Page 22 of Brutal Reign (Bratva Kings #3)

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

HOPE

Sweat beads along my spine, clinging to the fabric at the small of my back. My dress feels too tight, my skin too hot. My vision swims slightly at the edges even though I force myself to keep my head up, eyes straight ahead, as the priest speaks the words that feel like a prison door slamming shut.

“Do you, Hope King, take Simon Lau to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

My pulse thunders in my ears. Simon watches me, waiting for my response.

I stare at the priest and open my mouth to say the two words he’s waiting for. Two simple words.

I do.

But they don’t come. They lodge in my throat like a stone. My lips part, but no sound escapes.

Simon goes deathly still. He doesn’t speak, but I know he’s furious that I’m hesitating. I’m not even doing it purposefully; it’s my body rebelling against my brain.

As I try again to get the words out, there’s a burst of sound so loud it shakes the chandeliers overhead and makes the ground shudder beneath my heels.

I look around the room, waiting for someone to announce it’s fireworks or an earthquake—something that makes sense—but no one does.

Simon stiffens, eyes narrowing as his head snaps toward the sound.

The air fills with screams and the acrid smell of smoke. Chairs scrape back all at once as the guests start to flee.

All I can think about is Kin. That I need to get to him. Before I can make a move, Simon grabs me by the wrist and pulls me from the altar, barking orders at his security team that seems to have materialized out of nowhere.

“What’s happening?” I choke out, stumbling after him in my heels as he drags me toward a side door. “Was there an accident?”

“This is no accident,” he growls, eyes scanning for threats as we move.

Chaos erupts behind us as all the guests try to run at once. I catch a glimpse of tuxedo-clad guards herding the guests through the back doors toward the docks.

Simon forces open a service door that leads into a narrow corridor lined with utility panels and storm equipment, shoving me ahead of him. Terror floods through me. If armed enemies are storming this place, Kin is in danger.

“Where are we going?” I struggle against his iron grip. “We have to get Kin first?—”

“They don’t want your son,” Simon snaps, never slowing his relentless pace. “This is about us.”

I dig my heels in, trying to wrench free, but he only tightens his hold as he drags me through another door into the humid air. My heels sink into the landscaped earth, and the sounds of violence echo across the estate.

“What do you mean, they ? Is this the Syndicate?” It has to be. I warned him they were dangerous enemies, something he should have understood himself, but his arrogance got the best of him. I stumble as he pulls me down a narrow path carved between hedges and stone. “Simon, please stop?—”

He ignores my pleas, and when we break through the tree line, I see our destination: a secondary landing pad positioned well away from the main pad. The sound of an approaching helicopter confirms my worst fear—that he's going to drag me away without Kin.

I plant my feet and refuse to move another step, my wedding dress catching on thorny shrubs. “No! Kin is still in the house. I’m not leaving without him!”

Simon’s grip becomes painful. “You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do.”

I yank against him again, but it’s no use. Simon has positioned himself behind me, one arm around my waist, the unmistakable chill of metal pressing into my ribs. I freeze.

“Don’t make me use this,” he threatens through clenched teeth. “I don’t know how the fuck they found us here, how the fuck they made it through security, but they’re out for blood, and you’re too valuable for me to leave behind.”

The world tilts sideways, my breath coming fast and shallow. “You’d rather kill me than let me protect my child?”

“I won’t give those Russian dogs a chance to use you as leverage against me. And I won’t be made to look weak… to be the man who loses his bride at the altar.”

Despite the gun, I twist in his grasp, because the only thing that matters is saving my son. “I don’t care. Let me go?—”

He slaps me across the face, and my head jerks back. My knees give out, as much from shock as anything else, and I crumple to the ground hard, my palms scraping against the dirt as I try to catch myself.

Simon’s on me in an instant, straddling my waist, pinning me with his weight. The muzzle of the gun presses under my chin.

“Listen carefully,” he says with deadly calm. “You’re worth more to me alive than dead, but that calculation changes the second they get their hands on you. Your choice: leave with me now, or I'll kill you here and tell everyone you died in the attack.”

His words barely penetrate the roar of panic in my head. Gun or no gun, threat or no threat, none of it matters if Kin is hurt because I wasn’t there to protect him. I’d rather die trying to save my son than live knowing I abandoned him.

I close my eyes, summoning whatever fight I have left. But before I can move, I feel Simon tense above me. The air shifts with something charged and dangerous.

