Forced to Marry the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #2)

Chapter 1 - Zia

Zia Kincaid did not know how to handle heartbreaks. She had never had to deal with one before. Why would she anticipate moments of tears and sorrow when she thought spending forever with the supposed love of her life was certain?

Three years of friendship and one year of being a complete dumbass who thought she’d said yes to being the girlfriend of a man she’d thought was her soulmate, her lifetime partner, her everything.

Hah.

How very, terribly wrong she was.

That was why, even now, as she stared at his big hand wrapped around her wrist, holding her in place, it was hard to believe that this was truly happening. That he was walking out on her forever.

Gritting her teeth, she looked up.

The tears stung, blurring her vision. No one ever told her what it felt like to be heartbroken. Maybe if she had taken a class or two to prepare her for the moment, it wouldn’t have hurt like a bitch.

She sniffled. If he weren’t holding her wrist in such a tight grip, she would have had her hand clutching her chest like nothing else mattered in life.

It felt like a heavy, crushing weight in her chest, making it hard to breathe, think, or function, and it was deep, like a piercing pain radiating through every cell of her body, leaving only a sense of emptiness and hollowness behind. Her mind raced with thoughts of what could've been, replaying memories like a fucking broken record, and, worse, the ache was constant—a dull throbbing that refused to subside.

Screw clutching her chest like nothing else mattered.

If he didn’t have such a tight grip on her wrist, she’d be fisting his annoying bright blue Fiji-branded shirt that matched his crystal blue eyes and pounding his chest so she didn’t have to be the only one going through the pain.

“Let go of my fucking hand!”

Her voice bounced off the taupe-colored walls and came back to her ears, echoing the pain in them. The disappointment, the choked tears of hurt hiding behind feigned confidence, and the fucking betrayal.

Then, to crown his offenses, the asshole let go.

He fucking let go.

Granted, she wanted him to release her. But what she didn’t expect was the instant withdrawal. No hesitation, no questions. He took a step back, hands raised, eyes guarded, and flat chest going up and down, breathing fast.

Her brows dipped between her forehead, and she fought the impulse to burst into tears.

It had been one attempt—just one attempt to stop her boxes from crossing the threshold.

“Imagine falling into a stormy sea and not knowing how to swim; each current, heavier than the previous one, just tossing you wherever it wants, and then the tide rises, and the waves engulf you, pulling you under into deep dark depths. That is what this feels like; like I’m drowning, and there’s no one to save me.”

It was quiet for a while and only his steady breathing filled the room; hers ragged, shaky.

Zia watched him put one hand on his slim waist and slip his unoccupied fingers through his shiny blonde hair. He looked so beautiful, yet so monstrous.

Once upon a time, she’d fallen for the innocence in his eyes, the signature quirk of his full lips to the side every time he laughed, and the rapid way he always, always tousled his hair with his fingers when he was nervous.

But now, the sight of his nervousness irritated her.

“Aren’t you going to say anything? You just heard me say I feel like I’m drowning. God, are you that evil?”

His hands dropped to the side, and he shrugged like he’d quit. Like he had given up on her. “What do you want me to say, Zee?”

She could swear her jaw almost dropped to the ground, eyes bulging from their sockets in shock. “What does that even mean? Are you not even going to try and save me? Wilder, you owe me an apology. You fucking owe me more than one dramatic grip on my hand, damn it!”

An annoyed grunt accompanied another slip of his fingers through his hair. “It is clear you want to leave.” He pointed at her boxes. “There is obviously nothing I can do to stop you, is there?”

“You are not even trying!” God! He was so infuriating. She had never felt the urge to pull her hair out until now. “You’re standing there, watching me walk out on everything we built together and not even trying to stop me.”

“Everything we built together?” He scoffed. “My parents paid for this apartment, and I furnished it with my money.”

She clenched her fingers to fists.

He probably didn’t mean it, but the mention of his parents reminded her that she had none. No one to call Dad or Mom to brag about to anyone. Not when her mother died four years ago, and her father was murdered when she was still a baby.

Nothing to write home about.

The anger burned like a raging fire, consuming everything in its path. The hurt stung worse, like a stack of needles on skin, and more tears blurred her vision.

How had she been so blind? How has she not seen the true nature hidden behind his fake charm?

