Page 20 of Prince of Control (Bratva Heirs #1)

Chapter Thirteen

Lara

When I wake, Baron is gone. I remember him jerking awake in the night the way he does. I’d reached out and touched his chest, and he mumbled an apology. “The nightmares get to me sometimes.”

It dented the privileged bratva prince image I’d assigned him. Something has caused him trauma. The same thing that makes his eyes look haunted at times, I imagine.

I sit up to the sound of my alarm going off beside the bed. Baron must’ve gotten up and plugged my phone in sometime during the night.

He also left a cup of coffee beside the bed in one of those thermal cups that stay warm or cold for hours. I take a sip, and the creamy goodness hits me like a drug. It’s still hot. The milk tastes freshly steamed.

I groan in pleasure.

I remember moments in the night with Baron. His strong arms around me. Our legs tangling. My head on his shoulder.

It’s like my body needed the close physical contact–craved it–to make up for all fucked-upness of this situation. I drank in comfort through my skin and must have lowered my cortisol levels because I slept like the dead.

I swing my legs out of bed and head for the bathroom. I guess you could say our marriage was consummated. I’m definitely sore between my legs and even inside–like my cervix took a beating.

But it was incredible.

I turn around and look in the mirror to see if he left handprints on my ass. No, it all faded. I find myself strangely disappointed, like I wanted to see proof of what he did to me. My belly flutters when I remember the things he said.

I don’t want to have to take you to the dungeon.

This is how I’m going to need you every goddamn night–naked and beneath me .

I want to see the dungeon. Want to know what goes on down there. I want to experience everything that every other woman has felt at Baron’s hands.

A sense of possessiveness grips me like fingers closing around my heart. Benjamin Baranov is my husband. He won’t be giving his attention to any other woman.

I suppose this is exactly how he feels about me.

Meeting Denis yesterday without telling him was asking for trouble.

I told myself I was proving I wouldn’t be caged like a bird.

That I may have married him, but I’m not his possession.

But I definitely knew I was poking a bear.

And when I got the results I expected, I felt guilty over involving Denis in my ill-thought-out games and lashed out again at Baron.

Now I know for certain that he follows a code. He won’t hurt me, not even when I act out. The spanking last night stung, but the flavor of the scene was sexual dominance, not torture. Not fear.

Phoenix’s story about Baron proves he operates by a code as well.

It comes as a huge relief and a bit of a turn-on to know that my husband is dangerous–lethal, even–but not to me.

My phone rings, and I check the screen and sigh. It’s Brash again. I guess I should take it or he’ll keep calling.

I accept the call. “Brash, you keep calling,” I say in Russian.

“Of course, I keep calling!” his voice explodes through the phone, filled with concern. “It sounds like you’re in trouble, Lara. Tell me what’s going on. I can help.”

My pulse picks up speed. It’s possible he could help. He is extravagantly rich. I know his father is part of the Russian oligarchy. That means he commands wealth and power. They might be able to keep me and my family safe from Ravil Baranov.

But do I want his help?

And why would he offer to help? What would he ask of me in return?

Somehow, after hearing Phoenix’s story about Baron, I don’t see Brash as the valiant rescuer of the weak.

Brash strikes me as the kind of guy who’s only out for himself.

His interest in me always felt disingenuous, which is why I didn't take our dates that seriously. It’s why I didn’t even remember to cancel the date when I left.

He said and did all the right things and was a total gentleman, but it felt performatory. Almost like he’s gay and was courting me to be his beard. The true spark wasn’t there.

“I’m not in trouble,” I hear myself say. I guess I’ve made my decision. I won’t be asking Brash Rostov for a rescue. I’m going to figure this shit out on my own.

“It sounds like you are. You said you suddenly had to get married? What happened?”

I close my eyes and draw in a measured breath through my nostrils.

What do I say? Do I tell him the truth, or do I put him off?

I settle for a muted version of the truth. “I’ve been engaged to marry a stranger since I was young. It was a family arrangement. Our parents decided it was time to pull the trigger on the contract.”

Surprisingly, Brash doesn’t even take a beat to absorb that. “Like an arranged marriage? That’s crazy. This is the 21st-century. You don’t have to go through with it, Lara.”

Again, I’m surprised he cares so much.

“It’s too late. I went through with it. I’m a married woman now.”

“You don’t have to stay married. No court enforces till death do you part. ”

The idea of divorcing Baron and getting on a plane back to Paris has massive appeal. I was living my best life there. I had one year left to get my degree. I had just gotten an internship that would’ve provided me with the experience I needed to get a job as an interpreter after graduation.

Except…I’d be giving up Baron. The guy I thought was a bully, but I’m coming to suspect might actually be the guy who protects others from bullies.

But how does that fit with the ruthless bratva family that demanded our immediate marriage?

Maybe his dad is a bully, and he’s resolved to protect me from him.

If I divorced Baron and let Brash help me, I’d be safer. Whether my family would be safe or not is unclear. And I’d be giving up the kind of sex I had last night.

The thought of having sex with Brash instead registers as a balloon deflating deep in my soul.

Pass. After Baron…

It’s hard to imagine anyone else could hold a candle.

Still, am I going to pass up what might be my only chance to get out of this lifelong prison for good sex?

“Thank you for offering to help. I appreciate your concern. But I don’t need to be rescued.”

