Page 22 of Bratva’s Vow (Bratva’s Undoing #2)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MAXIM

I stared at the bathroom door, where a faint wisp of steam curled beneath it.

Too long.

He was taking too long.

My shirt clung loose and open against my skin, sticking to my chest with sweat.

My slacks hung low on my hips. A glass of whiskey sat untouched on the nightstand beside me, condensation trailing slowly down the side.

I’d gone downstairs, poured myself a drink, talked to Dezi about Wren’s day before he left, then returned upstairs, and Wren was still in the shower.

Perhaps waiting for me to go away, but too many days had passed already.

It was about time for him to come to terms with being a Pakhan’s lover.

While the position came with certain dangers, there were perks too.

The biggest being that I was crazy about him.

He could get anything out of me if he asked. Anything.

Except bringing his dad back .

The knot in my stomach was tighter than any drink could loosen.

He’d been in there for forty-five minutes. The water never stopped running. The sound of it mocked me, the steady rush like static filling my head.

I raked a hand through my hair, fingers gripping tight enough to sting.

Fuck this.

I’d been patient enough with him.

I pushed up from the bed, shedding the shirt completely, letting it fall in a heap. My pants and underwear followed. I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t knock. Just stormed across the room and pulled the bathroom door open.

The steam hit me first, thick and suffocating. Hot and oppressive like the fucking silence between us.

My heart dropped.

Wren.

He was on the floor of the shower, knees pulled tight to his chest, his face buried in them. The spray beat down relentlessly, plastering his hair to his head, soaking his skin. His shoulders shook with quiet sobs, the sound so raw and broken it punched the air right out of me.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe.

I’d seen death. I’d caused it. I’d witnessed men beg and scream and weep.

But nothing ever shredded me like this.

This was the boy who used to curl up next to me and mumble about silly things at midnight when he couldn’t sleep. The one who swapped my coffee for a healthier drink because he cared about my well-being. The one who protested when I kissed his neck but whined when I stopped.

Now he was… this.

Small. Fragile. Completely fucking destroyed.

Because of me .

Something cracked inside me so sharply I actually staggered. The tight leash I’d been holding all these weeks snapped like wet paper.

I didn’t think. There was no thought left.

I stepped right into the scalding spray with him. The water burned my skin, but it was the least of my concerns.

Wren jolted when I pulled him upright. He didn’t resist, didn’t push me away when I dragged him into my arms. He sobbed harder, his hands fisting in my shoulders like he hated me and needed me all at once.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered fiercely, crushing him against my chest. The water soaked us both, hot and merciless. “Baby, I’m so fucking sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I swear on my life.”

He clung harder, his cries muffled against my collarbone. “It hurts so bad, Maxim,” he choked out, breaking in real time right there in my arms. “I don’t want to forgive you. I don’t—I can’t. You’re horrible. You’re a criminal. You killed him. You killed them. I can’t love a man like you.”

The words gutted me. But I didn’t argue.

“I know,” I murmured against his temple.

“I know what I am, Wren. I won’t pretend I’m not.

” I framed his face with my hands and pressed my lips to his wet forehead, then lower, over his clenched eyelids.

“I never wanted this for you. I never wanted to be the reason you cry. I just wanted to keep you safe. Even if that makes me a monster.”

He finally opened his eyes, glassy and red, mouth trembling as he tried and failed to hold it together.

I kissed his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. Desperate, reverent.

“Moya zhizn,” I whispered. “I know I hurt you, but let me make it better. Let me hold you. Please. I need you to let me in. I swear I can make it better if you allow me.”

His lips parted, but nothing came out. His expression cracked, shattered, and he surged up, kissing me like he was drowning and I was the only thing left to hold on to.

The kiss was a sob. It was agony and fury and grief poured into frantic lips and teeth. He kissed me like he hated me, and I kissed him like I needed him to survive this mess between us.

Every press of lips and slide of tongue tasted like punishment. The sweetest punishment. My head spun. My lungs burned. I didn’t care.

His fingers clawed into my hair, dragging me impossibly closer.

I groaned into his mouth, sliding my hands down his slick back, gripping tight as he arched against me. We kissed like we were trying to erase everything that came before this moment and couldn’t quite manage it.

Wren broke first.

He tore his mouth away, panting harshly, his forehead pressing to mine. “I hate you,” he gasped, voice breaking apart.

