Page 65 of The Bratva's Auctioned Bride

Fuck.

Another human auction.

My heart churns with disgust.

These guys need to be taken down for good. My instincts are telling me to call my brothers in and make quick work of it. But my heart immediately snaps back at me. That wouldn’t befair. This is Angel’s fight. She has a right to be involved in this. More so than anyone else. I can’t take this away from her.

But involving her… it means, firstly, contacting her. And secondly, putting her in danger again.

Fuck.

Yeah, this isn’t an easy choice. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do here.

She’ll never forgive me if I don’t tell her about this. Does that matter, though? As it stands now, she and I will never speak again if her brother has anything to do with it.

But somewhere deep inside me, I refuse to accept that. I can’t let her go that easily, and I’ve already decided, whether I know it or not, that I was going to reach out to her sooner or later once the drama had blown over.

I would be a fool not to. Only an idiot would let such a beautiful, perfect girl go that easily.

I might be reckless, but I’m not an idiot.

Leaning back in my office chair, I tap my finger against the side of my phone, sighing thoughtfully. Unlocking it, I scroll to her name in the messenger app. She’s saved underprincess,and it makes me smile just looking at her contact photo. It also hurts, though, seeing her face.

If her brother did take her phone away on Friday night after everything went down… It’s Tuesday now. Surely he would have given it back to her after I left her alone.

It’s a risk I’m going to have to take. The only other option is to sneak into her bedroom, and if I get caught doing that, I am one hundred percent sure Zakhar will be shoving my own balls down my throat.

My heart is racing as I type out the message. But it’s not out of fear of being caught, it’s more because I’m excited to contact her. It’s been painful to be without her. Difficult not to reach out.

Me: Are you doing ok?

After churning a few options in my head and typing and retyping, this is what I eventually sent. It’s a way to test the waters. To gauge if she has her phone or not. And I can just claim I was checking in to see if her brother has her phone. The message is innocent enough, even though it would still get me into trouble.

I fight the urge to start biting my nails. An old habit I gave up years ago.

The phone stays silent, no reply.

Maybe it’s best if I set it aside and forget about it for a few hours. This waiting will push me into psychosis if I let it.

Just as I drop my phone onto my desk, it beeps, and I practically throw it across the room, grabbing it up again.

Princess: I’m ok. Sort of. And you?

I stare at the phone. It might not be her.

How do I test this?

Me: Surviving. Thinking about those colorful drinks in Barbados.

Princess: *smile face* Rainbow Sunsets? I think about them too. About the diving, how bright the stars are there… and all the color.

It’s her. It’s actually her. My heart skips a beat as I type the next message.

Me: Do you remember those little bugs?

I’m hoping she understands what I’m referring to.

Princess: The ones that the locals could use to listen to their secrets?