“Call Mika. He’ll know what to do.”
I watch as he’s taken out of the condo, and then an officer unlocks my handcuffs and helps me up, guiding me back over to the sofa.
“Do you know the man you were with, miss?”
He’s kind looking, a little round in the gut but still very fit for a man obviously in his late-forties.
“My husband, Ziven Dorosh,” I say with a nod.
“Husband?”
“Yes, my husband,” I confirm.
He looks up to one of the other officers and lifts his chin.
“Do you know who he is? What he’s involved in?”
“Do I need an attorney?” I ask.
“We’re arresting him in connection to the death of the District Attorney of Denver. Do you understand that? We’re arresting him for murder, honey. Anything you think we need to know, it would be very helpful to him to tell me.”
I’m sure that to anybody else, this would feel very warm and fuzzy, but I’m not stupid. Oswald Johnson was a monster, and I’m glad he’s dead. I don’t care who killed him, but the fact that I know it was Ziven makes me love him that much more. There is no way in hell I would ever give anybody damaging information on Ziven, not ever.
“Is there a reason you look as though you’re pressuring or trying to extract information on a woman who is not under arrest, and on her husband, no less?” Mika asks as he walks into the room. I look down and grin as I bite my bottom lip.
“No, just talking to Mrs. Dorosha,” he murmurs as he stands.
“Do you have a search warrant?” Mika asks.
The officer shakes his head.
“So, they refused to come to the door when you announced yourself, that’s why you broke it down like this is some crack house in the ghetto?”
The officer refuses to answer but waves his men along. One by one, they file out of the door. I sit, frozen, and watch them walk out of my broken door.
“I’ll call a repair man immediately,” Mika announces.
“They arrested him,” I whisper, my face heating with the fact that I’m practically naked while Mika stands in front of me.
“Nyet, Quinn. Be strong. Go and change. Pack a bag. You won’t be staying here,”
I hurry into the bedroom and throw on a pair of jeans, some wool socks, my boots and a thick oversized sweater. Then I grab a small suitcase from underneath Ziven’s side of the bed and quickly throw as much as I can inside, anything that I can think I’ll need. Once I’m finished, I hurry back to the living room, where Mika stands as a man is repairing the door.
“You have enough to last a few days?” Mika asks without even looking at me.
“I do, but where am I going?”
“I’ve called an attorney, so hopefully you won’t be gone for long, but I’m taking you to a hotel. You’ll be heavily guarded, not only inside of your room, but outside as well,” he murmurs.
“Why, what’s happening?” I ask as tears start to fill my eyes.
“We’ll talk about it somewhere else,” he mutters.
Another man appears and Mika walks over to him, murmuring something. He nods before his eyes cut to me and then he nods again.
“Come on,” Mika orders as he steps out of the condo. I hurry behind him and tug on his arm to stop him.
“What about the door?”
“The guy I talked to, he’s a guard for us, he’s going to stay until the repair man finishes; then I’m going to schedule men to stand guard twenty-four hours a day,” he rumbles.
I nod and continue to hurry after him. His gait is longer and faster than mine. I’m surprised when Timofei flanks my other side before we make our way outside. The ride to the hotel is silent, and when we pull up, I’m in awe of where they’ve brought me.
We’re at the Ritz-Carlton, the Ritz.
I try not to squeal in delight, given that the reason I’m here is not something to be excited about, but I’ve never stayed in a fancy place like this before, so it is pretty exciting.
Timofei wraps his hand around my elbow as Mika walks up to the counter. I look up at him in surprise, but he shakes his head once.
“You stay back here, with me,” he murmurs.
I don’t question him, although I feel like I should. I want to know what happens next, and how we get Ziven out of jail. The reality of Ziven being gone and the adrenaline of what just happened less than an hour ago finally starts to sink in, and I start shaking.
“Calm down, mishka,” Timofei murmurs into my ear.
