Bratva Beast: A Dark Romance

The room was crowded with men and women in restaurant gear: plain dark clothes and simple uniforms.

I lost sight of Fiona and got a drink. The bartender was a grizzled vet of the late-night scene named Shaggs. He had a thick beard and a wild shock of graying hair and tattoos up his neck and down to the tips of his fingers.

“Mack,” he grunted when he spotted me. “What in the fuck are you doing here?”

“Drinking, Shaggs. Get me something brown and decent.”

“Coming right up.” He poured a whiskey into a glass. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. You still working for the Morozovs?”

“Never heard of them.”

He rolled his eyes. He wasn’t a part of the crime world—he was just a bartender working the late shift—but lots of mafia types came through here since it was one of the few establishments still serving after two in the morning.

“I should probably warn you then, there are a couple boys from the Doyle family over toward the back. Just in case there might be a problem.”

I nodded a thanks. “No problems tonight, but I appreciate the concern.” I left him a decent tip and scanned the room until I spotted them.

Two young men, pale as snow with dark red hair. They were both early twenties, both wore simple polo shirts and jeans, both looked like they belonged on a Harvard rowing team and not members of a highly violent and very illegal Irish mafia.

And they were both Fiona’s cousins. One was named Ferris and the other was Tully—I had no clue which was which. I was pretty sure they were brothers, but it was hard to keep them all straight.

Fiona sat between them and the three were engaged in a lively conversation. Whatever was being said, Fiona didn’t seem to like it. I sat back and observed for a while, not trying to hide myself, but eventually lost interest and turned to watch Shaggs do his thing. The old man could work a bar like nobody’s business, and I smiled a little bit, reminded of my younger days when I came to Six all the time.

Back before Evgeni gave me a gun and a seat at the table.

I was a good kid before I got all that blood on my hands.

“Hey, you were in my bar.”

I stiffened and slowly turned.

Fiona stood next to me, frowning with a strange, surprised look on her face. The cousins were nowhere to be seen.

Probably shouldn’t have left her those hundreds.

“Guess I was,” I said, leaning back to look at her. She didn’t seem to mind, although her eyes narrowed sharper.

“What’s your name?”

“Mack. And you?”

“Fiona.” She leaned up against the bar. I admired her long neck and small, round ears peering out from beneath her thick hair. “It’s been a very long night, Mack.”

“Tell me about it.”

She glanced at me and shook her head. “How about you buy me a drink and maybe I’ll tell you the whole story.”

I laughed softly and flagged down Shaggs. “Whatever the girl wants.” The old bartender raised his eyebrows at her.

“Shot of Jameson,” she said, drumming her fingers on the bar. “I have to head home.”

Shaggs shrugged and poured the shot. I put some cash down and Shaggs scooped it up with a leery grin. I gave him a sharp look and he scampered off.

Fiona tossed the shot back like it was fresh mountain water.

“Fuck,” she said, and I swear I was half hard. The girl was beautiful, long and thin with a full chest and wide hips, and lips that looked like they’d never stop. I liked that she cursed, liked that she did shots, and liked that she extracted a quick drink from me and looked like she was about to run.

Lots of trouble. My kind of woman.

I went to stand, as if I were putting my wallet back into my pocket, and bumped into her. “Sorry,” I muttered and sat back down. “How’d that drink go? Make you feel like talking?”

She put the glass down. “No, I don’t think so. Sorry to ditch out but I have to be up early.” She tilted her head and gave me another genuine smile. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe you will and I’ll buy you another drink. Something that’ll last a little longer next time.”

She laughed softly and left.

I watched her go then put her phone down on the bar in front of me.

She might’ve been angry, world-weary, jaded, and suspicious as all hell, but it still wasn’t hard to pick her pocket.

I finished my drink and sat back to wait. It was another hour before the phone rang with a call from an unknown number. I answered and held it up to my ear.

“Hello?”

“It’s you.” Fiona’s voice. She sounded surprised. “You found my phone.”

“You must’ve dropped it on your way out. It was on the floor under my stool.”