Page 5 of Sold to the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #6)

But Margot was right. There was no time to think, let alone deliberate on her decision. She needed to leave.

Right fucking now.

Margot squeezed her arm, cupped her cheeks, and kissed her forehead. “He doesn’t know you’re here. Leave now before he sees you. Okay? And call me wherever you get settled in.”

Tears stung at the back of Maeve’s eyes, but there was no time for crying. She nodded and hugged the one woman who had never left her side with all her might. Then, she swallowed and took a deep breath as she reached for the door.

Just get out, Maeve. Move fast. Go home, get your shit, and leave .

The mantra played in her head as she slammed her hand down on the door handle and ripped the door open, only to stumble back slightly when she met her father’s familiar gaze, which paralyzed her to the floor.

Cormac was waiting, and Maeve wondered just how long he’d been there. If he’d heard everything Margot told him.

Beside her, Margot stiffened for a split second before composing her face into indifference and lowering her head in his direction. Cormac took a good look at his daughter―at her wide eyes, flushed skin, and trembling hands.

And then he chuckled like something was funny.

Dread coiled in the pit of Maeve’s stomach. She had barely even made any attempt, and he was already there, intercepting her like he’d done all her life.

“Well, well,” he sighed, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“I guess a father can always count on a good woman to warn his little girl.” His gaze flicked to Margot, and Maeve instinctively stepped to the side, shielding Margot from his piercing stare.

“I should’ve figured she would stick her nose where it doesn’t belong. ”

Margot stood her ground. “She deserved to know.”

“Such loyalty,” he mused. Then he turned to Maeve, and his amusement faded into cold authority. “Let’s go.”

That hate, that one she always tried to believe she didn’t feel for him, started to knock at the back of her head. It gave her the courage to glare at him.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“What happened to your manners?” Cormac asked, his expression darkening as he took a firm hold of Maeve’s wrist. “And I wasn’t asking, A stor. ”

Maeve hated when he called her that―my treasure―when he treated her as anything but.

Maeve struggled in his hold, trying to rip his arm away. For the first time in her life, her father’s touch repulsed her. “Let go of me.”

“Manners,” Cormac warned just as Margot stepped forward. But he put her in line quickly, leveling her with a warning look that neither Maeve nor Margot dared to challenge.

“I’ll let this one slide, Margot,” he warned. “This is a family business. You’ve done enough.”

Without another word, he yanked Maeve forward, dragging her through the suffocating corridors of The Grotto . She kicked against him like a petulant child, not caring that she was digging her heels into the ground.

She would do anything possible to get out of this ruse of a marriage her father was trying to trap her in.

“Stop fighting,” he murmured as he dragged her to the main floor of the bar, towards the table she’d watched them sit at. “You’ll only embarrass yourself.”

Cormac dragged her forward, stepping over the body on the floor without a care in the world, and Maeve felt a little faint. Panic wrapped around her heart, swelling bigger and bigger as he set her in front of the stranger and the rest of the men at the table.

By now, the attention of the entire bar was on them as Cormac clamped down on her shoulders with his hands and gave her a slight shove forward.

She refused to meet Jonathan’s gaze, but she could feel it― feel him . Staring at her like he had never seen a woman before.

“Here she is,” Cormac said behind her as he tugged her hoodie away, causing her hair to fall down her shoulders in bundles that teased her waist. “A better deal than a bag of cash.”

Maeve kept her gaze trained on her feet, on the trickle of blood coming from the body, staining the whites of her Converse. She had never felt more stripped raw than she felt right now―being sold off to a stranger in the presence of these men.

“You take the girl and the corpse with you,” Cormac said next to Maeve’s ear. “You marry her in three days. And we have a deal.”

Maeve felt her lungs deflate to her stomach. It was a miracle she hadn’t passed out.

But as she stood there, under Jonathan’s irritatingly intense and scrutinizing stare, she forced herself to meet his eyes from beneath her eyelashes. Hate and disgust grew within her, spreading like wildfire and setting all her feelings ablaze.

And Jonathan didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. But she saw it―the way his pupils dilated slowly when she held his gaze, and he was still looking at her when he nodded.

Maeve wanted to sink into a hole and die.

“Deal.”

And Cormac grinned.

***

Maeve screamed at her reflection in her bedroom.

This had to be a sick joke, but she remembered the urgent look in Margot’s eyes that told her everything she needed to know.

Hurt―it twisted deep into her heart like a knife.

But then it was replaced by anger―anger so intense that her nails sunk into her palms from how hard she was balling her fists.

How dare her father do this to her? She’d done nothing but abide by his rules for the last twenty-four years, to live not how she wanted but in ways that could please him, even though he barely noticed it, even though it brought her nothing but misery.

