Claimed By The Biker Kings

Everything ready

Svetlana's POV

The ride home is quiet as I try to focus on small things around me so my thoughts do not wander too far. I listen to the sound of cars passing by and the distant voices of people talking on the street, and I let the warmth of the sun settle on my skin like it is trying to calm me down.

I keep telling myself that everything is fine, but it does not work because my mind keeps going back to the same place no matter how hard I try to avoid it.

My past.

I was not always like this. I was not always careful and quiet, and I did not always feel like I had to think about every single word before I spoke. There was a time when I did not feel afraid of saying the wrong thing, but that version of me did not survive in my father’s house.

After my mom died, everything changed in a way that I was too young to understand at first. Before she died, she used to stand between us whenever my father got angry. She would protect me and tell him to stop, and sometimes he actually listened to her, even if it was only for a little while.

But when she was gone, there was no one left to stand in front of me.

There was no one left to tell him to stop.

He started shouting more often, and at first I told myself that it was just anger and that it would pass, but it never did. The shouting slowly turned into something worse, and before I could even understand what was happening, it became something I had to live with.

He hits me.

He does not stop after the first time, and he does not feel sorry after the second time. It becomes something normal in that house, something I start expecting even on days when nothing goes wrong. I learn very quickly that silence keeps me safer than speaking ever could, so I stop talking back and I stop arguing. I stop asking questions and I stop trying to defend myself because none of it ever helps.

I learn how to exist in a way that does not attract attention.

I lived like that until I turned eighteen.

That is when I met him.

My boyfriend.

The man I am about to marry.

He is kind to me from the very beginning, and it is not the kind of kindness that feels forced or fake. It is real and it confuses me at first because I am not used to being treated that way.

He listens when I speak, and he asks me how I feel like my emotions actually matter. He tells me that I deserve better, and those words stay with me because no one has ever said that to me before.

When he finds out what my home life is like, he does not hesitate or try to make excuses for my father.

"You should not stay there," he tells me one evening.

"I do not have anywhere else to go," I say, because that is the truth I have been holding onto for years.

"You have me," he replies without thinking twice.

And just like that, everything changes.

I move in with him not long after that conversation, and even though we do not have much, it still feels like I have gained everything. The apartment is small and the furniture is old, and there are days when we struggle with money, but none of that matters to me because I finally feel safe.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I can breathe without waiting for something bad to happen.

And then something strange happens after I leave my father’s house.

He changes.

He stops shouting and he stops hitting, and he starts visiting like nothing ever happened. Sometimes he even brings food, and he asks me how I am doing in a tone that almost sounds like he cares.

He apologizes once, and even though it is awkward and uncomfortable, I hold onto it because I want to believe that it means something.

I want to believe that people can change. I want to believe that he my father has changed.

Three years pass like that, and somehow I start to believe that I have left the worst part of my life behind me.

I am twenty-one now.

And I am about to get engaged.

I thought this meant I finally made it out.

I thought this meant my life was finally mine.

When I reach the apartment, I feel a small sense of relief settle inside me because this place has always felt like the one space where I can be myself without thinking too much.

I unlock the door and step inside, letting it close quietly behind me.

"I am home," I call out as I slip off my shoes.

There is no response, but that does not bother me because it is normal for him to be in the bedroom or on a call.

I place my bag on the couch and start to head toward the kitchen, but I stop when I hear voices coming from the bedroom.

I pause and listen carefully.

It only takes a second for me to recognize them.

My father. And my boyfriend.

A small smile appears on my face because I immediately assume they are talking about the engagement or planning something for me.

"They are probably trying to surprise me," I whisper to myself, feeling a little warmth spread through my chest at the thought.

I move closer to the bedroom, taking slow steps because I do not want to interrupt whatever they are doing. I only want to listen for a moment before making my presence known.

But as I get closer, something starts to feel off.

Their voices are low and serious, and there is no excitement in the way they are speaking. It does not sound like a happy conversation or anything close to a celebration.

I frown slightly as I move closer to the door, my curiosity slowly turning into unease.

Then I hear my father’s voice clearly.

"Is everything ready?"