“You hesitated before you answered. Are you afraid, Lara?”

I suddenly feel dizzy. The bathroom swoops around me. Am I afraid? I certainly was. My dad seemed afraid–which terrifies me.

Yes, I’m afraid. But there’s also a kernel of hope starting to germinate in the center of my heart. Some foolish piece of me wants to believe I might find love here in a monster’s arms. My interest has been snagged enough that I don’t want to run. Not anymore.

Maybe I’ll change my mind, though. Maybe I’ll find out all the horrible things Ravil Baranov and his son have done and wish to run as far and fast as I can.

Or maybe this arranged marriage will save everything, as my dad seems to believe.

“No, I am safe. But I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Lara, you don’t sound safe–”

“I’ll let you know if that changes,” I say firmly.

He stops trying to argue. “Where exactly are you? I’m coming out there. I need to see with my own eyes that you’re not a prisoner.”

I think of the blood on the table at the bar today. What would Baron do if my ex-boyfriend showed up with the intent to steal me away?

Something horrible, I fear.

He may be safe for me, but he’s not safe for the men who want me.

I try to keep the urgency out of my voice by forcing a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not a prisoner. I also don’t want you to come. Like I said in my text–I’m married now. I can’t see you anymore.”

Brash is silent for a moment. “Promise you’ll call if you need anything?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Good luck, then. I hope to hear from you.”

I hope he doesn’t. That would mean that things had gone horribly wrong here.

“Goodbye, Brash.”

I end the call with a queasy feeling in my belly.

I hope to God I made the right choice.

Baron

I go on proactive mode for the party, calling Edgar, the Whisper Fire Marshal, between my morning classes to let him know we’re having a party and ask if he wants to inspect our alarms to make sure we’re up to code.

Baranov house made a generous donation and volunteered student labor for their chili cook-off fundraiser last winter, so I have some collateral to draw on.

Still, there’s an impatient edge to his voice. “I inspected last year. Has anything changed?”

“Nope, just want to be sure. We’ll use a counter at the door Friday to make sure we don’t go over-capacity.”

“Okay. Anything else?” He still doesn’t know why the fuck I’m bugging him, so I just come clean.

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, Edgar. We heard one of the other society houses on campus was going to try to shut down our party, so I’m just trying to anticipate any direction that might come from.”

“Ah. I see. Well, I’ll bear that in mind if I get any calls, but we’ll still have to respond if we do.”

“I understand. I just want to assure you in advance that we will be following the rules you gave us.”

“Okay, son. Appreciate that.”

I end the call.

Well, that’s all I can do. I don’t know where else I can head off problems. If the police decide to come and search us, I can make sure they don’t find anything, but having cops move through the house checking IDs will ruin the party vibe.

I did everything else by the book. Got a permit, registered the party with campus administration, ordered wrist bands to make sure no one underage gets a drink. We don’t always follow those rules, but this time, we’ll have to be totally above-board. No designer drug sales, no dungeon play.

My phone buzzes with a text from Anya.

Brash called Lara this morning. Check the files.

Blyad’.

I stop and open the file folder on my phone where Anya sends all the records from Lara’s phone. I quickly scan the transcript. There’s a voice recording, too, but I don’t have time to listen now.

She told him she’s married now and refused his help. I hang onto that piece of information.

At what point is it safe for me to tell her the truth?

Not yet. Not until she’s secure with me. She still doesn’t trust me yet.

But the longer we go on with her believing this lie, the more manipulated she’s going to feel. She’s already furious about feeling like a pawn in her father’s schemes. How will she feel when she hears he didn’t trust her with the truth about it all?

Fuck. I hate all of this.

No, not all of it.

Because if Adrian hadn’t made up the lie about Lara being betrothed to me, I may have never met her. I wouldn’t have a beautiful, intelligent wife right now who feels like the person I’ve been waiting my entire life to meet.

I tuck my phone in my pocket and head to my next class.

As I walk up toward my statistics class–the one with Professor Vasiliev, who hates me–I slow my gait.

He’s standing outside his door, and talking with him is a short dumpy kid with unkempt curly hair and medical tape in an X over his nose.

Denis Penkin. Talking to Professor Vasiliev.

Sure, they’re both Russian. It could be that simple. Except they look over at me with a look of pure contempt.

Fuck.

They’re in this together.

Vasiliev has ties to the oligarchs, too.

That’s a problem.

Denis walks away before I get there, but I can’t help it–the mudak brings out the violent side of me.

I let Vasiliev see it. Gone is the respectful student.

I show him what I truly am. What he already knew about me.

I’m a killer. A criminal. A man who will use violence to protect what’s his.

I lift my upper lip in a snarl and stop in front of him.

“Friend of yours?” I growl in Russian, tipping my head in the direction Denis left.

He maintains his composure, uncowed by me. “Sit down, Baranov.”

I hold my ground, staring him down. Showing him I don’t give a fuck about his grades or his class or his opinion of me. If he’s working with Denis Penkin to spy on or harm my wife, I will end him.

He looks balefully back at me.

Another student tries to get past, but I’m blocking the door.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs, head down.

I release the lock on my muscles, smoothly moving into the classroom and taking my seat in the front of the room where I have the perfect vantage point to stare the motherfucker down.

No one screws with my wife.

Not if they want to live.