I nod, but I don’t calm down. How can I? Ziven is gone. He’s in jail. What if he gets sent to prison for an infinite amount of time? What happens to me? What if I’m pregnant? Then I’ll be all alone to raise his baby.
Thoughts are flying through my head at lightning speed, and I can’t stop them. They keep coming, and it’s becoming overwhelming. I feel my feet moving, but I don’t see anything. Everything is black, and then It’s as though I’m out of my own body, unable to speak or even breathe.
“She’s panicking,” I hear Timofei murmur in the distance.
“I imagine so,” Mika coolly declares.
I start to breathe deep, even breaths, and then I turn my head to Mika, noticing we’re in the elevator.
“You know, you’re not as nice in this situation as you were in my last situation,” I observe.
“I’m focused on business, Quinn. I have phone calls to make and plans to discuss. I’m preoccupied. I apologize if I’m not coddling you enough,” he grunts.
“Mika,” Timofei hisses.
“Don’t be a cunt, Timofei. Take care of her. I have work to do,” he growls as the elevator door slides open and the two men start walking toward the room.
Timofei’s grip on me tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. He walks me over to the sofa in the sitting room and gently sets me down, rolling my suitcase to the side.
“Do you need anything?” he asks curtly.
“I need to know what’s going on,” I state.
“Ziven was arrested.”
“Yes, I know, but what happens next?” I ask.
I’m not above begging. I need to know what’s going to happen to my husband.
“Our lawyer is on his way down there. He’s an associate of my father’s attorney in New York, and a friend of the Bratva. Once he gets out, we figure out what to do then. They don’t have anything, not really. They’re riding on suspicions and hopes that they’ll take down a Bratva leader,” Timofei explains, trying to ease my worry. I still feel panicked and sick.
“How long until we know something? How long until he’s out?” I ask as my eyes well up with tears.
“Once the lawyer talks to him, we’ll know more. For now, we wait.”
I lean my head back against the sofa and close my eyes. We wait. How can I just sit around and wait? Ziven is gone, taken away in handcuffs. Our house was stormed by an army of police, and they just took him away from me.
“Be strong,” Timfoei rumbles. “You are a Pakhan’s wife, you must be strong. Cry at night when you’re alone, but you never, ever, show your emotions in public. You never look weak.”
“I don’t know if I can help it,” I murmur as my lips tremble.
“You have to. When you look weak, Ziven looks weak. You are a reflection on him, especially when he’s away. If you appear to be vulnerable, then men who deem to do you harm to get to him will do so,” he explains.
“I’m his wife, that’s crazy,” I breathe.
“That is reality,” he says as his expression goes hard.
I don’t say anything else and neither does he. He gets up and walks over to the windows. I have a feeling he’s working through some things, most likely to do with his mother, who was brutally murdered not long ago.
I suck in a breath and fight my tears, trying to hide the array of emotions that are swirling through me at a rapid pace. There is something so uneasy about this situation; not only because Ziven was arrested, but also the way it happen
ed. It didn’t seem right to me.
I lie down on the arm of the sofa and close my eyes. I’m feeling overwhelmed. Maybe if I could sleep for a few minutes, I could wake up feeling less cloudy.
Then again, if I could sleep, then maybe by the time I wake up Mika will have some good news for me, too.
I SIT IN AN interview room, a two-way glass mirror in front of me, but for now, I’m alone. I keep my face completely impassive as I think about Quinn. I hope that she’s okay, that Mika and Timofei are taking proper care of her, and that she’s somewhere safe.
I wonder exactly how the police have decided I am a suspect in the murder of Oswald Johnson. I had him killed, of course, and with pride—but how they found out I was even involved, I have no clue.
A detective walks in wearing a shitty, cheap suit that is ill fitting. He’s a cliché, and I almost laugh, but I refuse to show any type of emotion at all, especially to authority.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asks as he sits down.