“Hurt her, and I’ll carve your fucking throat open and use your vocal cords as string.”

That voice . Low, lethal, and oddly familiar in a way that makes my blood go still.

My eyes fly open to find a man standing behind Simon. A blade gleams at Simon’s neck, pressed to the soft hollow under his jaw. But it’s not only the knife that stops me cold; it’s the man holding it.

The man I’ve spent the last five years dreaming about, wondering about. Lukas, my son’s father. Except it’s not Lukas. How could it be?

He might look like him, but there’s no trace of his charming Swedish accent. This man’s voice is coarser, harsher, like the rest of him. He’s bigger, broader, and his hair is longer, but those slate-gray eyes are the same.

I blink a few times. My eyes must be playing tricks on me.

“Who the fuck are you?” Simon snarls, unable to turn his head because of the knife pushed against his neck.

He smiles, and it’s ugly. “Your worst nightmare.”

With a sneer, the stranger increases the blade’s pressure until a thin line of blood appears. “Get that gun away from her, or I’ll slit your jugular so fast you won’t even realize you’re bleeding out.”

“Fine,” Simon grits out, but a moment later, he twists fast, throwing his weight sideways and rolling off me while knocking the blade away with a sharp movement.

Lukas’s lookalike staggers but recovers quickly as both men crash into the dirt beside me. Simon’s pistol flies from his hand and lands far out of reach.

They come up at the same time, bare fists flying, their hits landing fast and brutal. The stranger is taller and larger, but Simon is fast and deft, having trained in all sorts of martial arts and hand-to-hand combat.

Simon throws an elbow into his opponent’s side. The man groans, dodges a second strike, then lands a vicious uppercut to Simon’s jaw. His head snaps back, blood flying from his mouth. They’re both breathing hard, circling each other like beasts.

My head is swimming, but the only thing clear to me is that I need to get the hell out of here. I scan the area, and my eyes lock on Simon’s gun, where it landed ten feet away. Blocking out everything else, I army crawl across the grass until my hand closes around the grip of the pistol.

I stumble to my feet as Simon grabs a fistful of the other guy’s jacket and slams him into a tree. He retaliates with a knee to Simon’s ribs. As Simon catches his breath, the stranger takes the opportunity to land a brutal left hook to his jaw.

“Fuck you.” Hatred gleams in Simon’s eyes as he cups his face. “Take a hint, Fedorov. The Syndicate wasn’t invited to my wedding.”

Fedorov?

I know that name. Whispered in my father's study during late-night meetings, always with fear and respect. Pavel Fedorov. One of the Syndicate’s most dangerous men.

And somehow, he’s a dead ringer for the gentle Swedish author who gave me Kin.

“Enough!” I shout, raising the gun, both hands trembling. “Step back. Both of you.”

It takes them a minute to realize what’s happening. That I’m holding the gun, therefore I’m the one holding the power now.

They slowly separate, breathing hard, their clothes streaked with dirt. Simon’s lip is split open. The other has a gash above his eye. They both raise their hands and turn to me.

The gun shakes in my grip, but I don’t lower it as my eyes settle on Pavel Fedorov. I study his face, taking in his familiar straight nose, sharp jawline and cheeks, even the way he holds himself.

“It’s me,” he says, confirming my suspicions.

I shake my head, not willing to accept that the man I fell for is also the enemy.

“You’re… one of them,” I say, my voice broken.

He doesn’t deny it. He meets my eyes, steady and unflinching. My whole body sways with the weight of the truth.

Simon looks between us, eyes narrowing. “Fucking shoot him Hope. What are you waiting for?”

“Shut up,” I spit back as rage and betrayal crash through me.

Pavel’s gaze never leaves mine, something desperate and raw in his expression. “It doesn’t matter what my name is, Hope. Or should I say Lily ? You know who I am,” he says, voice rough like gravel. “You know me .”

I know the way he kissed me. I know the way he touched me. But it turns out I didn’t actually know the man standing in front of me. Not at all.

Before I can say more, a roar splits the air as a helicopter crests the tree line, blades kicking up a whirlwind of dirt and debris as it descends onto the helipad fifty yards away.

The cyclone of wind and dust forces me to shield my face, and in that split second of distraction, Simon makes his move.

He lunges toward me, grabbing for the gun. I scream, twisting away, as Pavel surges forward and slams into Simon’s side, knocking him off me. The pistol flies from my hand, clattering across the ground again.