Beyond Measure: A Dark Bratva Romance (Ruthless Doms) Read online

  I don’t say anything. I steel myself for whatever he plans on doing, resigned to the worst, but he doesn’t strike me this time or worse, leave me to Andros. Instead, he drags me out of the kitchen and toward his study. Dread gallops across my chest as we walk down the hall to his office, where he conducts most of his most vicious business. His office opens directly to the back of the house via a door in the back. I’ve seen boxes delivered through that door, men brought in for “private meetings,” and even bodies dragged out to be disposed of.

  Terrible, wicked things happen behind these doors.

  “I just wanted to learn how to cook,” I tell him.

  “This isn’t about that,” he snaps, surprising me. Andros opens the door and he shoves me in before they shut and lock the door behind me. Aren takes my wrists and holds them to my sides.

  “You’ll listen to me, little sister, and listen well,” he says. He’s so close to me I can see the red rims of his eyes and smell the whiskey on his breath. It pains me to see him like this. He looks so much like my mother with her soft brown hair and dark brown eyes. It would have killed her to see what my brother has become.

  “Aren,” I plead. “You’re hurting me. Please, let me go.”

  “Shut up,” he snaps.

  I freeze. Something is wrong. Though he treats me badly, there’s a desperation in him I rarely see. A wild look in his eyes that makes fear shiver down my spine.

  He shoves me toward Andros. He knows the wicked things Andros has done to me, though he denies it and has punished me for lying. He knows how I freeze in Andros’ presence and can’t bring myself to speak or move. Andros takes my wrists in his firm grasp and holds me in front of my brother. Aren holds my gaze with unsteady eyes.

  “I’ve made an arrangement,” he says furiously, as if I forced his hand in this. “A win-win situation, one might say.”

  I don’t respond, held tightly in Andros’ grasp but I’m surprised to see Andros freezes. Waiting. He doesn’t know, then?

  “This afternoon, you’ll be taken to Atlanta, to a neutral brotherhood. The pakhan there will officiate at the ceremony.”

  Andros is a statue. I’m not sure he’s even breathing, but I quickly forget about him because I’m trying to wrap my brain around what Aren has just said.

  Wait. What?

  Officiate what? I shake my head, confused.

  “Your future husband will collect you there and take you back with him to Boston. I’m telling you this, so you know, not because you have a say. I want this done swiftly, before your future husband knows what you really look like.”

  I blink, unable to stop helpless tears forming in my eyes. I can’t stop him. I can’t control this.

  “You arranged… my marriage?” I ask stupidly.

  “You did what?” Andros asks, his voice taut with anger. “Are you fucking joking?” His protest doesn’t come out of concern for me, though. Of course he doesn’t want me away from here. Who else would he torment? And getting away from him is the only silver lining in what Aren is telling me.

  “Yes,” Aren says, turning away from me with a look of disgust. “I don’t want you here anymore anyway. You’re a burden to me, and no one will ever have you. The key is to make sure he’s committed to you before he actually sees you.”

  Anger boils up inside me so hard and fast I have to breathe through my nose, so I don’t snap at him and draw out his wrath. Tears blur my vision.

  “Aren,” I whisper. “Why would you?”

  But he won’t meet my eyes. He won’t talk to me.

  “Give her to me,” he says, and it seems he surprises Andros. Perhaps Aren doesn’t think I lied about his friend after all, about what he did to me, and he doesn’t trust him. I stumble toward him and he grabs my arms.

  I am frozen in place as that ominous black door swings open and three men I know, three men I thought I trusted come in ready to take me.

  I look at all of them in shock. I can’t run, as they’re all much bigger and faster and I’m seriously outnumbered. I look to Peter, the most sympathetic of the bunch. I thought he was my friend.

  “Peter,” I plead. “I know you’re obedient to your brigadier, but how could you?”

  “Come, Caroline,” he says, more gently than I’d expect, especially given how strong his grip is when he takes me from Aren’s hands. “I know you’re fighting this, but many in our brotherhood have found that an arrangement has suited them.”

