Page 21 of The Pakhan’s Arranged Bride (West Coast Bratva Pakhans #2)

Ulyana leans close to me as we walk towards where she parked her car near the mall.

My body is tense with anger, after seeing Miron trying to force himself on her life that. The fact that he dared to touch my wife—I want to kill him. But choosing between chasing him down and taking care of Ulyana was easy.

She is my priority. She is my wife, she is the mother of my baby.

I wrap my arm tighter around her, leaning over to whisper against her hair. “It’s going to be okay.”

I don’t know if it’s going to be okay, because I don’t know what’s going on.

She hasn’t said anything, and I have a hundred questions spinning through my mind.

No, that’s not true. I have one question to ask her.

Did you come to Las Vegas to be closer to Miron?

I heard what he said to her, talking about their past, and how she only came here for him. If that’s true—I can’t even fathom what it would mean. How it would change things.

I want to ask her, but now isn’t the time. She’s in shock, flooded with fear again. She’s got her hand pressed protectively over her belly, and I can see she’s stressed out. How could anyone blame her? He was being forceful and arrogant—she was in danger.

But I can’t get his words out of my head.

What did he mean?

It’s even more obvious now that there was something personal going on between them and that her hatred for him is not only because of his relationship with her brother.

She’s hiding something.

Yes, he wanted to kill Nestor—but there’s more to it.

Something that involves her . Something that maybe Nestor didn’t even know about—surely, he would have told me.

We walk through the mall parking lot and reach her car. She dips her hand into her purse and passes me the keys.

I tug the passenger door open for her and she climbs inside, quiet, subdued. She’s withdrawn into herself again. I can’t read her expression or her body language.

Once I’m in the driver’s side, I turn towards her, my eyes tracing over her perfect profile, those beautiful lips and her long dark lashes. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

She shakes her head. “No,” she says softly. When she turns to look at me her eyes are glittering with tears. “How did you know I needed help?”

“I didn’t. I was driving past, Jadon was going to drop me off outside the doctor’s office. I was hoping to make it to your appointment in time when I saw you—and him .”

“Thank you,” she says, her voice breaking. “I don’t know what would have happened—" She lifts her hand over her belly again.

I reach over and take her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Let’s get you home.”

On the drive home, I come to realize that I can’t ignore what he said. It’s not something I can push aside.

Ulyana keeps looking at me, as though she wants to tell me something but doesn’t know how to.

I’m going to ask her about it, but this time it won’t be a fight.

We arrive at home and I walk with her into the safety of our mansion.

She’s chewing on her lower lip as she sets her purse down on the coffee table in the living room.

She turns towards me, taking a breath. Her lips press together and her brow furrows. She says nothing.

“Can we talk, little fox?” I ask calmly, sitting down on the sofa, gesturing for her to join me. She nods and sits next to me. Her body is stiff, she’s fidgeting.

“I understand that Miron is a liar and can’t be trusted, but I overheard what he said to you, about your reasons for marrying me—and that you and he have a past.”

I wait, watching her reaction. I haven’t asked a question yet, but she must know what I’m getting at—what I want to clarity.

Ulyana leans forward, her elbows on her knees and her face resting in her hands. She stays that way for ages.

“Ulyana, what did he mean?” I press, still remaining calm.

A long moment passes, but I wait. She is going to tell me. She wants to tell me. She’s just nervous for some reason.

She sits up, sighing heavily, and nods.

“I did marry you in order to come to Las Vegas, so that I could get revenge on Miron. Not so that I could be closer to him—not in the way he makes it sound. I just wanted revenge.”

Revenge?

“For what?” I ask tightly.

“For hurting me, and for hurting my family.” She shrugs, pulling her mouth to the side, fighting tears again.

I stare at her for a long time.

“So, the only reason you agreed to marry me was to get to Las Vegas and have your revenge against Miron?” I ask, wanting to be crystal clear.

She nods again.

Inside me, things are falling apart.

The truth is out, and all the pieces are clicking into place.

I’ve had a suspicion about her since she came here. I’ve had this insistent feeling, one I’ve pushed aside many times, that she was using me for her own reasons and that nothing between us was real. That everything really was just a business arrangement and nothing more.

But over the past few weeks, I managed to let go of that thought all together. We were growing closer, we were intimate, having sex, but not just physical—it was emotional. We were connecting. We were becoming friends.

It felt so real.

And now we’re having a baby together.

