Page 5 of Betrayal and Vows (Bratva Vows #2)

Lena

R eality crashes over me like ice water.

What have I done?

What have we done?

I can feel him still inside me, both of us breathing hard.

The pounding on the door grows more insistent.

My legs are shaking as I unwrap them from around his waist.

"We have to go," I whisper, panic creeping into my voice. "They'll be looking for me."

Anton's jaw tightens.

He pulls out of me slowly, making me gasp at the loss. His hands are gentle as he helps me down from the counter.

"Where are your guards?" he asks, tucking himself back into his jeans.

"I lost them at the hotel." I try to smooth down my dress with trembling fingers. "They think I'm in the bathroom. Well, to be fair they probably assume I’m dancing and they can’t find me."

He picks up the black wig from the floor and hands it to me. "Put this back on. Now."

I fumble with the wig. He takes it from me and positions it carefully over my blonde hair, his touch surprisingly tender given the urgency of our situation.

"Listen to me," he says, gripping my shoulders. "You're going to walk out of here like nothing happened. Go back to your hotel. Get in bed. Pretend you never left."

"What about you?"

"Don't worry about me."

But I am worried. I'm terrified. Not for myself, but for him.

I know there are eyes everywhere in our world.

If anyone finds out… he’ll be killed. I’ll probably be forced to watch his death. I know that’s a favorite trick for the men that live in our world. I push my dress down and pick up my panties.

They’re torn.

Anton snatches them from my hand and stuffs them in his pocket. “Fix your makeup.”

I turn to look in the mirror. “There is no fixing this.”

But I do my best. I wipe away the lipstick, fix the smudged eyeliner and turn to look at him.

“I’ll go first,” he says.

I nod, suddenly feeling despair.

“Anton—”

He cups my face in his hands. His lips brush over mine. “You are mine. You are my sun. Solnyshko.”

My heart swells. How can I love this man? I don’t know him. Not really. But I know I love him. I knew I loved him the first time I saw him.

“ Serdtse moyo ,” I whisper with our foreheads touching. “My heart. You are my heart.”

He doesn’t move for several seconds and then he’s gone.

I hear him snapping and then male voices.

I stand, waiting. My heart pounding in my chest.

I want to cry. I want to mourn the loss of a man I will never have beyond this bathroom.

There’s three swift knocks. And then he’s gone. I don’t know how I know, but I know.

He’s no longer at the door. My soul feels his absence.

I open the bathroom door, keeping my eyes low as I make my way down the hall and straight for the door.

The cold night air hits me like a slap as I step out of the club. Moscow's streets are still alive with late-night revelers, but I keep my head down. Every shadow could be watching. Every stranger could be one of my father's men.

I wrap my arms around myself, the silver dress offering no protection against the chill. My legs feel unsteady—not from the alcohol, but from what just happened. I can still feel Anton inside me, still taste him on my lips. The memory makes my core clench with need all over again.

Focus, Lena . Get back to the hotel without being seen.

I take a roundabout route, ducking through side streets and avoiding the main thoroughfares where I might be recognized.

The heels make every step precarious on the uneven pavement, but I push forward.

A taxi would be faster, but drivers talk.

Everyone talks in Moscow, especially when there's money involved.

I still have the wig on, but without the lipstick and eye makeup, I feel exposed.

Ten minutes later, I'm standing across from the hotel, studying the entrance. Two of my father's guards are still posted outside, smoking cigarettes and checking their phones. They look bored but alert. Getting past them would be impossible.

I circle around to the back of the building, looking for another way in. The service entrance is locked, but there's a loading dock that's partially hidden from view. I check for cameras, finding two that sweep the area in predictable patterns.

Timing my movements, I slip past during a blind spot and find myself in what looks like a stockroom. I bite my lower lip trying to orient myself. I take a chance and open one of the doors. Then I’m in a hallway.

It takes me a few seconds to find my way to the elevators. Once again, I keep my head down. I just know I’m going to get caught at any second. My hands are shaking as I step into the elevator. I keep my face down just in case security is watching the cameras.

Then I realize how silly that is. They’ll see me walk into the penthouse.