And then he had the nerve , the effrontery, to trade her away as if she were nothing more than a bargaining chip instead of his actual daughter. And to whom? A stranger who killed men just as easily as he did?

Just when she was sure Cormac couldn’t do anything more to hurt her, he proved her wrong in the worst way possible—every single time.

Enough was enough.

This was the last straw.

How long would she live like this? How long would she keep accepting everything he threw her way, like her own feelings didn’t matter? How long would she keep living in utter misery and fear?

She couldn’t do it. No. Absolutely not.

She couldn’t allow herself to be married off to a man she barely knew. A man who had taken the life of another as easily as breathing.

There’s no time to argue or think about why he’s done this. If you don’t get out now, you won’t get out at all.

She didn’t spare another moment to think before she crouched to the floor and pulled a box out from under her bed. It was there because of the many times she’d attempted to escape the claws of her father.

She rushed into her closet and grabbed whatever clothes she could carry before shoving them deep into the box. She pushed the bathroom door open, packed a few essentials, forced them in, and then went for her wallet.

She couldn’t even imagine being married to Jonathan. She thought of the worst. She couldn’t imagine him kissing her much more of touching her. She couldn’t imagine being called the wife of a man she knew nothing about.

And what would happen if she actually allowed herself to marry him? What if, after everything, he decided she wasn’t worth his time? That she bored him or made him angry?

Fuck, what if he killed her like he killed that man?

A shudder ran through Maeve’s spine as she struggled to zip up her box. God, she needed to leave. She needed to do it now .

She didn’t even know where she would go. But the most important thing was that she left this house, this suffocating roof that belonged to her father.

She was breathing hard as she shuffled down the stairs, dragging her box with her. But her father was always one step ahead, and that’s why he was waiting at the foot of the staircase, an unimpressed look on his face as his eyes darted from her face to the box in her right hand.

“I’m disappointed,” was all he said, still standing at the foot of the stairs. “What makes you think you can run? You don’t think I will find you?”

Maeve’s grip on her box tightened. “You don’t get to decide my life anymore, Dad.”

“I’m not deciding your life,” he said, frowning as he placed one foot on the step. “I’m making it better.”

“By marrying me off to a man I know nothing of?”

“He’s family now. You’ll know him when you marry him.”

I know you don’t like to hear it, but he sees you as a burden—a problem to be handed off, just like everything else he’s done in this business.

Hot tears burned at the corners of Maeve’s eyes, but she willed herself not to cry. “Why?” Her voice broke slightly. “Why are you doing this to me? For God’s sake, I’m your daughter.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m doing this,” he countered, taking another step forward. “This is the most important task you’ll ever have, Maeve.”

Her jaw tightened. “So what? I don’t even have a say in this? In my own life?”

Cormac looked bored. “It’s just marriage. You’re making a big deal out of it.”

“ Just marriage? You sold me to a stranger in exchange for fucking guns.”

“That’s enough,” Cormac snapped, clenching his teeth. “This idea―this fantasy that you have that you can run away makes me sick. And I know who put it in your head.” He took another step forward. “I know who whispered to you, who told you to run while you still could. Margot.”

Of course, he knew. Cormac knew everything.

Maeve felt color drain from her face, and Cormac smiled.

“That woman has always been a thorn in my side. Too much heart. Too much loyalty.” His smile faded. “And now she’s meddling where she shouldn’t.”

Maeve took a step forward, anger ripping her apart by the seams. “Don’t you dare touch her.”

His gaze hardened. “You’re not in a position to make threats, Maeve. Not at me. Not at your father.” Then he sighed, shaking his head like this whole thing exhausted him when he wasn’t even the one being handed off to marriage. “I don’t want to kill her. I really don’t.”

“Then don’t.”

“I won’t if you do what I’ve asked of you,” he said. “Marry Jonathan. Be his wife. Secure the deal. And Margot lives.”

He’d done it again―proven to Maeve just how vile he could be.

“But if you refuse me,” he continued, his voice turning harder, “if you pull this pathetic stunt and try to run away again, I’ll have her head sent to your room.”

Jesus Christ.

Maeve felt the walls closing in on her. Her grip on the handle of her box was sweaty and grimy. He wasn’t giving her a choice. He had never given her a choice.

It was stupid of her to assume he’d give her one now.

She forced herself to breathe, blinking back the tears that burned in her eye sockets.

Cormac got closer and tugged her chin upward, so she was forced to meet his gaze. “Do we understand each other, A stor ?”

Maeve swallowed the knot in her throat, her breath heavy and hot, and she looked into the eyes of her father.

“Yes, Father.”

Cormac smiled, pleased with her answer. Then he kissed her forehead and released her, before climbing all the way and disappearing into his study.