Chapter Two

Anya’s POV

“Zatknisʹ, suka, poshla s nami!”

(“Shut up, bitch, and come with us!”)

The words froze me, harsh and jagged, dripping with something primal that didn’t belong in this place. His grip tightened on my wrist until pain shot up my arm.

My body screamed at me to fight, but the shock made me numb. The crowd pulled back, giving the scene space like it was a spectacle. No one moved to help. Not the bartender. Not the regulars who always flirted with me for attention. Not even Cassandra, who had slipped away the second the first glass fell.

Cowards.

The second man stepped forward, lips curling into a smirk. He looked me up and down like I was a prize he’d already won. “Khoroshaya devochka…” he muttered.

(“Good little girl…”)

A sick chill traveled down my spine.

I opened my mouth to scream…

And then, suddenly, the man holding me jerked back like he’d been hit by something hard. His body slammed into a table, sending bottles smashing to the floor with sounds ringing directly into my ears above the thumping music.

For a split second, I thought someone had fired a gun.

But then I saw him.

Roman.

He stood where the man had been a heartbeat ago, his figure looming over me. His knuckles dripped red, his chest rising and falling as if showing his anger but his expression still remained cold. His dark eyes didn’t move from the other two men.

I froze. Everyone in the room froze.

The smirk slid off the second man’s face the moment his gaze locked onto Roman. He muttered something sharp in Russian. It was too quick for me to catch, but the fear in his tone told me all I needed to know.

The third man actually took a step back.

Roman didn’t waste a second. He moved fast, terrifyingly fast for someone his size. His fist cracked into the second man’s jaw with a sound that made my stomach lurch. Bone? Tooth? I didn’t want to know. The man crumpled to the ground, choking on his own spit.

The third man tried to pull a knife, but Roman was faster. He caught his wrist, twisted, and I swore I heard the crack of bone. The knife clattered to the floor before Roman drove his knee into the man’s stomach, folding him like paper.

The bar was silent except for the groans of the men at Roman’s feet. Even the music had been cut. I could feel dozens of eyes on us, everyone in the bar realizing at once that this wasn’t some random fight. It was a strategic attack.

And from the way the three men cowered on the ground, it was clear they knew exactly who Roman was.

I, however, didn’t. Not really.

“Roman…” My voice broke as his eyes finally shifted to me.

Without a word, he grabbed my arm, gentler than he had been with them, but still firm enough that I knew resistance wasn’t an option, and dragged me through the stunned crowd.

The night air hit me like a slap as we pushed through the bar’s doors. A sleek black car idled at the curb, its headlights on like the owner had dashed out of it. And the owner was none other than…

“Get in,” Roman ordered, his deep voice leaving no room for argument.

“Wait, what the hell just happened?!” My heart raced, panic clawing at my throat. “I was working…”

“Behave, Anya.” He opened the passenger door with one sharp movement, his eyes showing he had no patience. “People are after your life now. You come with me.”

The words slammed into me harder than his fists had slammed into those men.

After my life?

I stood frozen, clutching my wrist where the man had grabbed me. “What do you mean? Who am I for them to be after my life?”

Roman didn’t answer. He just pressed a hand to my shoulder and nudged me into the car. Not rough. Not gentle. Just…commanding. Like saying no wasn’t even in the vocabulary.

I slid into the seat, my body trembling. Roman shut the door, walked around the hood, and climbed into the driver’s seat.

The engine purred to life.

“Where is Viktor?” The question burst out of me before I could stop it. I didn't know why I suddenly felt disturbed but for Roman to be here without Viktor, which there has never been a time like that, something seemed fishy. “Where is my brother?”

Roman’s jaw tightened. His knuckles flexed against the steering wheel.

“Roman.” My voice cracked, the words coming out slowly. “Where is he?”

Nothing.

“Answer me!” I shouted this time, fear and anger tangling into a knot inside me. “You can’t just drag me away without telling me…”

“I said behave,” he cut me off, his tone sharp, final.

I slammed my fist against the dashboard. “No! Tell me where he is! Is he okay? Did something happen?!”

He drove in silence, headlights slicing through the night. The city blurred by, neon signs, empty streets, a blur of shadow and color. My chest tightened with each passing second, the silence suffocating me. My ears were ringing and I could hear the beating of my heart into my ears.

“Roman!” My throat burned, tears stinging my eyes. “You have to tell me something… anything…”

Still nothing.

I turned toward him, desperate, searching his face for answers. His jaw was stone, his eyes locked on the road. I couldn't even try to guess anything out of his expression.

The drive felt endless, though it couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes. When we finally slowed, I realized where we were.

The airport.

Roman pulled onto the tarmac like he owned the place. A sleek private jet waited at the edge of the runway, its stairs down, lights glowing faintly against the darkness.

My stomach dropped.

He parked the car and got out, coming around to my side before I could even think of running. He opened the door and held out his hand.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where Viktor is.”

His jaw flexed, his voice a bit softer. “Anya…”

“I mean it!” I pushed back against the seat, gripping the edges. My heart hammered against my ribcage. “I’m not moving until you tell me!”

The wind on the tarmac whipped my hair across my face. The roar of a distant plane rumbled in the background. But that was the last thing I was caring about right now.

Roman crouched slightly, his dark eyes locking onto mine. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low.

“Viktor is dead.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to take it back.

Dead.

My brother. The only family I had left.

Gone.

The roar of the tarmac dimmed until there was nothing but silence. Nothing but those three words echoing in my head.

“Net…” The word slipped from my lips.

(“No”)