Gabriel's Regret: Book 1 (The Medlov Men Series 2) by Latrivia Nelson, Latrivia Welch
Authors: Latrivia Nelson, Latrivia Welch
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Ukraine
Valeriya could not believe her eyes. Despite the reality of what was right in front of her, she simply could not accept this hard truth. It was too much at the moment, like a heavy weight planted firmly on her chest, making it impossible to breathe.
A quiet hysteria raged in her mixing with raw emotions of fear, sadness and the unhinged desire to fight. She tried to blink and swallow against her dry throat, but as she did the tears flowed freely, making it hard to see. Streams of hot tears. So much agony. So much pain. How was she to bear it all? How was she to survive?
What she wouldn’t give just to turn back the hands of time.
Somehow between believing in a dream of a free country and fighting for their future, she had lost one of the most important things in her life. Family. That loss had instantly changed her perception of her purpose and in that change came more resentment then she had ever anticipated.
This feeling was like nothing she had ever experienced. It was impossible to hide it. It was impossible to fight. It was impossible to run from it. It sucked everything out of the room and forced her into an impossible position.
Drawing in a ragged breath, she stood staring at the lifeless body of her brother, Alexei, lying on a long wooden table in the back of a dilapidated hotel as a thunderstorm roiled through the city. A shaking hand rubbed over his cold face, covered in dirt and blood. He was still in the same clothes that he had been murdered in – his body riddled with bullets, gaping holes in his chest cavity, down his torso, and in his legs.
Those bastards even shot him in his legs!
Her mouth began to water and suddenly, she had fight back nausea as the room blurred.
Quietly, she took a seat on a metal chair beside the table where her brother lay, holding his large hand, cradling it in her own, afraid to let go. She knew that once she did, she would have to let him go also. But there was no way to continue if she didn’t. And too much was depending on her. The resistance had to continue, despite the losses, no matter how great they were.
Still, this loss was somehow greater for her than all before it combined. Her head tilted as she studied his features. He was so young. Cut down in his prime at only 31 years old with dreams that would have carried him well into his nineties. But now, she would have to live those dreams for him.
The thought was unnerving.
Repressed sobs down in her diaphragm pushed up to her throat and poured out of her mouth as angry moans. The sound of her wailing carried through the back of the building. Bending over, she trembled inside. God, she was so afraid. So damned AFRAID.
Alexei.
His name drifted through her thoughts with memories of their childhood, memories of their promises, memories of his smile and his strength and now his end.
Just 24 hours ago, she was speaking with him in this very room, warning him to be careful on his trip to Slovakia, going over what they needed to do to move forward on pushing the Russians out of the city of Donetsk. Just 24 hours ago, she was laughing with him and their little brother, while talking about how different things would be if they could just succeed. Just 24 hours ago, she was just a lieutenant in the war, not its leader.
Alexei had been their leader. But even more than that, he had been her rock, her protector, her trailblazer, and now he was just a memory, another young martyr who had died for the cause.
There were so many implications in his death, so many shifted responsibilities that now rested squarely on her shoulders, and she knew that she’d have to be strong, but there was something - deep beneath layers of thick skin grown over time to heal the scars beneath them - that cried out like a little girl for her loss.
First her parents. Now him.
How many had to die?
How many had to suffer?
“ Miy
Valeriya could not believe her eyes. Despite the reality of what was right in front of her, she simply could not accept this hard truth. It was too much at the moment, like a heavy weight planted firmly on her chest, making it impossible to breathe.
A quiet hysteria raged in her mixing with raw emotions of fear, sadness and the unhinged desire to fight. She tried to blink and swallow against her dry throat, but as she did the tears flowed freely, making it hard to see. Streams of hot tears. So much agony. So much pain. How was she to bear it all? How was she to survive?
What she wouldn’t give just to turn back the hands of time.
Somehow between believing in a dream of a free country and fighting for their future, she had lost one of the most important things in her life. Family. That loss had instantly changed her perception of her purpose and in that change came more resentment then she had ever anticipated.
This feeling was like nothing she had ever experienced. It was impossible to hide it. It was impossible to fight. It was impossible to run from it. It sucked everything out of the room and forced her into an impossible position.
Drawing in a ragged breath, she stood staring at the lifeless body of her brother, Alexei, lying on a long wooden table in the back of a dilapidated hotel as a thunderstorm roiled through the city. A shaking hand rubbed over his cold face, covered in dirt and blood. He was still in the same clothes that he had been murdered in – his body riddled with bullets, gaping holes in his chest cavity, down his torso, and in his legs.
Those bastards even shot him in his legs!
Her mouth began to water and suddenly, she had fight back nausea as the room blurred.
Quietly, she took a seat on a metal chair beside the table where her brother lay, holding his large hand, cradling it in her own, afraid to let go. She knew that once she did, she would have to let him go also. But there was no way to continue if she didn’t. And too much was depending on her. The resistance had to continue, despite the losses, no matter how great they were.
Still, this loss was somehow greater for her than all before it combined. Her head tilted as she studied his features. He was so young. Cut down in his prime at only 31 years old with dreams that would have carried him well into his nineties. But now, she would have to live those dreams for him.
The thought was unnerving.
Repressed sobs down in her diaphragm pushed up to her throat and poured out of her mouth as angry moans. The sound of her wailing carried through the back of the building. Bending over, she trembled inside. God, she was so afraid. So damned AFRAID.
Alexei.
His name drifted through her thoughts with memories of their childhood, memories of their promises, memories of his smile and his strength and now his end.
Just 24 hours ago, she was speaking with him in this very room, warning him to be careful on his trip to Slovakia, going over what they needed to do to move forward on pushing the Russians out of the city of Donetsk. Just 24 hours ago, she was laughing with him and their little brother, while talking about how different things would be if they could just succeed. Just 24 hours ago, she was just a lieutenant in the war, not its leader.
Alexei had been their leader. But even more than that, he had been her rock, her protector, her trailblazer, and now he was just a memory, another young martyr who had died for the cause.
There were so many implications in his death, so many shifted responsibilities that now rested squarely on her shoulders, and she knew that she’d have to be strong, but there was something - deep beneath layers of thick skin grown over time to heal the scars beneath them - that cried out like a little girl for her loss.
First her parents. Now him.
How many had to die?
How many had to suffer?
“ Miy
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