“You’re an ungrateful asshole,” she spat.

“I’m ungrateful?”

“After everything we’ve been through together, Wilder! After every fucking sacrifice I made for you, you throw that in my face. If all you wanted was rent, why didn’t you say anything?”

“You know it’s not about the fucking money, Zee!” He was yelling now, dragging the command with his thick baritone. “None of this is about the money. We’ve been broken for a long time, and you know it. You brought this upon yourself, Zia.”

Everything came to a screeching halt. Her beating heart, her racing thoughts, and the love she thought she had once felt for the man standing right in front of her.

Slowly, Zia’s fingers uncurled from the handle on the box, and she took a step forward, brows drawn, teeth clenched, and resolve strengthened to pound the shit out of his chest if it came down to it.

“What?”

His eyes narrowed. “You heard me.”

“You’re a bastard!”

“And you?” He inched closer, seemingly matching her furiousness, and because he towered over her with more than a foot, she was forced to angle her head backward.

“What about me, Wilder? Are you saying I deserve any of this?”

“Maybe?”

Bastard!

She swallowed. She’d be damned before he saw even the tiniest drop of her tears. It felt like her heart shattered into a million pieces, like delicate glass dropped on the floor, leaving shards of pain and sadness. Every beat hurt, a reminder of what was lost. And the tears rolled out on their own accord.

“You’re saying it’s my fault you cheated?” Another drop spilled on her cheeks. “It’s my fault you chose her?”

“Well, maybe if you were around more, we wouldn’t be here. Maybe if… if you cared about the things I liked, the way I liked it… We don’t even have sex,” he stuttered more, running his fingers through his hair. “Zia, please stop with the drama. We’ve stopped being in sync for a while now, and you know it.”

When he stopped talking, silence settled between them, and all she could do was try to hold the tears back in. But the damn things kept rushing out. She wiped her nose with the back of her hands and returned her grip on the box.

Her eyes took in everything: the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the house where they’d made memories, and finally, her sight landed on one of the paintings she’d bought for him. That memory replayed itself, and she felt even more crushed. That day, he’d kissed her and told her he’d loved it.

But now, it turned out she’d contributed nothing to his life.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek, momentarily stopping the tears. “I called you an asshole, a bastard, and an ungrateful piece of shit. But…” she sniffled. “I take them all back. Now, I get to see you for who you really are, and your actions suddenly make sense, Wilder.”

“Oh, really?” She watched him fold his over his chest and take a stance, mocking her with his eyes. “Care to enlighten me?”

“Of course. You’re a child,” she said quietly, allowing it to sink in. The flicker of annoyance in his eyes was strangely satisfying, urging her to continue. “And I’m suddenly grateful I no longer have anything to do with you. Have a good life.”

Zia didn’t wait. She turned her back to him and walked away from the only place she’d ever considered a home.

***

There were moments like these when time stood still, but the rest of the world carried on. There could be voices of laughter and joy, but you’re stuck in the quicksand of heartache, unable to escape the pain.

Zia sighed and stared at the gleaming bunch of silver keys the caretaker dropped in her hands. He began with a series of explanations, do’s and don’ts, about things she didn’t bother to hear before he walked away with a cane aiding his steps.

All she could fathom was her current reality. From a mid-century modern house to an Airbnb. Just great.

She slid the key into the keyhole, and the door creaked open. First welcoming gift? Dust. Lots and lots of it. She rolled her boxes in and shut the door. At least it had everything: a mattress, a nightstand, a mirror, and a tiny bathroom. It just lacked perfect sunlight, an amazing view of the world beyond through tall floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and a working coffee machine— and, yeah, a bunch of other things that made life better.

Well, at least it was better than sharing a house with a cheating asshole.

Her phone buzzed in her purse, and she took it out to see the noon alarm blaring. She combed her fingers through her hair and stared hard at the screen, teary-eyed, with an aching heart. There were only six hours left until she had to report to her new job.

No parents, no siblings, no boyfriend, no cool house. Just a wacky Airbnb and a new job as an assistant manager at an event-planning company. A cheap place to sleep and something else that could bring the money rolling in.

It should have been enough to put a smile on her face, right?

Wrong.

Zia put a hand on her hip, stared at the dusty mess, and sucked in a deep breath.

