Page 29 of The Russian’s Forced Bride (Kamarov Bratva #2)
A wide smile stretched across my face at the sight of Brandon. Relief flooded my entire being at the thought that I wasn’t alone anymore.
My brother was here. He was here to save me.
His eyes were wide, afraid, as they darted between me and Joaquin like he couldn’t understand what was going on. But that smile died down when I realized Joaquin could kill him in an instant, so I began to yell to him.
“Run, Brandon. Run and find Rafael.”
I coughed dryly afterward, the strain on my voice making me weak. But instead of running like I’d hoped, Brandon walked into the room slowly, all the while with that confused expression, before he slammed the door hard, causing my heart to jump.
Joaquin stood just some feet from the door, taking a smoke and watching me with bored eyes.
I was confused as to why Brandon didn’t seem bothered by Joaquin’s presence, and then—like a light switch had been flipped on Brandon—his expression transitioned from that of confusion as a manic smile crept onto his face, slow and unnerving enough to make my heart start to pound beneath my ribcage.
The shift caught me off guard as I began to pull against the ropes binding me in an attempt to flee from the two men before me.
The blurred pieces of last night began to show themselves, but I shook my head violently, unable to believe what my memories showed me.
My mind had once again blocked the truth—this time, of Brandon handing me over like a lamb to the slaughter.
God, I trusted him with my entire being. But to think he was working with Joaquin….
“If it isn’t the spoilt brat,” Brandon mused, stalking toward me like a predator that had finally caught its prey.
Behind him, I could see a bat in his hands, spiked and marred with dried-up blood, and it caused my stomach to lurch forward as I held in the vomit fighting to come out.
The room’s air suddenly reeked with the metallic stench of blood, taking me back to my past, to when Mom died, and my body shivered in fear.
“Aww, don’t be scared, sis,” Brandon mocked, his hands tenderly cupping my cheeks. But instead of warmth, I felt a coldness that matched the steely iciness in his eyes.
He wasn’t smiling or gazing down at me with gentleness. He looked like he actually wanted to whack my head with the bat in his hands, and it made me freeze while his hands caressed my face, his nails digging into my skin.
“How was my performance, heiress?” he asked, now taking a fistful of my hair and yanking it hard, not stopping until I screamed at the pain that coursed through my head.
“Tell me!” he roared into my ear. “Did I do a good job pretending to be your broke-ass little brother?”
My heart fell to the pit of my stomach as tears fell from my eyes in fat drops. I hadn’t cried when that bastard admitted he had killed my mother, but this—this was another form of betrayal.
It pierced through my heart like a bullet, and as Brandon forcefully yanked my head back, releasing me from his hold, I found myself sobbing hard while shivering from the cold penetrating through my clothes from last night.
I hated myself for not heeding Rafael’s instructions not to leave the house in the first place. For Brandon to kidnap me, he knew he had to take me out of my haven. He’d planned my kidnapping strategically, and I never suspected him.
But there were signs that I couldn’t trust him right from the start. The signs had stared me right in the face like a road sign, but I purposely ignored them, calling that wariness paranoia.
And it hurt not only because I had just been deceived. It felt like I had bared myself to my enemy—given him my heart, only for him to stab through it like it was nothing.
I actually saw Brandon as my brother. My little brother.
“Sorry, I didn’t introduce you two earlier, Chiquitta ,” Joaquin’s voice now chirped in as my head remained hanging low, my tears forming a little pool on the ground.
“Arlette, meet my nephew, Mateo Saavedra. And Mateo, meet your most recent victim, Arlette Kamarov,” Joaquin declared with a raspy laugh as I continued to sniffle back my tears.
It made sense now—why Brandon had been so persistent in trying to know more about me. It made sense why he didn’t want to meet Jacob or Alice. If more people knew about his existence, he was sure his cover would be blown. It was why he isolated me.
And, being my usual foolish self, I fell for his act.
“Why?” I found myself asking. Why did everyone around me have to betray me in some way? What was it about me that drew in the darkest and vilest of men?
“Why?” Brandon—or Mateo—asked with a scoff as I slowly raised my head to look at him. His eyes were devoid of emotion, making me wonder how he had managed to act so good to me as my little brother.
But my little brother was dead. And the man standing in front of me killed him.
“The world is a fucked-up place, princesa ,” Mateo said, pacing around in front of me as he began his villainous monologue.
“Joaquin killed my father right in front of me when I was 11, split his head open with a fucking axe. But guess what….”
He paused and then grinned sadistically.
“It didn’t matter because I liked the sight of his head rolling over on the floor. The bastard didn’t even care if I was dead or not. He abused me, stifled my mother to the point she killed herself, and fuck, I was so glad when he died.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat as he pointed right at me.
