Page 37 of Scarlet Promise (Yegorov Bratva #4)

Chapter Thirty-One

ALINA

I don’t know where Melor went after saying hello like some creep.

Sitting up on the bed, I listen, but I can’t really hear anything, even if my ears keep tricking me with distant barks that aren’t there.

I don’t want Albert here. I don’t want his little life threatened. Just like I don’t want my baby’s life threatened.

That’s the thing. If I could somehow transport the tiny blob out of me to somewhere safe, where it could grow and live, I’d do that. I’d gladly lay down my life to protect everyone I love.

But I can’t.

And I hate it.

I hate Melor.

I hate the cute orderly, too.

Not an orderly , I remind myself. An underling of Melor’s .

How long has it been since they wheeled me up here and handcuffed me to the railing?

Thing is, I don’t know. It could be minutes or hours.

And I can’t get free.

I’ve tried.

A small sob breaks free, and I cover my mouth with my free hand, willing myself not to cry. Not to make a sound.

I’m scared, so scared that I’ve grown a little numb.

Because they know—Melor knows—I’m pregnant. How long has he followed me? And how the hell did he get into the hospital?

It’s not a huge hospital, and it’s private, but it’s big enough. People come and go to hospitals; it’s the nature of hospitals. But how long has he been here, and how does he know the layout? How does he know where the empty floors are?

My mind spins.

Suddenly, voices fill the space from down the hall. I try and listen.

“What do you mean, he’s not here?” Melor screams in Russian at the orderly minion as they pass my room.

I hear a reply, but I don’t make out the words.

It doesn’t take a genius to know they’re talking about Ilya, which fills me with dread.

I don’t like how the orderly minion answers him in softer, calming tones, like he’s used to Melor and knows how to handle him.

Before Melor and friends kidnapped me, he’d been pleasant, nice…lovely, to me and to others around.

I can see why Ilya trusted him when he needed someone to trust.

He passes the smell test on the first run.

But he unraveled when he took me. At least, that’s what it seemed like. Now? He sounds completely unhinged.

His voice rises in rapid Russian, barking orders. Something about lookouts, guns. Things being ready.

The quiet tones from the other man no longer seem to work.

A realization barrels through me.

He’s dangerous. A loose cannon. Whatever held Melor together before isn’t working now.

And the more he unravels, the more unpredictable he’ll be. And that never bodes well.

I tug at the cuff, but it’s too tight. The bed’s too solid and state of the art for me to break it.

What I want is Melor closer so I can hear him completely, because I don’t know what he’s capable of. Worse, I don’t know his plan.

If I knew that, I could…

What? I almost laugh. Do something?

I guess I could try and talk him down, but I don’t think he’s in the mood to talk.

He’s not going to ask for a ransom, and he’s got to know who my brother is. Between Demyan and Ilya, he must know he can’t win.

I bite my lip.

So what’s his plan here? To use me as bait to lure Ilya so he can kill him?

I shudder at the thought, my heart clenching extra tight.

I lost Max. I refuse to lose Ilya, too. I need to do something.

Shit…

I look around wildly, and my gaze falls on the pristine side table. I drag myself up along the bed, but the table isn’t in reach, like someone just threw it in here.

I drag the bed toward it, and then I kick it over, sending it to the floor with a crash.

The shouting in the hall stops. Feet pound down the empty corridor.

“What the fuck?” Melor screams in Russian.

“I knocked it over,” I say in English.

He sneers and raises his hand as if to strike me.

I can’t help but recoil, ducking my head.

He laughs then drops his hand. “Stupid suka .”

“Why did you take me again? You’ll incur the wrath of Ilya and my brother.”

“They don’t like each other.” He turns to leave.

“When it comes to me, they’re best friends. Even if they did have issues, they’d put them aside over me. Think about it… My brother and my husband. That’s who they are. And I’m important to them.”

He snorts. “More reason for me not to hand you over. More reason for me to use you as a tool.”

“That won’t work. So maybe you should let me go. If you do, I won’t tell them you took me. I?—”

“You expect me to believe that, stupid girl?” He shakes his head and pulls out his gun, stalking up and pressing it hard into my cheek.

White hot terror grips but I force it loose. I can’t fall apart, can’t get hysterical. That’s going to get me dead. I suck in air.

“If you kill me, harm me, or even Ilya, Demyan will hunt you down.” I repeat this to him to try and get it through his head.

“And if you hurt me, Ilya will stop at nothing. He’ll torture you before he kills you.

It could even be worse. The one who does that might be my brother.

Ask yourself why Ilya’s grandfather never dealt with Demyan.

It’s got everything to do with how Demyan operates and how he holds grudges and exacts retribution. ”

Melor sneers. “Let him try.”

“There’s no way out for you. If you don’t believe I won’t say a word, fine. Then give yourself up. They’ll go easier on you. Let you live. Just know there’s no way out of this unless you let me go now. Because I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Melor starts to pace.

“I have no interest in being the cause of your death,” I say, “so go now and live your life.”

“And you won’t say a word? I don’t believe you, suka .” He continues to pace.

I stare at him, my heart sinking. “Then turn yourself in now.”

“They’ll kill me.”

“No, they won’t, but I know it’ll be a thousand times worse if you don’t release me now.”

“Shut up,” he snarls at me and keeps pacing, but I can see him casting me looks like he’s mulling over my words.

“I’m trying to help you. This has you in a deadly bind, and I know you can see it,” I say.

“You don’t have to believe me about keeping my mouth shut, but I will.

I promise I will. And I get it. I do. You’re angry about the bratva.

But the will says Ilya has to take it for twelve months.

Otherwise, it’s dissolved, and no one involved can have it.

But after a year, it’s his, which means it can be yours. ”

I’m speaking out my ass. The will doesn’t say that, but he doesn’t know. If he did, he’d have known about the wife part.

I take a breath and keep going. “Ilya would give it to you, probably planned on it. He’s got Demyan’s bratva to help run, and you know how powerful and big the Yegorov Bratva is.”

“Be quiet.”

“I’m helping you,” I say, trying to sound calm and soothing like his minion. “You see that, don’t you? I get what you’re going through.”

“No,” he says, “you don’t.”

He stops pacing and looks at me, so I keep pushing.

“I do. I promise. And I’m sure that we can broker a deal with Demyan and Ilya, in writing, that you get the bratva when the time limit on the will is up. Whatever you want to say, I’ll back?—”

“Shut up or I’ll shut you up permanently,” he snaps, returning to his pacing.

“But—”

“I said shut the fuck up!” he yells. He stalks up to me. “There’ll be no deals made. Ever. Ilya has the one thing I want. The only thing.”

“The bratva,” I say eagerly. “And I’ll make sure he’ll give it to you.”

“Fucking lies. All you do. Lie, lie, lie!”

“I’m not.”

“You don’t have that power.” He begins pacing again, his steps brisker.

He’s not even listening. I think he’s dismissed everything I’ve said.

“No one has that power. And if I can’t have it…” He stops pacing and turns to me. “Without it, life means nothing anyway. So why not go out with a bang?”

He smiles. A big, ugly, twisted smile that punches me hard in the gut and chills me down to the bone.

It hits me then what he means.

He’s expecting to die.

He not only wants to cause as much pain and destruction as he can on the way out, but he also wants to take Ilya with him.