“Things are going to get better,” she mumbled repeatedly. “They’re going to get better.”

She dropped her hand, releasing a long exhale, and searched around for a rag. Best to start an early clean-up.

Five hours later, there was less dust and more air fresheners in the room, and an anxious Zia scrambled through the creaking door on her way to work.

“Shit,” she cursed and rushed back into the room, stopping by the full-body mirror.

She swished her brown curly hair held up in a ponytail, teased the bangs on her forehead, and assessed the brown thigh-slit below-the-knee skirt and nude crop shirt she’d paired with it.

“Too much?” she twirled. “Or good enough?”

Another twirl.

She sighed.

It was a club, after all. She had her first try tonight. Some politician’s kid rented out the club to celebrate his twenty-first, and Zia’s new bosses were hired to make sure things ran smoothly.

“Good enough.”

Satisfied, she grabbed her purse, hurried out again, and locked the door behind her.

The drive down to the famous and exclusive Cloud 9 was shorter than she wanted it to be. Her tummy danced with excited and anxious butterflies. She desired to put her all into it—drown her sorrows with work—and hopefully impress her new bosses in the process.

Colorful strobe lights flashed, strippers rehearsed on the stage, and expensive-looking customers trickled in as the hands on the clock went by. Zia wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and fixed a forced smile on her face while the introductions went on between her and her new colleagues.

It was brief, and soon, the club’s manager sent them on their way and “ chop - chopped ” her to start.

Someone sidled up to her with blonde hair, a strong citrus fragrance, and red-painted lips.

“Enjoying yourself, already?” she giggled, and Zia spun to the side.

“Amy?” She smiled, leaning in for a hug. “Gosh, I was wondering where you’ve been. You weren’t here for the introductions.”

Amy twirled her finger in the air with an eye roll, gesturing to her smoky-eyed fix-up on her face.

“Duty called.” She had to fix her makeup.

Zia wore a genuine smile for the first time in an hour. It was a relief to spot a familiar face amongst the crowd.

She squeezed the chirpy blonde’s hands and felt herself relax a little. “Thank you for putting in a good word for me. You’re amazing.”

“No, you’re amazing.”

They laughed, and Amy showed her around. When Zia was able to navigate her way in and around the area, she began to feel more in control.

Besides, what was an assistant manager without a bit of confidence?

Zia stopped by one of the bars at the side of the room, and Amy pulled out a list. It had lots of details; blueprints of VIP rooms, personnel, and more information Zia felt the need to grasp and retain quickly.

They had their legs crossed and heads slightly bent as they were going over blueprints of the secret safe room when a group of men stepped in and the music stopped.

All heads went up, including theirs, and Zia searched for the source of the sudden interruption.

It wasn’t hard to miss. Or rather, he wasn’t hard to miss.

He stood tall above the crowd, like the rest of the men surrounding him, all in classic black suits and a few of them wearing dark shades.

The lights chose that exact moment to flood on him, putting him in the spotlight.

He, the man with the dark hair and intriguing chiseled jawline, made a gesture with his hand, and the rehearsal on the stage resumed as well as the music.

The group of men walked past, with him in the middle of their formation, and Zia wasn’t even aware that she’d been holding her breath until they were out of sight.

She turned to an expectant Amy.

“Who was that?”

The blonde picked a piece of lint off her blouse, with eyes sparkling. “Oh, he’s caught your eyes too, has he? That’s Lev Nikolai. His family owns the club, and it’s rumored that they have several other chains of businesses all over the city. They’re fucking rich, that’s what they are. And he’s so handsome, right? Almost every one of our female colleagues has this huge crush on him. If you’re lucky enough to get his attention, he’s bound to spend some of those green bills on you.”

She was blushing so hard that crimson stained her cheek. Zia didn’t need any further confirmation; Amy had a huge crush on the man, too.

Yes, he was undoubtedly handsome. But, after her awful experience with Wilder, Zia quickly learned to look beyond the appealing charm and outward appearance.

Men like Lev Nikolai, with powerful families, had a ninety percent chance of being dangerous. And it was best always to avoid them. Blame her perception on the movies she watched.

Shaking her head, she took Amy by the hand and led her away from the bar and further into the room.

“Handsome or not, we’ve got a job to do. Come on, let’s go. The party’s almost started.”