“I don’t care about your silly life and how fucked up it might seem. Fuck, I had to keep myself from strangling your little neck every time you whined like a baby. You honestly disgust me,” he sneered, nostrils flaming with hate.
He hated me. I wasn’t surprised, but it still stung.
Why had I felt so much love from him—more than I did from Rafael?
It was all too confusing. But I had to keep reminding myself that this wasn’t the little brother I had grown fond of.
This was someone else. Mateo Saavedra. And I wasn’t supposed to care if Joaquin’s nephew liked me or not.
Just then, Joaquin caught Mateo’s attention by placing a hand on his shoulder. He then leaned into him and whispered something into his ear before turning on his heel to leave the room.
“I’ll see you later, Chiquitta .” Joaquin grinned eerily. “Word is, your husband is on his way for you, but I don’t exactly think he’s heading to the right place.”
My face paled at Joaquin’s words as he winked at me before exiting the room, leaving me with his nephew.
I gulped hard. If Rafael was headed to the wrong location, then I had to find a way out of here myself. I knew I had to. There was no way I could rely on external help at this point. The more time passed, the weaker I was getting, and it was only a matter of time before I passed out cold.
And I was sick of everyone making me out to be nothing other than a spoiled heiress who spent her whole life locked in a golden castle.
That wasn’t the life I lived. Nothing about being traumatized since I was six was a life worth envying.
I had to make them pay, one way or the other. I refused to die here. So while Mateo continued pacing around and talking about how he found pleasure in killing and making more money from his devil of an uncle, my brain reeled on what to do.
The only true exit was behind Mateo, and he had it blocked with his body, swinging the spiked bat in his hands like an accessory—as though trying to tell me that if I tried anything crazy, he wouldn’t hesitate to bash my head in.
But I knew he wouldn’t actually kill me. Hell, I knew that if they wanted me dead, they’d have done so from the start. Mateo seemed like an impulsive brat, but he still followed orders. And I bet whatever Joaquin whispered into his ears had to do with keeping me alive for the time being.
My tears kept flowing, but I had already mentally steadied myself. I wasn’t going to be weak and hope for Rafael to save me. And though it still hurt to look at Mateo’s face, I tried to block my emotions out and think logically.
Mateo was right. The world was truly a fucked-up place. But now I understood why the Bratva were so ruthless with their enemies.
There were only two choices they could ever make: kill or be killed.
And I figured, I was going to get my baby out alive if that was the last thing I did.
My hands reached out to the thick ropes that had me bound to the chair. My fingers could feel the knotted tie that had been made, but I couldn’t for the life of me untie it. My eyes then skimmed over to the bat swinging in Mateo’s hands.
It had spikes on it. Sharp spikes that could set me free.
I was immobile and couldn’t quite jump him, but I figured I could do something else.
I then tuned in to his rambling, exaggerating my sniffling so it caught his attention—and it did, because he had his eyes now narrowed at me for cutting him short.
Bingo.
“I…I…I need to pee,” I stuttered brokenly, urging him to come closer.
He stared darkly at me. “I don’t give a fuck if you piss your pants right here, princesa . Don’t play stupid with me.”
I gulped and nodded, shaking my head at him as I said, “Rafael is going to kill you,” in a bid to spite him. And it worked.
The veins on his head visibly tightened at my statement, pure rage overtaking his pupils as he strode over to me just like I had wanted. And then—just like Joaquin had stupidly done moments earlier—he crouched right in front of me so our heads were at the same level.
And then he dared me, “Say that again to my face.”
I didn’t have to, because I immediately rammed my head against his with all the strength I had in me, hoping it’d be enough to knock him out.
The bat he had been holding fell to the ground right beside me as he stumbled back, holding his head as he groaned in pain. Unfortunately for me, he hadn’t blacked out like I had expected, and my head throbbed intensely at the force I had used.
Without waiting for him to recover, I arched my back against the chair so my hands could reach the bat beneath me.
But then Mateo had gotten back to his feet, cussing in Spanish, and before I could successfully grab the bat, he once again yanked my hair, forcing my head up, and slapped me hard across the face.
My sight immediately blurred as he towered over me, my face stinging like an anvil had been slammed against it.
“You crazy bitch,” he spat into my face while I began to laugh hysterically, my hair flipped over my face with blood trickling down my nose.
“You’re going to die,” I laughed, watching his face burn in anger as he made a fist to punch me.
But he couldn’t kill me. He was just a fucking puppet to Joaquin.
I kept laughing into his face like a madman because, in truth, I felt like I had lost it. Not only was I starving, but it felt like my entire system was being flipped over from the inside.
I didn’t want to lose my baby.
But the only thing I could do was make this man—who had scissored his way into my life—feel the same anger I was feeling.
So I kept laughing, even though I was dying inside.