Page 42 of Brutal Unionn

Not in this war-torn universe where my love would cost my family legacy and his loyalty to himself is worth more to him in the long term.

I let out a slow breath and whisper to the water, to the silence, to whatever part of me still wants to feel something softer. Icould have loved Sho, just not in this life. In this life I will be his downfall, and I will rue the day that truth is revealed.

11

NADIA

Fourteen hourslater and every inch of my body hurts more than before—because the adrenaline’s gone, and all that’s left is pain. The ache is deep, marrow-deep. The kind of pain that doesn't just sit in your skin, it becomes your skin.

The scar from the cauterization on my right side is an angry, bright pink—raised and swollen like something alien is trying to claw its way out of me. I should be horrified. But I’ve got too many scars to count. This one just happens to be the biggest.

And it came from Sho.

From him trying to save my life.

He leans against the edge of the bed now, watching me dress with that unreadable expression he gets when he's trying not to argue but can’t help himself.

“I still don’t think you’re ready,” he murmurs.

I’m standing there in boy shorts and a thin white tank top—no bra. I tried putting on my sports bra and nearly passed out from the fire that lit up beneath my ribs. Now I move slowly as I inspect the wound on my waist.

“You said twenty-four hours,” I say quietly, adjusting my hips to test the stretch. “And I gave you thirty.”

“I was hoping you’d realize you needed more.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I cross the room slowly, as I push down my shirt and walk to the little desk in the corner, grabbing a pair of stretchy skinny jeans that lay over the chair.

“I need to talk to Nikolai before he spins this into a story where I ran, disappeared, or worse—died. If he convinces enough people of that, I am looking at a coup, which means they will kill me dead, and instead of one random guy, the entire Bratva will be looking to kill me.” I glance at him as I pull the jeans over my hips, swallowing the wince. “I can’t afford to look weak in front of my men.”

Sho’s voice is low. “I don’t like when you say that.”

“What?”

“Mymen.”

I pause, fingers resting at the waistband. “Sho, they are my men.”

His jaw ticks. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

I look at him then—really look. His green eyes flick to the scar again, then to my face. “At least let me come with you.”

“No.” I huff the word like smoke as I suck in a sharp breath, pain winding up my side again while I struggle to button myjeans. Each movement feels like pulling a stitch through raw flesh.

Sho doesn’t flinch, but his jaw clenches. “You can’t walk into the Bratva looking for a fight when your body’s still screaming in Morse code.”

I glance at him—he’s sitting there, cool as ever, but his fingers are tight around my leather jacket. Like he already knows I’ll ask for it and he’s debating whether he’ll let go.

“I can’t show up with backup either,” I snap, limping toward the closet. “Especially notyou.I can’t have a man fighting my battles for me.”

“You think I’m worried about fightingforyou?” he scoffs.

I ignore him and crouch down with a hiss, grabbing the one pair of black Doc Martens tucked behind a stack of half-burned files and an unopened box of ammo. The leather’s scuffed and worn—gifted by Nikolai on my twenty-first birthday. The same day he named me his right hand and told me never to let anyone think I was less than him.

I lace them up slowly, my body barking in protest, but my fingers move fast. I stand up and move around the room, grabbing my two Glock 43s and a couple of knives, placing a holster around my thigh and hiding the other weapons in discrete parts all over my body.

Sho watches me, my leather jacket firmly in his lap. I cross the room and hold out my hand, palm up, expectant. He looks down at the jacket, then back up at me.

“I’ll give it to you,” he says slowly, “on one condition.”