My Beloved Husband / SONYA book two /

This is BOOK 2 of "My Beloved" series.

Read "My Beloved Captor" first.

Note:The Caucasus region is a mountainous area located between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea. It includes countries and regions such as Georgia, Armenia, Azerbaijan, Chechnya, Dagestan, Ossetia, Ingushetia, and several neighboring Caucasian cultures.

In Eastern European and Russian fiction, men from the Caucasus are often portrayed through a dramatic fictional stereotype: proud, serious, fiercely protective, deeply traditional, dominant, loyal to family, and emotionally intense. These characters are especially common in dark romance, crime fiction, and possessive romance stories.

This novel does not specify any exact country or nationality. The story simply draws inspiration from the broader Caucasus region and its fictional archetypes for atmosphere and character inspiration, and is not intended to represent every real person or culture from the region.

I attacked him.

With all the anger and fear tearing through my mind, I lunged at the driver from behind. My fingers sank into the skin around his eyes, pushing into his eyeballs until he screamed and the car skidded to a deafening stop. The moment it jolted still, I slapped the unlock button near his seat and flung myself out of the car.

“Stop!” Anton shouted behind me, but I was already running.

For the second time in my life, I ran with death breathing down my neck.

But this time, I wasn’t running from death.

I was running toward it.

Damir’s car lay overturned on its roof, smoke pouring from its hood. The bullet-proof windows held — thank God — but it meant I couldn’t see inside. I stumbled to the back door and yanked the handle.

It didn’t move.

“Damir!”

I couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him, couldn’t tell if he was alive — and panic turned my blood into acid. My chest heaved, smoke burned my eyes, but I ran around the car and grabbed another handle.

Locked.

“Damir!” I screamed, slamming my palm against the dark glass.

I had to get him out. I had to—

A hand seized me from behind, ripping me away from the vehicle.

“No! No!” I thrashed, kicking wildly. “Let me go!”

My feet left the ground as someone hauled me up by the waist, spinning me around like I weighed nothing.

Anton’s furious face glared down at me.

“Turn around and get back in the car,” he barked.

“Damir might still be alive! Do something!” I sobbed, clawing at his shirt. I didn’t even notice that his anger wasn’t about the explosion — it was aimed at me.

“I am.”

His voice was flat, wrong.

Then he grabbed my wrist and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

A cold chill sliced down my spine.

What?

Something snapped into place in my mind — a horrible, undeniable click.

His behavior.

His tone.

The handcuffs.

He wasn’t trying to protect me.

He wasn’t following Damir’s orders.

He frightened me.

Adrenaline flooded every vein in my body. With a burst of blind, animal strength, I shoved him — hard — and he fell back onto the ground.

“Bitch!” he snarled.

I stumbled away, panting, staring wide-eyed at the man I thought was loyal.

“What is wrong with you?!” I screamed, disgust and terror twisting inside me.

Slowly, Anton pushed himself to his feet. I backed up toward the burning car, my heartbeat deafening.

He was a traitor.

It was obvious now.

Clear as the smoke filling the sky.

Had Damir known?

No. He couldn’t have.

I glanced at the overturned car again, praying, pleading for Damir to crawl out somehow. But nothing moved.

“Why?” I whispered.

I didn’t expect an answer.

“He paid a hundred grand,” Anton said with a filthy smile, “and promised another hundred when I deliver you.”

My heart clenched so hard I thought it would burst.

“Who?!”

“Does it matter?” Anton shrugged, twirling the handcuffs. “You don’t know the guy.”

My pulse pounded so violently it rang in my ears. My throat burned from the smoke. My knees shook. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to fight, to do something.

But Damir—

Damir’s driver’s door was open.

How had I missed it?

Had it been open before?

Maybe he was alive. Maybe he needed help. I had to reach him.

But Anton watched me like a wolf, calculating the fastest way to break me.

I had to stall. Help had to be coming. Someone must have heard the explosion.

“What’s his interest in me?!” I blurted, trying to keep Anton’s eyes on me and not the car behind him.

He sneered.

“Money. What else?”

It didn’t make sense.

“I don’t have anything!” I shouted as he stepped toward me. “My uncle took everything I inherited.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Right, little church mouse.”

“I don’t understand…”

I stepped deliberately to the left, forcing his back toward the overturned car.

The front door was open wider now.

Please… get out. Please.

Anton’s gaze stayed locked on me.

“Your father wasn’t killed for nothing, doll,” he said. “Now come here, and I won’t have to hurt you.”

“My parents died in a car crash!” My voice broke as I backed away.

“And you think that was an accident?” He snapped his fingers. “Come. Now.”

I couldn’t delay him anymore.

In three big strides, he was on me. His hand swung and cracked across my face, knocking me to the ground.

Black spots exploded in my vision.

He yanked me up by my dress, the fabric tearing across my chest.

“He said I could sample you if I delivered you in one piece,” Anton growled, bringing his face so close I could smell his breath. My legs dangled helplessly. “Never had a natural blond before. Are you white everywhere?”

I spat in his face.

He roared and threw me to the pavement. His weight crushed me, his hands tearing at my dress, forcing my knees apart.

I screamed until my throat tore. Panic consumed every thought. I fought like an animal, clawing, kicking, twisting — but he was too heavy.

His fist smashed into my jaw and the world spun.

Darkness flickered at the edges.

My limbs felt slow, uncooperative.

I felt his hands on my thighs, pulling at my panties—

A sharp BOOM ripped through the air.

An explosion from another car.

Then—

BANG!

Anton’s body crashed down on me, knocking the air from my lungs. Something warm dripped onto my forehead. Then weight shifted, and light rushed back as a shadow towered over us.

The shadow grabbed Anton and hurled him aside like garbage.

A gunshot wound gaped in his shoulder.

“Get up.”

A hand clamped around my arm and pulled me to my feet.

I blinked through tears, wiped my face, and stared at the blood on my palm.

“Damir…” I choked.

My husband stood in front of me — alive, panting, covered in soot and sweat, a cut bleeding above his brow.

I broke. Completely.

“I thought you were d-dead…” I sobbed, throwing myself at him. My arms barely reached halfway around his huge torso. I clung to him anyway, weeping into his chest.

“Calm.”

His voice dropped, deep and steady — and somehow, unbelievably, it soothed me.

“Sonya, get into the car.”

“What about you?” I cried.

“I’ll join you shortly. I have to deal with my men.”

I looked up at him, trembling. Blood ran down his temple.

“You’re bleeding!”

I lifted my hand to touch the wound but he caught my wrist midair.

“Do as I say.” He slid the gun back into the holster under his jacket — the holster I hadn’t noticed earlier.

Only now did it register.

He killed Anton.

Anton was dead, bleeding out on the ground.

Damir had done it.

My stomach twisted violently. I turned my head, instinctively looking toward Anton’s body, but Damir stepped into my line of sight, blocking it with one broad leg.

“Don’t look. Get in the car, Sonya.”

My husband was a murderer.

The world tilted. My knees buckled.

“Shit.”

Damir caught my collapsing body before it hit the ground.