Page 7 of Unrequited (Bratva Kings #6)

My drink sloshes in my hand. I’m thirsty and gulp the whole damn thing.

My vision’s blurry, then somehow… I’m alone, separated from the others in the crowd .

My head throbs. My gaze is unfocused. I stare down at my phone, trying to remember what happened.

What the hell is going on? Why does my body feel wrong? Why do I feel like I’m floating away from myself?

Oh my god. Did somebody?—?

What did I drink?

How did I get here?

I stumble forward, trying to turn back toward the stadium seating, when a hand snatches my wrist.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

It’s someone I barely know, a guy from earlier. I don’t even remember his name. He wasn’t even the dumb one who kept whining about his statistics grade. I barely register him, one of the guys sitting behind us. I think?

He smiles at me like he’s owed something.

“What did you do to me?” I ask, my voice shaking. “My head—did you give me something? You fucking gave me something, didn’t you?”

Anger surges through me. I’m Zoya fucking Kopolova. My brothers would slit his fucking throat and tear his limbs from his body. Hell, my sister would.

I slap at him, but my limbs feel heavy. I’m floating. My voice wobbles. “Leave me alone.”

My skin is burning, too hot. My heartbeat is a frantic, uneven mess. I don’t have enough strength to get away from him .

What kind of a fucking loser drugs someone’s soda?

He steps closer. I go to scream, and his hand clamps over my mouth.

“No,” he growls. “Uh-uh. You’re not gonna make a scene.”

“Leave me alone,” I try again, louder this time. “Don’t touch me.”

I fumble for the phone in my pocket, my fingers trembling. I could call Rafail, Rodion, Semyon. Any of my brothers would come.

But if I do…

That’s the end of pretending. School? Gone. Freedom? A memory.

Instead, I smile through the panic. “Alright, alright. Let’s take a selfie,” I say sweetly. “You want proof, don’t you? Sex under the bleachers? Sounds hot.”

He scowls. “Put that away.”

I hear voices. Distant, echoing.

“Hello? Zoya? Where’d you guys go?”

He stiffens and takes a step back. “Don’t move,” he hisses. His breath reeks of stale beer. “You stay right fucking here.”

The moment he turns away, I don’t even think about what I do. I text Seamus, my fingers trembling. I don’t have a lot of time.

Help. Under the bleachers. Bobola Stadium. Drugged. Can’t fight .

My hands tremble.

Will the text go through?

I don’t know. I don’t know.

Seconds later, a reply bubble pops up. Relief surges through my veins.

Seamus

Fucking hell

stay there.

I’m on my way.

Whatever you do DO NOT LEAVE

STALL

How? How do I stall a man who’s trying to hurt me?

He comes back, and I force myself to smile. My voice wobbles, and my thoughts are scrambled. “What did you tell them?”

“I said we needed a minute alone,” he says.

I force a giggle. “All you need is a minute?”

My knees buckle.

I collapse like my legs have given out. I gag. And then I vomit, right there.

On the cement.

“Oh, gross,” he groans, backing up.

“It’s your fault,” I spit, wiping my mouth, retching again for effect. “You put something in my drink. What’d you think was gonna happen? I’d fall in love with you?”

He snarls and then shoves me. I fall, cracking my head against the underside of the bleachers.

Blood trickles into my eye.

My god.

This is exactly what Rafail warned me about, exactly what I am supposed to avoid.

And yet—here I am.

Under the bleachers. With children.

And I’m done pretending. I’m only twenty, but I am not a child.

I was born into war, raised by criminals, and lived through the brutal assassination of my own parents. I don’t belong in this fake-normal world.

I fumble for the blade in my boot, but I don’t trust myself to use it. He’s too big. Too fast.

If I slice him and he catches me, the price will be too high.

I always bring a knife because I can’t carry a gun on campus. They’d find out, and I’d be done. But a knife is tricky and hard to handle in situations like this.

The screech of tires.

He’s here . I don’t know how I can be filled with relief and dread simultaneously, but I am.

We aren’t far from the pub, but he must’ve flown like the wind.

Footsteps… fast, controlled, heavy .

And then he’s there.

Seamus.

All black, from head to toe.

His eyes are murderous.

He doesn’t speak. He moves.

“What the fuck?” the guy blurts—seconds before Seamus is on him.

No warning. No words.

Just violence.

One punch, then two.

Bone cracks, then screams.

This isn’t a fight but a sentence.

He drags the idiot to his feet. A blade gleams in his hand, pulled from somewhere I didn’t see.

“You don’t get to scream through this,” he growls. “No one’s finding you tonight. How fucking dare you touch her?”

As I turn away, there’s a sound. A stifled scream. A cry. A gargle.

Then silence.

Oh god, oh god.

When I turn back, my attacker is a crumpled mess. Bloody. Still. His eyes are vacant as he bleeds out onto the gravel .