  “You’re a traitor. All of you. Spineless!” I don’t even recognize my own voice as it rises in pitch and breaks.

  “Caroline,” Peter says more sternly. “Behave, or this will be worse for you and you know it.” He’s warning me so I don’t upset my brother and incur his wrath. “Don’t make Aren angry.”

  “Fuck you,” I say. “I thought you were my friend.” That gets a flicker of remorse from him but doesn’t stop the inevitable.

  I’m being dragged outside, to a jet that waits. My God, I haven’t even had a chance to pack my bags. They’re sending me away without a second glance, with nothing but the clothes on my back.

  “It might go well for you,” Peter repeats, hopefully, as if he wants to alleviate his conscience. “Don’t fight this.”

  Voices rise behind me. Andros and Aren fighting, but I can’t think about that now. I can’t worry about them. It’s hard to form logical thoughts with the fears that swirl in my head like a brewing tornado. I’m being taken away from the only home I’ve known.

  I’m crying freely now. I hate that I’ve succumbed to this. I hate what they’ve done to me.

  But more than anything, I hate that there’s no one I would say good-bye to if I could.

  I’m brought onto a private jet, and six full-grown men join us. Peter is not one of them. I know their faces, but not their names. My brother has intentionally chosen the men I know nothing about to escort me to our destination.

  Am I that dangerous?

  Do I have any way to escape this? I know the Bratva men are fearless and powerful. Even if I did escape, they would find me.

  I never expected that I would be subjected to a forced marriage. I honestly don’t know what I expected. My brother considers me useless, and he likely thinks he copped one over on the man who has agreed to marry me. I swallow the lump in my throat.

  But I was born into Bratva life. I was brought into this world shackled to expectations and a future I couldn’t control.

  What will my new husband think of me? There isn’t an escape from my inevitable future at this point. Even if I ran, they would find me, and then what?

  I take in a deep breath and square my shoulders.

  My emotions swing like a pendulum, and for a brief moment I try to think positively. I’m a student of literature. I’ve read about arranged marriage. There is a rich history of arranged marriages turning out well, but my life is no fairy tale. What if the man I marry despises me? Finds me as hideous as the men of our brotherhood? What if he’s mean or cruel? I’ve met men from every walk of life in connection with our brotherhood. He could be anyone.

  Old and wizened. I shudder. I can’t imagine being touched by an old, unattractive man. Or what if he’s young and ruthless? I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. I’ve met many just like that, with hair-trigger tempers and a swagger in their step, and I’d almost prefer the old, shriveled man.

  What if he’s domineering? God, I swear they’re all like that. Even when obeying their superiors, the lowest men on the totem pole are bred to protect the honor of the brotherhood. They’re ruthless, merciless.

  I shake my head. I have no idea who he will be or how he’ll treat me. There’s no use speculating about what could be.

  My fate is sealed.

  But what if he hates me? What if he turns me out on the street because he despises even looking at me? Will he reject me, like everyone else has? I’m not sure which is worse—the prospect of rejection or ill treatment.

  I bite my lip and look out the window. One o
f the men sits me down and buckles me in.

  “I can do that myself,” I snap. “Get your hands off of me.”

  To my surprise, he actually does, giving me space to buckle myself, but a second man behind him growls out an order in clipped Russian.

  “We don’t take orders from her.” The buckle is pried from my fingers, and I’m forced under the restraints like a child. It feels symbolic, having even this small freedom taken.

  What would my father think of me now? Would seeing me under the thumb of my brother make him angry? He’s rolling over in his grave at what my brother has done.

  My eyes water as I look out the small window.

  It doesn’t matter. None of it does. The only thing that matters now is my future.

  I can fight this, or I can lean into this.

  Chapter 3

  Tomas

  “Do you have confirmation from Aren that he followed through with his promise?” I don’t bother modulating my voice. I need an outlet, and Stefan easily bears my temper in stride.