All this time, through every step that I assumed was growth in our relationship, she’s hidden this truth from me.

What was she planning to do once she got revenge on Miron, when she no longer needed to be here in Vegas?

I clench my fists tightly in my lap, my nails digging into the palm of my hand. “Were you ever going to tell me the truth?” I ask, holding back the surge of anger, hurt and betrayal that is growing inside me.

She looks at me, and while I can keep my words even, and my anger in check, I can’t hide the emotion in my eyes.

She sees straight into me.

The pain she’s caused.

I know, because her face floods with guilt as her lips part and she trips over her words.

“I-I was—I didn’t—"

I shake my head. “You had no plans to tell me anything about this.”

I sigh, standing up. I can’t look at her right now. Why did she lead me on? Wouldn’t it all have been easier to just tell me the truth from the beginning? To make it clear so that no one got the wrong idea?

I want to fight with her. To demand to know these things. I can’t be near her because I want to grab her and shake her and tell her she’s selfish. I want to shout, releasing my hurt and pain and making her feel it, too.

Instead, I walk away.

Leaving her sitting on the sofa, I turn towards the door and walk towards it without looking back.

“Benedikt, don’t go,” she calls after me, her voice pleading. But I don’t turn around. It’s too late to talk now, she had that chance, over and over again, and she chose to hide the truth from me, even lying to me, denying that there was anything more to the story after that situation at the gala.

My head is a mess, my heart is shattering.

I’m a fool.

I need space to process, but I don’t know what to do with myself.

Finally, I decide to head upstairs to the gym and do some training. Maybe pushing my body will clear my mind. I can’t quite get a grasp on what all of this means—and if there ever was anything between her and I.

After changing into sweatpants and a black T-shirt, I walk into the gym and step onto the treadmill. I turn the volume on my headphones up, as loud as it will go, blocking out the world.

I don’t bother starting slow. My mind isn’t in the right space to go slow.

I push the speed way up, so that I’m running, my lungs starting to burn within the first few minutes.

Frustrated, angry and confused, I push harder. I run until my legs are screaming, and sweat is dripping over my body, soaking my shirt. I run until I can’t catch my breath and I have no choice but to stop. My watch beeps at me to warn me that I’m pushing too hard.

Bent forward with my hands on my knees, sweat drips off my face and onto the floor at my feet. I count, waiting for my heart to stop racing. Glancing at the screen on my watch, I’m satisfied that I’m fine, no harm done.

Then I head to the weights, my legs shaking, but I need to keep pushing.

My body aches as I lift, standing in front of the silver mirror, watching the muscles ripple over my shoulders and my biceps.

I correct my posture when I falter, standing straighter, careful, controlled, focused.

Every movement is precise.

It takes all of my attention and over time my anger slowly fades.

By the end of the workout I’m spent. I shower under cold water, my muscles aching.

There isn’t room to hold onto the frustration, and all that remains as I step into the sauna is confusion.

Sitting in the steam-filled room, I lean back against the wooden walls and let out a low groan. “What am I supposed to do with you, little fox?”

With my anger gone I’ve realized one thing—I still want her.

And while she admits to making the choice to use me to get revenge for Miron did to her—maybe, just maybe, over time her feelings towards me changed and grew and now things are different.

I close my eyes, the heat searing against my skin, fresh sweat glistening over my chest and down my back.

I can’t give up on her. I need to understand what she’s thinking, what she went through to drive her to make these choices—I want to know everything about her.

After another cold shower, I get dressed, pulling on a pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt. My wet hair is slicked back. My mind is fresh and calm. The workout was the best thing I could have done for myself.

After roaming the house in search of her, I find her in the library, curled up in her favorite chair reading a new book.

“Did you finish the other one already?” I ask, glancing at the blue leather-bound book on the coffee table next to her.

She nods. “It was good. Although the ending wasn’t what I had hoped for,” she answers softly, struggling to make eye contact with me.

“We don’t always get the happy ending, do we? I guess it’s closer to real life than other books.”

She bites at her lip. “Real life can have happy endings too,” she whispers, setting the new book down on top of the blue one.

I pull the other armchair so that it’s facing her and sit in it, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees.

“Ulyana, what did Miron do to you to hurt you so badly that your thirst for revenge became this severe?” I ask, looking at her, my body relaxed, my voice calm.

This is her chance to open up to me, to be honest with me.

The way she handles my question now will determine the possibilities of our future.

And I really want a future with her.