Seamus kneels, then wipes the knife clean. Taps something into his phone like it’s routine, as if he’s placing a goddamn food order.

Then he looks up at me, stormy blue eyes blazing.

He cleans his hands on his pants, and the black fabric soaks up the blood.

“You alright, love?” he asks, his brows knit over the concern in his eyes.

Love.

Not girl. Not baby. Not even my name. Just— love .

My heart stutters.

“I’m fine,” I whisper.

But it’s a lie.

I’m not fine.

I’m in too deep.

And for the first time in my life…

I don’t want out.

He's kneeling on one knee. So gentle. So tender. “You sure yer okay?”

I don’t know what to do with myself. How can someone be so harsh, so violent—and then suddenly shift into this? It’s disorienting. Unnerving.

And yet something warm unfurls in my chest, spreading like molten honey .

“Yeah.” I’m still a little foggy. “But I-I can’t go home like this.”

My throat’s scratchy and raw. He nods, not asking questions, and I’m so grateful for that small mercy. I don’t have it in me to explain why. If I went home in this state, my brothers would demand to know what happened. Where I’d been. Who touched me. Who hurt me.

And if not them, then their wives would. They’re like sisters now, just as protective, if not more intuitive. Less oppressive, maybe, but every bit as watchful.

I don’t want to start another war. I don’t want blood on my hands. I don’t want to see anyone else punished.

This was one person. One predator. And he’s already paid the ultimate price.

I stare at Seamus.

Who is he ?

And what else is he capable of?

“I know, lass,” he says, his brogue curling around the words. “I’ll take you back to my flat. But only for a bit. Just a little while. You know it’s dangerous,” he adds with a sad smile. “And I don’t want your brothers coming after me.”

He winks, and that damn dimple appears again, sharp enough to cut through the haze in my head.

But there’s something underneath his words that makes me hesitate.

“Are you sure?” I ask, unsure of everything, especially myself .

“I’m sure,” he says, more resolute. “Come with me now, lass.”

He leads me by the hand past the bleachers to the open night air, before he bends and lifts me. I stifle a gasp as his arms come around me and he cradles me to his chest.

I shake my head stubbornly. “I can walk,” I sing out as we march forward quickly, trying to sound confident.

“That’s enough now, Zoya.” My belly melts when he says my name. “Come back with me. I’ll get you something to eat. You make up an excuse about why you’re not home. Who’s back at your house now?”

Thankfully, tonight is one of the easier nights.

My brothers are at some big event—something formal they go to.

Every three months, like clockwork, they throw on suits, shake hands, donate obscene amounts of money, and buy themselves temporary amnesty from the local authorities.

It’s a system that works. A necessary evil.

I can’t complain. Not really.

“Nobody’s home tonight,” I murmur.

“Then tell them you’re staying with a friend,” he says, his voice low, suggestive.

Maybe it’s the lingering drugs or the adrenaline crash, but suddenly my skin feels too tight, my body too warm. I swallow hard, nod, and grab my phone.

I text Rodion first—the youngest of my older brothers. He’s the most laid-back, the most forgiving. He’s covered for me before.

He knows what it’s like to get into trouble too.

Hey, I’m staying at Mia’s tonight. We’re gonna watch some movies, have popcorn. Nothing wild.

He doesn’t reply immediately, but I know he’s seen it. I know how this works.

Mia and I have a system.

I always carry a tracking device on me. A small, sleek little thing clipped into my clothes. She has my backup stuffed animal—my old Teddy. All she has to do is bring it into her room and drop the tracker inside. My brothers won’t ask questions. They never do because I never give them a reason to.

Until now.

Until I’m about to do something that would make them lose their minds.

I can already picture it—the vein popping in Rafail’s forehead, throbbing like it might burst. Semyon’s cold, disapproving glare, slicing right through me. Even Rodion, who’d usually take my side, would cross his arms and shake his head. Not angry. Worse, disappointed.

I’m not a child anymore. They can’t ground me or take away my phone. But I’d still be in massive trouble.

I text Mia next.

Hey, sorry, but I left early. I’m gonna be out the rest of the night. Can you cover for me?

She replies instantly.

Mia

Of course. Fill me in on the juicy details later.

Guilt twists in my chest. I’m lying to my best friend.

Sorry to disappoint, there are no juicy details. Not the kind you’re thinking of.

I gulp. My heart is beating too fast.

Mia

Fair, fair. I get it. But if juicy things do happen… you better tell me.

Will do.

I send it, even though we both know I won’t.

What am I supposed to say?

Hey, I almost got raped under the stadium bleachers. Then the dangerous Irish guy who’s definitely some kind of criminal, the one I’ve been quietly obsessing over, murdered my attacker and took me back to his flat. NBD, hugs!

Yeah. No.

Rodion’s response finally comes in. It’s brief, but it’s enough.

Rodion

Okay. Be safe.

That’s all I need.

My alibi is set.

The night is mine.