  He sits at his desk, nodding. “I do, brother,” he says, turning his phone over and showing me a picture. “That’s the plane with his sister on it, fifteen minutes away from arriving here.” He’s dressed in a suit and tie, already prepared to officiate. I myself am wearing my most formal attire. So much could go wrong at this juncture that we’ll waste no time.

  I look at the picture on his phone and nod, but I say nothing else. I don’t trust Aren and won’t believe he’s followed through on his promise until I see his sister with my very own eyes, until she wears my ring on her finger and takes my surname as her own.

  I despise that the bastard will be my brother-in-law, but I’ll have as little to do with him as possible. Though all of my contemporaries and associates are ruthless, we all live by a code of conduct we can’t deny. But Aren? He’s the lowliest of them all. Crass and self-serving, he’s a terrible leader who’s done nothing to earn the respect of his brothers.

  Stefan sits back and eyes me, stroking the salt and pepper stubble on his chin. He’s Nicolai’s father, so it comes as no surprise that his eyes are the same vivid blue as Nicolai’s. He’s older, though, and wiser, more serious than Nicolai.

  “You don’t trust Aren.”

  “I do not. He agreed too readily.” I shake my head and look out the window. “Would you give your sister to a pakhan?”

  “It would depend,” Stefan says reasonably. “I was raised to respect the laws of The Bratva. It might kill me to hand my sister over to another man, but if it was expected, I might. I wouldn’t want to, but I would do what is expected for the good of the brotherhood.”

  “Right,” I mutter. I know he’s right, but there’s something about the agreement with Aren that doesn’t sit well with me. Something that troubles me in a raw, intuitive way that I can’t quite put my finger on. He agreed too readily. He didn’t fight it. He sent her to me as fast as he could, and demanded she be accompanied by half a dozen of his strike force, “for safety purposes.”

  There was no interview. No questionnaire from him. Not even so much as a background check that I’m aware of. He seemed as if he were relieved to be rid of her, and that unsettles me.

  Is she someone he doesn’t like? Is she defiant, or problematic in some way? That doesn’t bother me so much. I’m confident I can deal with defiance from a woman. I’m the pakhan, after all, used to giving orders and being obeyed, and she’ll learn her place quickly enough.

  Or is there something else about her he doesn’t want me to know?

  “Can you show me her picture?” I ask.

  Stefan shakes his head. “They’ve not given me access to any of that footage.”

  I scowl. There’s an air of mystery about this I don’t like. Would Nicolai have steered me wrong? He made good points about arranging a marriage, but I’m not sure this was the right decision.

  I get to my feet and run my hands through my hair. “I have to get back to Boston as soon as possible,” I tell Stefan.

  “I know,” he says, his eyes twinkling as he watches me. “Which is why you’ve asked me to officiate tonight, correct?”

  “Yes,” I tell him. “Are we ready?”

  Stefan gets to his feet. “Of course. When Marissa heard who we were bringing here, she begged to be allowed time to help prepare Caroline for the ceremony. So your betrothed will be brought to Marissa and Nicolai’s apartment, and both Marissa and Nicolai will bear witness as you take your vows. Once everything is official, I’ve arranged for you to have a private apartment for the evening, dinner, and chilled champagne.”

  I smile at that. “Thank you.”

  He shrugs a shoulder. “Think nothing of it. Nice to see you smile, brother.”

  It’s all he says, but he doesn’t need to say more. I’ve heard it my entire life.

  Loosen up.

  Relax.

  I do loosen up, and I’m not always serious, but when I’m on the cusp of making a monumental decision that will not only affect my life but the good of my brotherhood, I don’t fucking loosen up.

  Stefan claps me on the back. “Another hour, and she’ll be yours.”

  I’ve treated Nicolai and Stefan well, and in turn, they’ve become my most trusted allies. My closest friends and confidantes.

  “Now while the plane lands and our car prepares to bring your future wife to our compound, let’s meet Nicolai and Marissa, shall we?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m ready.”

  “Let’s go then,” Stefan says. He sighs as he opens the door to his office. “You know, many people scorn the thought of an arranged married. But in many ways, it removes so many of the complications of relationships.”