“I know,” I murmured, running my fingers along his spine. “I know, baby. Hate me. Hate me all you need. Just don’t shut me out.”

His hands trembled against my shoulders, but he didn’t let go.

“But I still need you.”

He captured my lips again in another desperate, biting kiss. I took it all, his fury, his pain, his helpless want, and gave back nothing but need.

It turned frenzied fast. My hands slid lower, gripping his ass and lifting him against me. He wrapped his legs around my waist, clinging like a vine.

The water poured over us, but drowning was an afterthought. His teeth scraped my lip. Mine bruised his. There was no grace here. No slow seduction. This wasn’t making love. This wasn’t forgiveness.

This was devastation. This was heartbreak. This was the sharp edge of still wanting the man who ruined you.

“I’m the biggest fool in the world,” he whispered raggedly, pressing wet, frantic kisses along my jaw as his hips rolled against me. “You’ve made a fool out of me, Maxim.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear on my life. I’ll never hurt you again.”

He whimpered as I pressed closer, harder, hands bruising where they held. His lips parted on a moan that shot straight to my gut.

“Tell me you still want me,” I begged, my voice cracking now too. My lips ghosted over his, pleading. “Even if you hate me. Tell me you still want me. Still need me.”

Wren’s eyes fluttered open, stormy and wet. “I shouldn’t,” he whispered.

“But you do,” I pushed, forehead pressed to his, the words shaking with how much I needed them. “Say it.”

His face crumpled—equal parts pain and surrender.

“I do,” he admitted brokenly. “Fuck you, Maxim. I do.”

I didn’t wait. I captured his mouth again, swallowing every angry, aching breath as our bodies pressed tighter. The steam, the heat, the anguish—they all tangled together until it was impossible to tell where I ended and he began.

I couldn’t stop kissing him.

Every time our mouths broke apart, I chased his lips again, desperate and starved for him in a way that bordered on madness. The feel of Wren’s body slick and warm under my hands, trembling but not pulling away anymore, undid something deep inside me.

What if I stopped kissing him and he remembered how much he hated me?

I kissed down his jaw, tasting salt and water and heartbreak. His throat worked under my mouth as I sucked gently, and he shuddered when I grazed my teeth over the tender spot beneath his ear.

“Maxim…” he said, soft and unsure.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured against his skin. My hands roamed slowly, hesitantly, down his sides. “I’m here. I’m not letting you go.”

The way he sagged against me, his forehead pressing to my shoulder, nearly undid me. His fingers clung to my biceps, nails biting in, like he was still half at war with himself.

But he didn’t say no.

And when I kissed him again, slow and deep this time, he kissed me back like he needed it as much as I did.

Somehow, we stumbled and twisted until his back hit the wall of the shower. I kissed down his neck, then lower, sinking to my knees.

His thighs trembled beneath my touch.

“Max—”

“Shh.” I kissed the sharp bone of his hip, my hands anchoring him steady. “Let me remind you of this, Wren. Of how real this is between us. Nothing can change this.”

I took the head of his erection between my lips, sucking gently.

His hands shot up to my hair, his hips pushing forward reflexively. His body was so finely tuned to mine, each touch causing an immediate reaction. It had always been this way, from our very first touch.

Closing my eyes in relief, I let out a breath through my nostrils. For a moment, I’d been worried he would be repulsed if I touched him. But this—maybe I still had a chance.

He tasted of steam and soap, but beneath that was purely Wren. His scent filled my senses, dizzying me as I took him deeper. He cried out softly, more a whimper of surrender than any protest. He tightened his fingers in my hair and rolled his hips with tiny thrusts.

Does he think I get on my knees for just anyone?

Only for him.

“Max,” he whimpered louder, his hands falling away from my hair so he could anchor himself against the wall.

Every swallow drew a gasp from him. Every upward slide along his length made his back arch and his knees quake. He was coming undone beneath my touch, beneath my lips. And I never wanted to stop.

I stood again, my throat raw, breathing hard as I cupped his face. His pupils were blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips parted as he stared up at me like I was the only thing holding him together.

“Tell me to stop,” I whispered, pressing our foreheads together. “Tell me right now if you don’t want this.”

He tugged me closer instead of pushing me away. “I want to hate you,” he whispered hoarsely. But there were tears in his eyes again, and his lips quivered. “I want to hate you so much.”

“I know.” I kissed him softly, tenderly. “I deserve that.”