Page 12 of The Russian’s Forced Bride (Kamarov Bratva #2)

That woman was driving me crazy, pushing me to the brink of delirium .

I was certain she had bewitched me in some way. That was why I referred to her as a witch . That was the only way I could explain all the things that had been going on with me.

That was the only reason I didn’t strangle her when she hit me across the face. With that woman, it felt like I was teetering on the edge of madness and slowly turning into a madman.

A madman who found everything she did to me euphoric and sensual.

I was furious at her brazen act of slapping me, but I couldn’t respond the way I wanted. Besides, in my entire life, I was raised never to lay my hands on a woman, so I had to seethe silently as my veins pulsed with steaming anger.

A week had passed since I married Arlette, and somehow it already felt like an eternity.

After our argument on our wedding night, she started avoiding me like the plague.

Our paths only crossed when she needed something from the kitchen or took a walk by the lake.

She had moved to the room down the hall, away from the master bedroom, and had locked herself in there ever since.

A sick part of me yearned to have her around me. Ever since our lips touched in the cellar, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much more I wanted.

It was killing me, distracting me from things that demanded more attention. I just wanted it all over with.

I couldn’t tell anymore if I just wanted to have sex with her. It didn’t make sense to me anymore.

My actions puzzled me, and I was burning with an internal fever over how much I was feeling.

Immersing myself in work wasn’t enough for me, and thanks to Oskar’s instructions, I was unable to leave the house for two weeks because I was supposedly on my honeymoon.

And even though a pile of workload sat before me at my desk, Arlette still lurked in my thoughts.

A sigh of exhaustion escaped my lips as I ran a hand through my hair, staring at the pile of documents stacked on my desk. I had been sorting and investigating all the transactions Jaxon Whitmore had ever made with Joaquin.

The documents had been classified, but since the Bratva now owned a large share of Whitmore’s many companies, we now had access.

I needed to understand how Joaquin and Jaxon Whitmore became entangled and how this could lead me to Joaquin and his plans for the Bratva’s cash-flow system.

If I were to succeed in destroying that man, I had to know just how he worked—who he worked with, how he laundered all his money, and all the illegal routes he used in transporting his illegal goods.

I was planning to find that man and eliminate his empire from the planet. Matvey had advised to leave his death to him, but Joaquin was clever. Since Jaxon’s death, he had been lying low and hadn’t shown himself publicly.

The door to my office burst open, shaking the polished wooden desk I was working at.

I didn’t bother lifting my head to see that it was Arlette.

We didn’t have any house staff right now, except for a gardener who came at set hours, and even if we did have staff, none of them would have the nerve to barge into my office.

“I need the key to any of the cars in the garage. I need to go out,” she declared, her voice stern but wavering slightly.

I didn’t want to glance at her, but like the magnet she was, I felt my eyes lift to hers. Even from across the room where she stood glaring at me, I could see the bags under her now dull green eyes.

She looked like she had cried to sleep as she hugged her silken robe tightly against her body. It accentuated her curves, and even though she was tired, she still managed to be sensual.

I dropped the stack of papers in my hands atop my table, cracking my sore knuckles. It was the first time in a week she had spoken to me, and I could see it would lead to yet another mindless squabble between the two of us.

It was honestly starting to get on my nerves.

So instead of trying to bend her by sheer force, I figured I could try reasoning with her.

“You have to lay low, kroshka ,” I reminded her calmly, but her face contorted in anger, her lips curling in distaste as her nostrils flared.

“Fuck you,” she spat. “You can’t keep me locked in here. I have a life. I have to manage Dad’s work back at the office. I have to see my friends!” she yelled, slightly shaking.

I ran my hand through my face. It was like trying to reason with a toddler. She didn’t understand just how na?ve she sounded, claiming she wanted to live a normal life. Her life of normalcy ended the moment her father signed her over to the Bratva.

She wasn’t a princess anymore, but a prisoner. My prisoner.

“You don’t know just how much of a favor the Bratva is doing for you, kroshka —”

“Stop calling me that!” She stepped into the office, allowing me to see that she was barefoot, pale, and almost resembling a ghost.