  “Right,” I tell him dryly. It also introduces a whole host of further complications. “Easy for a man who isn’t going through with this to say.”

  “I’m serious,” he says. “With the blessing of her family, you don’t have to worry about them interfering. She’s had no previous lover, so there will be no jealousy or baggage. And she’s young, still what one might say, in her formative years.”

  I grunt but don’t respond. She’s twenty-one years old and has never gone to college. I wonder if her brother is one of the old-fashioned sorts who doesn’t believe in higher education for women.

  “You don’t have to worry about seducing her, or having her fall in love with you,” he continues.

  At that, I grow serious. Though her duty to me will trounce any romantic notion of love, I can’t help but wonder if feelings between us will grow. I’ve seen arranged marriages in which both became devoted to one another and some that merely fulfilled a duty, though I’ll admit I don’t much care about her feelings toward me as much as I do her obedience and loyalty.

  We step outside and head to a little walkway that takes us to a separate apartment. Almost like a series of in-law apartments, the Atlanta Bratva’s quarters are unique from others I’ve visited. Small, private residences all lie within a gated community, though the main estate, large and sprawling, is where most of the men conduct their business.

  Why the hell did I let Nicolai talk me into this?

  “What if she’s hideous?”

  He looks at me curiously. “I thought you looked at her before you agreed to this?”

  I shake my head. “It was an old picture, taken years ago,” I tell him.

  “And she was beautiful then?”

  “She looked it.”

  Stefan shrugs. “It’s unlikely she’s grown less attractive.”

  “It isn’t unlikely. It’s really fucking likely. And what if she’s a nag?”

  He quirks a brow at me. “You’ll have to teach her not to be.”

  “And if she’s willful and defiant?”

  Stefan’s eyes twinkle, and a corner of his lips quirks up.

  “Do you mean to tell me that you, pakhan of one of the most powerful brotherhoods in all of America, don’t know how to handle a spoiled little girl?”

  I can’t hel
p but smile at that. “I think I can handle it.”

  He nods. “You can, and you will.”

  I’m not really worried, but somehow feel that asking Stefan these questions is a sort of rite of passage, like seeking the advice of a father before taking vows. It helps to voice my fears and hear his calm, steady response. And I like Stefan. He has a paternal air about him others don’t. My own father would have sneered at me and decked me for asking anything at all, for committing the unforgivable crime of displaying weakness.

  When we arrive at Nicolai and Marissa’s door, we pause at the sound of raised voices behind it. Stefan looks at me hesitantly before he knocks, and the voices cease. A minute later, Nicolai comes to the door, his face flushed and blue eyes sparking.

  “Welcome,” he says tightly, gesturing for us to come in. Marissa stands inside the doorway to their kitchen wearing a little black dress, her arms crossed on her chest, glaring. She’s heavy with child, one of the youngest women married into the brotherhood, but she holds herself erect and gives me a look that would rival the ferocity of a much older woman.

  “Marissa,” I say in greeting, as if she’s just welcomed me in politely and offered me a cup of tea.

  “Tomas,” she says through gritted teeth.

  “My wife and I have a difference of opinion when it comes to witnessing your marriage,” Nicolai explains curtly, shutting the door behind him.

  “It isn’t right,” Marissa says, ignoring the fierce look Nicolai shoots at her.

  I point silently to my chest, asking him if I can interfere. I wouldn’t normally butt in at all, but Marissa and I are friends. Nicolai leans against the arm of a sofa in the middle of the living room and nods, giving me permission to speak to her.

  “Be specific, Marissa,” I tell her. “What exactly do you object to?”

  “Arranging a marriage,” she says, her eyes pleading with me. “Get to know her, Tomas. Let her get to know you. Don’t just steal her and—and—” she looks at Stefan and flushes madly. “Make her yours without even the courtesy of knowing her!” She doesn’t want to mention me fucking my new wife in front of her father-in-law. I, however, have no such qualms.