Page 5 of Sergei

“It’s not easy to find such information.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You will be hearing from me soon.”

He hadn’t gotten back with me, but he was a clever bastard who’d do anything for the right amount of money. I knew it wouldn’t be much longer before he had what I needed.

I cleared my throat and tried to pull myself back to the office, and when I glanced over at Preacher, I found him watching me like he could read my thoughts. Creed was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for me to tell them more.

“I’m not sure what they want from us, but I feel certain it isn’t good,” I said, my voice colder than I meant it to be.

Because in my gut, I knew if these assholes decided to force their way in, it wouldn’t just be my family on the line. It would be everyone connected to us, and that meant them. And I’d learned enough from the Fury to know that you protect what’s yours, or you lose it.

And I wasn’t losing.

2

ALINA

My husband was a monster.

Not one of those sexy, brooding types depicted in dark romance books.

This man was a psychotic, cruel, evil beast of a man who thirsted for blood and power, and I knew it the second I saw him. I could see it in his eyes and feel it in his touch. I didn’t want to marry him. I pleaded with my father, begging him not to make me marry him, but he wouldn’t listen. Our marriage was arranged by the family. They hoped it would settle grievances and bring peace, and maybe it did.For them.

But it certainly didn’t for me.

It had been hell since the second I said ‘I do’.

I’d tried to make it work.

I dressed the part. I was obedient and obscure. I was only noticeable when he wanted me to be, and I always did what I was told, even when it went against everything ingrained in me. But it didn’t matter what I did or didn’t do. Alek always found a reason to be angry with me.

He thrived on it.

It was like the anger lit up something inside of him and excited him. He would knock me around like a rag doll, yelling and cursing obscenities over the smallest of things. Tonight, it was because I hadn’t put enough wine in his glass. He threw it across the room and charged at me. I didn’t have a chance to blink before he was on top of me. It started with a backhanded slap across my cheek, and it quickly escalated.

It always did.

It didn’t matter if I fought back or crumpled to the floor and just took it. He would keep going until he ran out of steam.

I was done playing victim in his story.

I would either get out of this or die trying.

It wouldn’t be easy. My head was pounding so hard I swear I could feel every beat pulse behind my eyes. Every breath scraped through my chest like broken glass. I was pretty sure one of my ribs cracked when he kicked me. Maybe two, but I didn’t dare lift my shirt to look.

If I saw the bruises, I’d break. And I couldn’t break.

Not yet.

I pressed my palm to the wall to steady myself as I rose to my feet. I could hear his voice in the next room, and always, he sounded like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just dragged me across the floor by my hair and slammed my head against the table because I didn’t put enough wine in his glass.

No more.

I had to get out.

He was going to kill me. Maybe not tonight, but the time would soon come when he wouldn’t stop, and I would bleed out on the marble floor like a stray dog.