I quickly hit the button for the seventh floor. I have to take the stairs. When the elevator doors slide open, I rush out. I shove open the door to the stairwell and take a second to get myself together.

I catch a whiff of cologne and am immediately taken back to that bathroom. To the feel and taste of Anton.

My pulse stutters just thinking his name. My thighs ache in the best kind of way. My lips are swollen. My skin still tingles where he touched me—like he burned himself into my nerve endings and now I’ll never be clean again.

I don’t regret it.

Not even a little.

But I should.

I start climbing the stairs and nearly twist my ankle. I take off my heels and continue the trek up to the twentieth floor.

On the walk up, I came up with an excuse. I got trapped in the stairwell. No. I went out to get some air and I got locked out.

The wig.

“Shit.”

I rip it off my head and toss it into a garbage can in the corner before I start the next flight up.

I’ll tell them I went upstairs to change. Went out to get air. Got locked out. That’ll work. I’ll stick with my story.

By the time I step out of the stairwell, I’m breathing heavy and sweating. That’ll explain the need for a shower. No one will know I’m trying to wash away the evidence of my activities earlier.

I’m rushing toward the door to my room when I nearly knock over someone coming around the corner.

“Kira,” I hiss when I realize who it is.

She’s carrying her heels and judging by her smudged makeup and messy hair, she's obviously been enjoying herself.

“There you are!” She gasps and grabs my hand. “They are looking for you! I just got pulled out of?—”

She waves her hand. She doesn’t need to explain.

“Where are they?”

“Searching the hotel.” The fear in her eyes tells me I’m in serious danger. “Get inside! Hurry!”

I fumble with the keycard, my hands shaking so badly I can barely get it in the slot. The little light flashes red. Red again. Finally green.

"Hurry," Kira whispers, glancing down the hallway.

I shove the door open and we both slip inside. I immediately start stripping off the silver dress, letting it fall to the floor as I rush toward the bathroom.

"Lena, what?—"

"I need to shower. Now." I'm already turning on the water, not waiting for it to heat up. "If anyone asks, I came up here an hour ago to change. I felt sick from the champagne."

"Where were you really?" Kira's voice is sharp with concern.

I step under the freezing spray, gasping as it hits my overheated skin. "I went for a walk. Got some air."

"Bullshit." She leans against the doorframe. "You smell like cigarettes and sex."

My heart stops. If Kira can tell...

"I don't know what you're talking about." I grab the soap and start scrubbing, trying to wash away any trace of Anton. His scent. His touch. The evidence of what we did.

"Lena." Her voice is deadly serious now. "Please tell me you didn't do something stupid."

I don't answer. I can't. Instead, I wash my hair twice, scrubbing until my scalp burns.

“Someone is at the door,” she hisses.

“Tell them I’m in the shower.”

“They’ll kill us.”

She disappears from the bathroom. I can hear raised voices. I tell myself to be calm. Play it cool.

“You can’t go in there!” I hear Kira shout.

My stomach drops a second before the door is thrown open. The Orlov guard steps inside. I can see him through the glass that is thankfully steamy enough to shield some of my nudity.

I stare at him, raising my chin and refusing to show fear.

“Get out!” Kira demands. “I’ll tell her father! The Pakhan! You can’t be in here!”

He finally seems satisfied and leaves.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I shut off the water and reach for the fluffy robe. Kira comes back in a minute later. She’s pale and I know I’ve just made her an accomplice.

“Do you want to die ?” Her tone is accusatory.

I flinch. “Of course not.”

“Because if Orlov finds out—hell, if anyone finds out—you’re done. You know that, right? Vadim doesn’t play games. And his son? You think he won’t notice if his beautiful new bride smells like someone else’s cologne?”

“He won’t know.”

“You are getting married in two weeks, Lena . This isn’t like sneaking out for sushi or pretending we’re in Ibiza for the night. This is suicide.”

“I know.”

Kira watches me for a beat. Her expression softens. “Was it him?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

I don’t answer.

“Anton?” she says. “You saw him again?”

My chest tightens.

“I didn’t plan it,” I whisper. “I didn’t even know he was there. I was dancing, and then… he was just there. ”

Her mouth tightens into a thin line. “Lena.”

