Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I blink, and one lone tear rolls down my cheek. “Of course I don’t. These men are like family to me. Why doesn’t Stefan know that?” I feel like I’m choking on my own words. How does he not know how much he means to me? Meant.
She waves her hand at the doorway between the rooms and rolls her eyes, and I miss her touch on my knee. It was oddly reassuring, even though I hardly know her. “They’re all the same,” she says. “He’s the head of the Bratva and has an image to uphold. My husband is the same. But if I know Stefan, and I daresay I do, he doesn’t want to hurt you.”
I scoff. “Well, you’re wrong. He already did,” I say like a sullen child. The jerk.
Her brows rise. “Did he?”
“He—” It sounds almost embarrassing to say it out loud. “He tied me up and punished me in front of his men. I swear I’m welted.”
“Ohhh,” she says, nodding, and it look as if relief washes over her features. “Yes, I could see him doing that.”
She isn’t horrified?
“How can you act like it’s no big deal?”
Her eyes grow steely and she shakes her head at me like a disapproving older sister. “You misunderstand me. I’m not mitigating what you’ve gone through.” She pauses, as if thinking about what to say before she continues. “I don’t know if you know my history, do you?”
I shake my head. I don’t.
She sighs, but holds my gaze, her voice unwavering as she speaks. “After my parents died, I was left to the care of my brother, brigadier of the San Diego Bratva. I was born into Bratva life. My brother was a terrible guardian and allowed wicked things to happen to me.”
I must look horrified, for she waves her hand at me.
“This isn’t about me. It’s about the Bratva. So listen. Tomas married me as a form of repayment. An arranged marriage, in which I had no say. So now having grown up in one group and lived in another, I will tell you this. I know firsthand the real evil the men of my brother’s group were capable of. And I know that Tomas and Stefan have principles my brother never did. All of them defy the law. They live by a code of conduct that’s unbreakable. And they rule with heavy hands, without question, but the ways some of these men truly do hurt others—”
I wait quietly, trying to take this all in.
She continues, still holding my gaze. “Well, let’s put it this way. My brother’s Bratva was cruel, and it’s because of them I have this scar.” She points to her cheek. “And though Tomas and Stefan are capable of wicked things, and I will not pretend otherwise, they live by a code of conduct the truly wicked men of the Bratva do not.” She looks away, past my shoulder, as if lost in her thoughts. “Someday, perhaps Marissa can tell you her story as well, and you will see.”
But I’m not that easily convinced. I won’t dismiss what Stefan’s done that easily either. Perhaps it’s not okay to justify evil simply because there’s a spectrum of cruelty. Does the knowledge that he could’ve hurt me worse than he did make what happened acceptable?
No.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I meant no harm, and he punished me. He doesn’t trust me.” My voice breaks at the end and I stop talking because I don’t want to cry. The way he’s treated me hurts worse than the caning he gave me.
I don’t look up when she reaches for my hand, but the tone of her voice catches my attention.
“Tarra, look at me.”
I snap my head up and do what she says, because her voice brooks no argument. I swallow hard at her fierce but honest gaze. She’s quiet for long moments as she peers so intently in my eyes, I feel as if she sees my very soul. It would be unnerving if I wasn’t so desperate for her to see the truth. After another moment, she blinks, and her eyes grow wide.
“There’s more to this story than first appears,” she whispers in surprise. “You have feelings for him, don’t you? You might even love him. I can see it in your eyes. The hurt and betrayal run far deeper than they should if you were a mere employee.”
“No,” I whisper, but it’s a lie I can’t say. I lose my resolve and cover my face with my hands, cuffs and all. It hurts worse hearing her say it.
“Your reaction is answer enough,” she murmurs, her voice gentling. “Taara, please. Look at me.”
I have no choice but to do what she says. Gathering both my hands in hers, she squeezes.
“Look in my eyes and tell me that you mean the Bratva no harm.”