My chest tightened uncomfortably at the sight of her. At the doorway, I didn’t have to see her up close, so I just assumed she was being her usual bratty self. But now, I didn’t know what to think anymore.

She really hated me, and I was making her life miserable, but I didn’t care. She was married to me. She couldn’t escape from me. The only way she could be free from my hold was to kill herself.

And no matter how brave and stubborn she thought she was, I knew she was actually afraid of dying.

I laid my elbows on the desk, lowering my voice so I didn’t scare her in any way.

“Alright, Arlette. I won’t call you that. But as I said, I can’t let you out. We still don’t know where Joaquin’s men are.”

The words escaped my mouth before I realized it, and I muttered under my breath as her eyes widened.

The sunlight filtering into the room captured the gleam of tears in her eyes as she fisted her chest.

“What do you mean?” She shook her head in disbelief before the words came out in a whisper, her lips trembling. “Joaquin killed Dad?”

I wanted to hold her. It seemed she was losing her mind slowly as the days passed, and I could do nothing but watch.

And though Joaquin was still roaming the streets of wherever the hell he was, I could at least assure her that I’d get to the bottom of this.

I slowly got out of my seat while she was still in a trance and approached her. A slight creak on the wooden floorboard snapped her out of it, and when she finally saw me coming closer, she inched back as if she was repulsed by me.

Her doe-like eyes were wide with panic with each careful step she took away from me, and it made me wonder what I’d done.

Yes, I threatened to shoot her.

And there was that kiss in the cellar too, but—

“Fine.” Her voice cut through the awkward silence between us. “I’ll stay still like fucking livestock. Just leave me alone. You don’t have to threaten me to get me to listen to you.”

“Arlette—you’ll be safe,” I tried to reassure her, but then she looked at me with that resentment that made my skin crawl.

If she hated me so much, why did it always feel like she wanted me too? Why didn’t she just push me away when I kissed her in the cellar?

“Bullshit.” She shook her head at me and then laughed quietly. “Everything about this—about us—is bullshit. I don’t even know who to trust anymore,” she whispered to herself, and then, with one last shake of her head, she walked out of the room.

I watched her walk away in confusion. It was clear her emotions were spiraling, but she said something that got my attention.

Joaquin and Jaxon were supposedly close. Not just at the business associate level, but judging by how hurt she looked when his name came up, they were probably just drinking buddies at most.

I sighed, rubbing my temples as I strode toward the refrigerator in my study to grab a drink. I picked up a bottle of vodka and a shot glass before heading back to my seat.

Matvey had promised he would send all the information he had about Joaquin’s whereabouts during the alleged honeymoon timeframe. But time was running out.

If Joaquin could track Jaxon all the way to the Kamarov mansion, he could find Arlette and me anywhere.

I drowned a shot of vodka in my hands as I tried to bury myself in work, and for a while, it worked—until hours later, a loud cry echoed through the building, instantly heightening my senses.

I didn’t have to think hard to recognize the voice as Arlette’s.

I rushed out of the room, feeling an urgency that made my heart pound.

It felt like I’d been driven back into the past, a past where screams tore out from the underground cells and rooms where Father would torture people.

Their screams echoed, tearing in my ears sharply, as a sick image of Arlette lying in her own pool of blood haunted my mind while I ran down the hall from my office to where her scream emanated from—her room.

And with my heart pounding loudly enough to make my ears ring, I kicked her door wide open, fearing I would see a grotesque image I could never forget until the day I died.

But there she was, in her dimly lit room with her grand bed, curled up with her knees pulled tightly to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs, and her head buried in her knees as her body trembled. Her sobs filled the room, reaching even beyond the stone-carved walls.

I had never seen her look so scared in my life.

I rushed toward her, ignoring that we were supposed to hate each other. A part of me that I thought had died years ago flooded back as I climbed onto her bed and embraced her rocking body.

She was shaking violently, as if she had seen a ghost.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, hugging her trembling body beneath me. “You’re safe. Fuck, I won’t let anything happen to you,” I promised her, and I meant it.

She didn’t fight back, and through her sobs, I could hear her whispering the word, “Mom,” in an erratic voice.