I arch a brow, but otherwise, I don’t say a word. I’ve already asked for my lawyer, and I know that Mika has most likely already called someone to come to my aide. If this asshole thinks he’s going to get something out of me, he must be fucking insane.
“You’re under suspicion for the murder of D.A. Oswald Johnson. Do you realize what kind of prison time that will get you if you’re convicted?”
Again, I refuse to answer, choosing instead to just stare at him as if I’m bored as shit. Which, quite frankly, I am.
“Would be a shame to leave such a pretty little wife at home for so long,” he grins, hoping to get a rise out of me by talking about Quinn.
“I know she fucked Oswald. He had some of her shit in his house,” he grins.
I continue to keep my face impassive, wondering why I didn’t burn that fucker down when I had the chance.
Just then, the door opens, and a man in a suit almost as expensive as the ones I own, walks in. He takes a glance at me, but his focus stays on the detective as he speaks.
“I know that you are not questioning my client after he’s already invoked his right to an attorney,” he asks.
“Not at all, just having a friendly conversation,” he clucks as he stands. “I’ll leave you alone with your client.”
“Turn the speakers off, too. I have my second chair just outside to ensure that it will be done properly,” my attorney says. I fight the smile that’s threatening to form on my lips.
Once the detective is out of the room, my attorney takes his vacated chair across from me and waits until there is a knock on the door. Only then does he speak.
“Pasha Vetrov sent me,” he states.
“He claims he found something of my wife’s in Johnson’s home. He hasn’t said anything else,” I murmur.
“Was your wife in his home?”
“She was. He seduced her before we were married, and he abused her. Later, I found out that he, his father, and my wife’s father were in on a sex trafficking ring, one that also included the Cartel. Johnson was training my wife to sell. She was listed on a black-market website as a fully trained slave. She escaped and came to me; since then, we’ve married.”
“No chance you gained any of this information through legal means?” he asks, arching a brow.
“Do I really need to answer that?” I chuckle.
“You have his father’s name, and her father’s name, so that I can get my staff to legally research all of this?”
“His father is FBI Agent Bryce Wilson, and her father is Johan Parker. Good luck finding them to testify though,” I shrug. His eyes snap to mine before he gives an acknowledging nod. “Money was exchanged, but it was all through off-shore accounts,” I explain.
“Okay, I have enough here to get started. Now, you’ll be up for your bail hearing soon. Depending on the judge, I can pretty much assure that you will not make bail. Instead, you’ll be held until your trial, mainly because this is such a high profile case. Even if I had your judge in my pocket, it would look really bad to let a suspected murderer of the city’s District Attorney to just waltz out of there and go on home to his little wife.”
“Yeah, I understand,” I grunt, lifting my chin.
“But, that being said, you won’t serve a minute in prison. I can guarantee that,” he mutters.
I nod as he stands and walks around the table, his hand clapping on my shoulder.
“I’ll be meeting with Mika shortly. Anything you want me to relay to your wife?”
I tip my head back slightly and shake my head once before I speak. I think about telling her nothing, but the way I was taken out of the house, the fear in her eyes, I have to ensure her that everything will be okay—that I will be okay.
“Tell her it will all be all right. I’ll see her soon, yeah?”
“Sure thing. I’ll be standing next to you at your bail hearing.” He nods once before he turns and walks away.
The police come in and handcuff me before they silently walk me to a holding cell, where I’ll wait until my bail hearing. Then I’ll probably be hauled off to jail. My attorney is right. They’re not going to let me out on bail, no way in fuck. I rub my hands over my face in frustration.
I open my eyes to see Mika, Timofei, and a handsome older man, in a very nice suit, standing just a few feet away from me, conversing with each other.
Sitting up, I stifle a yawn and wipe the sleep out of my eyes. Timofei clears his throat and juts his chin in my direction, making Mika and the stranger turn around and look at me.
“Quinn, this is Matthew Radcliff, Ziven’s attorney,” Mika explains as I stand up.