“I couldn’t stop it.”

“I get it,” she says gently. “I do. You kissed him once and you’ve never stopped wanting him.”

I feel tears burning my eyes as we move to sit on the couch.

She pulls her legs up. “So... was it worth it?”

I look away.

Her brows lift. “Oh my God.”

“It wasn’t just sex,” I whisper. “It was… everything. ”

I feel her watching me, but I can’t look at her. Not when I still feel his hands on me. His mouth. His voice in my ear, saying my name like a curse and a prayer all at once.

“I’ve been walking around half-dead for so long I forgot what it feels like to want something,” I murmur. “To need it. And then he touched me and I remembered.”

Kira stays quiet.

“I remembered what it’s like to feel. ” My voice cracks. “And now I don’t know how to shut it off again.”

She doesn’t lecture me. Doesn’t say I told you so. She just reaches over and takes my hand.

“You’re going to have to, though.”

“I know.”

“No more secret Anton hook-ups. If you love him, then stay the hell away from him.”

“I’ll try.”

She eyes me. “Liar.”

She's right. I am a liar. How can I stay away from Anton when my body is still humming from his touch? When I can still taste him on my lips despite scrubbing them raw?

A sharp knock on the door makes us both freeze.

"Lena?" It's my father's voice, cold and commanding even through the thick hotel door.

My blood turns to ice. He's here. In Moscow. He wasn't supposed to arrive until tomorrow.

Kira's face goes white. "Shit," she mouths.

He knows.

I force myself to stand, tightening the robe around me. "Just a minute, Dad."

My hands shake as I run them through my wet hair, trying to look like I've been innocently showering.

"Answer the door," my father commands. "Now."

I glance at Kira one more time. She nods, trying to look casual as she stretches on the couch like there’s nothing to be afraid of.

I open the door and immediately step back. My father fills the doorway. His steel-gray hair and eyes that miss nothing look me over. Behind him stand two of his personal guards, their faces expressionless.

"Dad." I force a smile. "I wasn't expecting you until?—"

"Where were you?" He steps into the room, his gaze sweeping over everything. The bathroom door still open, steam escaping.

“I got dizzy,” I say. “Too much champagne. I wanted to shower and lie down.”

He doesn’t believe me but if everyone is asking where I’ve been, no one knows.

“What have I told you about ditching your guards?”

I bite my lip.

"I didn't ditch them, Dad. I told them I was going to the bathroom and then I felt sick. I came upstairs to rest."

His cold gray eyes narrow. "The guards said you disappeared for over an hour."

"I was in the shower," I say, gesturing to my wet hair. "Ask Kira. She came up to find me."

Kira nods quickly. "She was throwing up when I got here. Too much Dom Pérignon on an empty stomach."

My father's gaze shifts between us, calculating. He knows something is off, but he can't prove it. Yet.

"The Orlov guards are not happy," he says finally. "They think you're trying to embarrass their family before the wedding."

"That's ridiculous. I would never?—"

"Wouldn't you?" He steps closer, and I swear he can see some kind of mark on me.

"I'm nervous about the wedding. Any bride would be."

"Any bride would be grateful." His voice drops to that dangerous tone I know too well. "Vadim Orlov is offering you a life most women only dream of. Power. Protection. A name that commands respect."

"I know, Dad. I'm grateful."

"Are you? Because if I find out you've done anything to jeopardize this arrangement..."

“I won’t,” I reply.

“You will not lose your guards again,” he says and then leaves.

I lock the door and turn to face Kira. She shakes her head. “I’m going to bed. Go to bed, Lena. No more.”

I nod once and walk back to my room. I collapse into bed and stare up at the ceiling.

I run a finger over my bottom lip. Swollen. Bruised.

I loved every second of it.

I close my eyes and see the way he looked at me. Like I was his and always had been.

I’ve been trained my whole life to follow orders, to smile pretty and say thank you while someone signs away my soul.

But one stolen night with Anton and I’m suddenly wondering— what if I didn’t?

What if I ran ?

What if I said no?

What if I took back my life and damn the consequences?