a van. How long have I been out? It doesn’t feel like long but I don’t know.

Five minutes?

Five hours?

“I will kill you,” I say calmly.

He smirks. “With your tongue?”

“I like when they fight back. I bet you’re a wildcat in the bedroom. No wonder all those men want to claim you.”

“No man will ever claim me.”

He sucks in on the cigarette and then slowly blows out the white smoke.

"The boss wants you alive," the man continues, smoke curling from his lips. "But I get you first. A 'processing fee.'"

His hand slides up my thigh, fingers digging into my flesh. Revulsion crashes through me, followed by white-hot rage.

I kick but that only seems to make him happy. He sucks in another drag from the cigarette before he puts it on the metal floor of the van.

His hands grab my knees, pushing hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.

He leans forward and licks from my chin to nose.

I slam my forehead into his nose with everything I have. The crunch of cartilage breaking is the most satisfying sound I've ever heard. He falls backward, blood streaming down his face.

I slam my foot into his ribs while he's still howling about his broken nose. The impact sends him sprawling sideways, his head cracking against the van wall.

"You fucking bitch!" he snarls through the blood streaming down his face.

I twist my bound hands, trying to get better leverage for another kick. My heel connects with his kneecap and he screams again, clutching his leg.

The man in the passenger seat turns around, shaking his head in disgust. "Shit, Lev. You're getting your ass handed to you by a girl with her hands tied."

"Shut up," Lev pants, wiping blood from his nose with the back of his hand. "She caught me off guard."

"Off guard?" His friend laughs mockingly. "She's half your size and trussed up like a turkey. What's next—are you going to tell me she overpowered you with her feminine wiles?"

I use their distraction to my advantage, pulling my knees to my chest and driving both feet into Viktor's stomach. He doubles over, gasping for air.

"That's it!" Lev lunges at me, his face twisted with rage and humiliation.

"Lev, stop!" the driver barks. "Boss wants her unmarked!"

"I don't give a shit what the boss wants," he snarls, his hand wrapping around my throat. "This little whore needs to learn some respect."

Black spots dance in front of me. I stare him directly in the eyes. I will not be afraid. If Anton is dead, I will go to my own death knowing I never backed down. When he welcomes me into his arms on the other side, he will be proud of me.

Suddenly, the van jerks to the side. And then the other.

“Get the fuck off her!” The driver shouts.

Lev drops his hand. “I will kill you.”

“Good luck with that,” I gasp.

I don’t know how long we drive—thirty minutes. An hour?

Every minute takes me farther from Anton.

The van swerves, throwing me against the metal wall. My shoulder screams in protest, but it's nothing compared to the terror clawing at my chest. I try to curl into a ball to protect my stomach.

The baby.

Our baby.

After he left, I asked my mother to get me a test. I already knew what the results would be, but I had to know for certain.

I’ve only known for sure for a couple of hours, but there is no denying it.

I’m pregnant.

And Anton might die never knowing he was going to be a father.

Hot tears threaten again, but I blink them back. I have to stay strong. For both of us now.

The van careens around a corner, and I'm thrown to the other side. My ribs connect with something sharp—a toolbox maybe—and pain lances through me. I curl around my middle protectively.

Stay alive, I tell myself. Whatever happens, stay alive.

Suddenly, gunfire erupts outside. The van screeches to a halt, throwing me forward. I hear men shouting. More shots. The acrid smell of gunpowder seeps through the metal walls.

My captors are yelling at each other, panic in their voices. One of them kicks the van doors, cursing.

Who is it? More of Vadim's men? Mikhail’s men.

The back doors fly open, and I brace myself for whatever fresh hell awaits.

Instead, I see a face I never thought I'd be so grateful to see.

"Dmitri!"

He's covered in blood. His usually perfect hair is wild, but his blue eyes are fierce and determined.