Page 42 of Brutal Reign (Bratva Kings #3)

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

HOPE

Two hours later, we’re back in the car, heading to the compound. Kin is asleep in the backseat, clutching a plastic dinosaur from the museum gift shop. The silence between Pavel and me is comfortable, the kind that settles in without effort.

It’s been a good day. The kind of day that makes me question what I really want.

I close my eyes and replay the afternoon. Pavel’s genuine reaction seeing Kin’s joy, the way he pulled me behind that fossil display and kissed me. I kissed him back without hesitation because, well, because I wanted to.

I steal a glance at Pavel while he drives.

One hand grips the steering wheel, the other rests on my thigh, his thumb tracing absent patterns through my jeans.

His sleeves are pushed up, revealing tattooed forearms. Maybe it’s because I know how good his hands feel on my body, or maybe it’s the casual confidence in his posture that makes a low pulse beat between my legs.

Everything is moving so fast and so slow at the same time.

I’d convinced myself I could keep my distance, focus on my escape plan, and ignore how much I desperately want him. Then he did something nice for Kin, and I’m losing my head all over again.

Pavel catches me staring and glances over, a slow, easy smile spreading across his face. “Something on your mind?”

My skin flushes, but I don’t look away. “Maybe. But it’s not something you can help me with right now.”

He laughs, the heat in his eyes telling me he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. “We’ll see about that later, angel moy.”

The promise in his voice sends a shiver of anticipation through me.

He checks on Kin in the rearview mirror, his thumb continuing the slow circles on my thigh, driving me slowly mad.

“Kin’s happy here,” he says after a moment. “Admit it.”

“Maybe,” I say, unwilling to give him any more than that.

He smiles, still looking at me. “You’re both happy.”

I turn toward the window, trying to hide how much his words affect me. Because he’s right, and that’s the problem. Every day I spend here makes the thought of what comes next harder.

It’s crazy. He forced me to marry him. But every hour, it feels like I’m losing this battle with myself, piece by piece, kiss by stolen kiss.

And every time Kin looks at Pavel with pure adoration is like a knife twisting deeper. Watching Pavel with his own son while keeping the truth locked away.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I warn.

“Too late,” he says, satisfaction thick in his voice.

I watch his profile, remembering this morning when he helped Kin tie his shoes, the patience in his voice when he explained why Russians drive on the “other side of the road” than we did in Hong Kong.

Pavel deserves to know how much I appreciate this, even if everything else between us is complicated.

“You’re a natural with kids, you know,” I say. “You’re very sweet with Kin. He really does like being with you.”

Pavel’s smile falters. Something shutters in his expression, and his grip tightens on the steering wheel. I don’t know what I said, but the sudden tension in the car makes me wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

“I had practice,” he says quietly. “I raised my younger sister after our parents died.”

The words hang between us like a confession. Dinara had mentioned something about a sister, but she was cagey with the details. Still, curiosity gets the best of me.

“What happened?” I ask softly.

His hands are white-knuckled on the wheel. “Our parents were killed in a car crash when I was fifteen. Kamilla was six. The state wanted to put her in the system, split us up. I couldn’t let that happen.”

My lungs seize. I already know this story doesn’t have a happy ending.

“I dropped out of school, tried to find legitimate work, but who’s going to hire a fifteen-year-old with no job experience?

So I started working for a local gang. It was the only way to keep us fed, keep the lights on.

” His voice goes flat, emotionless. “It meant leaving her alone for hours at a time, sometimes overnight. I hated doing that, but there was no choice. There was no one to look after her.”

Instinctively, I cover his hand resting on my lap with my own. His fingers turn under mine, gripping tight like I’m the only thing keeping him afloat.

“One night, my boss wanted me to work this underground boxing event. Big money, but it meant being gone all night. Kamilla was upset—she’d been having nightmares, didn’t want me to leave.

” He takes a shuddering breath before forcing the words out.

“She begged me to stay until she fell asleep. Only an hour or two, but I couldn’t.

In that world, you don’t get to say no. I promised her I’d spend the whole next day with her, told her we’d do whatever she wanted. ”

His profile is carved from stone, jaw clenched so tight I’m afraid his molars might crack.

“When I got home at dawn, she was gone. Just vanished. No sign of a break-in, nothing disturbed. I thought someone had taken her, maybe a rival gang, someone with a grudge.” He swallows hard.

“I looked for her for days, then weeks, months, then years. I never stopped. Poured everything I had into finding her.”

“Oh God, Pavel.” I bite back tears as the full horror of it hits me. “I’m so sorry.”

Something changes in his eyes. The successful, powerful man beside me disappears, replaced by that broken teenage boy who lost everything.

“She must have gone out looking for me.” The words come out like they physically hurt him.

“Maybe she had another nightmare. I’ll never know.

She left our apartment wearing only her pajamas and a thin coat, carrying that stuffed rabbit she’d had since she was a baby.

February in Moscow is brutal; she didn’t make it three blocks before. ..”

He doesn’t have to finish. I know what he’s going to say. She froze to death. A sob catches in my throat. Six years old, alone and scared, looking for the one person who made her feel safe. The image of that little girl in her thin pajamas, shivering in the dark, breaks something inside me.

“The police didn’t give a shit about a missing kid from our neighborhood.

They found a body and listed her as a Jane Doe.

It didn’t even make the papers.” His voice is completely flat now, like he’s reciting facts.

“It was only years later, when I had the resources, that my tech guys were able to hack into the police database and match her DNA to mine.”

My heart feels like it’s been crushed. The paintings in his room, all that raw emotion. He’s been carrying this guilt for years, painting his way through the pain.