Matthew holds his hand out, and I wrap mine in his as he shakes it gently.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Dorosha,” he murmurs, his voice much deeper than I anticipated for his frame and height.
“Quinn is fine,” I smile as he releases my hand.
“I was just talking with Mika and Timofei about what our plans are going forward. Ziven informed me briefly of how you knew Oswald Johnson, and how you found yourself residing in his home, as well as his plans for your future until you escaped.”
I feel as though all of the air has been squeezed from my lungs. This, all of this, every single thing, is my fault. Had I not run from Ziven, or had I run from Oswald and just disappeared and not come back to Ziven, then this would have never happened.
“Stop those thoughts, mishka,” Mika’s voice rumbles through the room. I lift my eyes to look at him. “I can hear you from here. This is not your fault. That sick fuck started it, and we’re going to finish it. Ziven won’t be convicted, I guarantee it.”
“Now, he’ll probably have to stay in jail until the trial, just because of the publicity of this whole thing. But Mika is right. He won’t be going to prison,” Matthew assures me. “I have to go, but I’ll stay in contact. Mika, I’ll text you when I get the time for the bail hearing.”
Matthew starts to leave, but before he does, he walks over to me and wraps his hand around my shoulder and whispers that Ziven will be okay, and he’ll see me soon, ending his message with a wink. Timofei, Mika, and I are left just silently staring at each other—or staring off into space is more like it.
“How long could this take?” I ask, finally breaking the silence.
“We’ll take care of you, Quinn,” Mika murmurs.
“That didn’t answer my question,” I say, raising my voice.
“At minimum, a few months,” Timofei states.
My legs give out from beneath me and my ass lands back on the sofa as I stare up at the both of them, slack jawed.
Months.
Months without my Ziven, without the man I love at my side.
I don’t know if I can handle that, if my strength can last that long without him.
“I—I think I need to lie down,” I whisper. They both nod.
I walk on shaky legs until I reach one of the bedrooms, and then I close the door, sinking to my ass, bending my knees before I bury m
y face in them and cry.
I have no doubt that Mika and Timofei will care for me, but they aren’t Ziven—they aren’t my husband.
There will be nobody to hold me in my sleep, to kiss me, to eat my baked goods and complain that I’m going to make him fat.
I’m hurting him.
I keep hurting him, even when I don’t mean to.
I keep doing it.
Over and over again.
I love him so much, my chest aches. All of me aches at the thought of not being able to kiss and hold him for months.
I let my head fall back against the door with a gentle thud, and I just breathe. I take deep breaths in and let them out before I repeat myself, then I make myself stand up. I crawl between the sheets and curl into a ball.
I need to sleep. I need to rest and relax, or at least try to. I have a feeling that the journey I’m about to embark on is going to be every bit as rocky as I can imagine, maybe even more so.
I didn’t pack anything super nice when I left the condo in a rush, so Mika has to take me back to get an outfit for Ziven’s bail hearing.
I ignore the fact that the front door still looks like a patched-up disaster and hurry to my closet. I refuse to look at Ziven’s side. I don’t want to see all of his perfectly spaced out dark suits, or his shirts that are in the exact same fashion, except in order by color from light to dark.
I take a simple, dark sheath dress that is long sleeve, black, and tight fitted, stopping just below my knees. Then I pull on a pair of nude tights and slide on a pair of black ankle bootie high heels. I did my hair and makeup at the hotel, so now I’m ready to go.
Mika’s eyebrows lift when he sees me, and I have to assume it’s because I’m ready so quickly, and not because I’m wearing a skintight dress. A dress that wasn’t quite so tight the day I bought it, proving that I’ve indeed gained some weight.
“Ready?”
“No,” I answer truthfully as I slide my waist length fur coat on.
“You’re wearing a fur?” Mika asks as we walk out of the condo.
“Might as well look like a badass Bratva wife,” I mutter as I force a grin, sliding my sunglasses on.
Protected by the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 6) Page 22