“Pavel,” I whisper, but I don’t know what else to say, so I reach out and cover one of his hands with my own.

“All those years, I thought someone from a rival gang had taken her, something to prove a point. But the truth is worse. She died because of the choices I made. Because I left her alone and terrified.”

I shake my head, desperate for him to hear me. “You were trying to survive. To take care of her.”

His voice goes hard. “I was her guardian. Her brother. I was supposed to protect her. I tried so hard, but I failed her.”

Without thinking, I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean over, wrapping my arms around him as much as the car allows.

He’s driving and is so much bigger than me that it’s awkward, but I don’t care.

I know what it’s like to feel responsible for someone else’s life, to carry that crushing weight of knowing their safety depends on your choices.

“Aren’t you supposed to hate me, Hope?”

“I’m trying to, but you keep making it impossible,” I say back, my face pressed against his shoulder.

He pulls back to look at me, and even through his flimsy smile, I can see the devastation in his expression.

“Now you know what kind of monster I really am.”

Not long ago, I would have agreed. I would have seen only the killer, the man who destroyed my father’s empire. But staring at him now, seeing the broken piece of his soul, I see things differently.

Now, I see a man shaped by impossible choices and unbearable loss. A man who learned too young that love sometimes means making devastating sacrifices.

A man who might understand better than anyone why I’d do anything to protect Kin.

The realization terrifies me. Because if Pavel isn’t the devil I’ve been telling myself he is, then what does that make me for planning to take his son away from him?

When we pull into the compound, Pavel cuts the engine and sits motionless for a long moment. Neither of us says anything. I can see the war happening behind his eyes, all that pain he’s been carrying threatening to break free.

“Pavel—” I start, but he’s already out of the car, moving with that grace so rare in a man his size.

He disappears through the front door before a guard steps forward and opens my passenger door.

I gather a sleepy Kin from the backseat.

By the time I get inside, Pavel is nowhere to be found.

I feed Kin dinner and go through our bedtime routine, but my mind keeps drifting to wherever Pavel has gone to bleed out his demons.

After I tuck Kin in, I go looking for him, but it doesn’t take much guessing. In my heart, I know where he is.

Music, something bleak and melancholic, drifts under the door of Pavel’s art studio. I knock softly, then harder when there’s no response.

“Pavel, I know you’re in there,” I say. “Please let me in. You can talk to me.”

I try again, but he keeps on ignoring me. Shutting me out.

He’s alone in there, probably painting his guilt onto canvas in violent strokes. But he doesn’t have to carry this alone anymore. Not when I understand exactly how that kind of loss can destroy you.

I rest my forehead against the door, my hand flat against the wood. The raw pain in his voice when he talked about Kamilla keeps echoing in my head. He opened up to me, was vulnerable with me and now he’s alone with those demons.

I have no right to comfort him, but I want to try. Except, he’s not letting me in.

After a few minutes, I feel a large hand land on my shoulder.

“Leave him to work through it,” Yarik says quietly. “He needs time. Come with me.”

He leads me to the kitchen, settling me at the table by the window before handing me a mug of chamomile tea.

“I’ve known Pavel a long time. When he first came to me, he was barely seventeen, but he fought like someone with nothing to lose. Angry. Alone. He lashed out at the world. Anyone and anything. Fought like he didn’t care if he lived or died, which after everything, he didn’t.”

Yarik’s voice carries the weight of memory. He takes a moment to blow on his tea, before taking a small sip.

“Took me a long time to show him that boxing was a skill. It was an art to perfect. If he wanted to lash out at the world, he didn’t need lessons.

He could throw himself in any underground fight ring and get his face smashed in.

But if he wanted to train with me, he needed to find his focus.

Control the rage and pain that ruled him.

When he learned the art of discipline, of funneling grief into something else, fighting or painting or whatever it is…

It doesn’t take the pain away, but it keeps it at bay most days.

” He shrugs, looking off into the distance as if he can see the ghosts of his past. “Still, sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with all that emotion he’s kept buried, especially now that he has you and Kin to care about again. ”

I bite my lip, staring out the window into the darkness beyond. “I don’t understand.”

“He learned to protect his heart, and the best way to do that is to keep distance. Safer that way, less chance of failing someone who matters.”

My throat constricts. The careful walls I’ve built around my own heart suddenly feel paper thin.

“But you know,” Yarik continues, a small smile on his face.

“Five years ago Pavel went to London for business. When he came back, he was different.” My heart hammers against my ribs as I read between the lines.

“Restless. Like he lost something that mattered. It felt like he was waiting for something but didn’t know what.

Since you and Kin arrived, that restlessness is gone.

Whatever Pavel was waiting for, I think he found it. Give him time, Hope.”

Later, I go through the motions of getting ready for bed—washing my face, brushing my teeth, changing into an oversized T-shirt. But when I finally slip between the sheets, all I can do is stare up at the ceiling.

I think about a teenage Pavel, alone and angry, lashing out at a world that had taken everything from him. I know that rage. I know what it feels like to lose the people who are supposed to protect you, to have your childhood ripped away in an instant.

Both Pavel and I lost everyone we loved. My mother might have been the only one who died, but I lost my father that day too when he sent me away. It was as hard as losing her, maybe even more so because it was a choice he made. One that I’m still living with.

Something about Pavel’s broken confession earlier makes me want to show him he doesn’t have to face everything alone.

I’m tired of letting fear decide what I deserve. Tired of protecting myself by avoiding everything that feels right. Even if it makes no sense at all.

I push back the covers and slip out of bed, my bare feet silent on the wood floor as I pad toward his room.