Bratva Beast: A Dark Romance

I stared at him for a long time without speaking.

“What the hell was that?” I finally asked.

He shrugged. “Morozov got tired of waiting and sent someone else.”

My mouth fell open. “You knew him?”

“Guy’s name was Boris. What a stupid name.”

“You killed him.”

“Eh, probably not. Definitely brain damaged though.” He snorted. “Stupid fucking idiot. What was he thinking, using a baseball bat? Maybe he thought it’d look more like a random act of violence, but wow, what a dumb move.”

I stared at him, not sure what to say. He killed one of his own guys—or brain damaged him, or whatever—all to save my life.

“Why would you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Attack one of your own guys.”

He smiled as if he finally understood. “Oh, that. I don’t have any loyalty to Boris. He’s an idiot.”

“But he’s in your family.”

“We work for the same man. That’s very different.” He glanced at me as he turned around a corner. “The Morozovs pretend that it’s like the Doyles, but nobody does the whole family thing like you people. I mean, seriously, pretending like everyone’s related? It’s honestly really weird, especially when you start marrying each other. What sicko came up with that idea?”

“Cormac.” I laughed, unable to help it. The laughter bubbled up involuntarily and I jostled my elbow. A fresh wave of pain sent nausea down my throat. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”

He slowed the car and pulled over in front of a fire hydrant. He didn’t kill the engine, but he turned to me, eyes hard and serious.

“They moved faster than I thought they would.”

“Have you just been following me around?”

“It’s what they paid me to do.” He waved that off. “If the Pakhan already sent another guy, that means he lost faith in me following through with this. German must’ve said something.”

“Who’s German?”

“Nobody, don’t worry about it.” He seemed to chew on something before nodding. “You can’t go home.”

“To hell with that.” I grabbed the door handle.

He reached across and got a fist full of my hair. I gasped as he yanked me back into the seat. My elbow screamed in pain.

“I don’t want to be rough with you, Fiona,” he said softly and his lips brushed against my neck. “But you’re being stupid, and I really don’t want to see you get killed.”

“I have to meet with Renzo,” I said through my teeth, trying to hold back tears. “I can’t just disappear. My family will worry. The Lionettis will kill my brother.”

He hesitated, watching me carefully as if he hadn’t thought of that, and for all I knew, he hadn’t.

“Then you don’t disappear all the way. You come stay with me, but you keep going to work, keep showing up to family shit, whatever you have to do. Keep going to your meetings with Renzo. As far as anyone knows, you’re still doing your own thing. But you live with me and I shadow you.”

“Like a bodyguard?” I snorted. The whole thing was ludicrous.

“Just like that. You want to live? This is your chance to survive and save your damn brother. I’m not going to sit around and beg. Sooner or later, I’ll become a target too.” He sounded sincere, almost like he was begging me, and I couldn’t meet his gaze.

I wanted to save Connor, and I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t know if I could trust him. This plan sounded too good to be true—he made it seem so easy. There were a thousand ways that it could go wrong.

But his lips, his tongue, his hands. God, his arms.

And that baseball bat slamming down into Boris’s head. The sick crunch, the blood.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered.

He released my hair and put the car in gear.

“Good choice,” he said, and pulled out into traffic again.

It was like being ferried across the river to Hell.

And for some reason, I felt only excitement coursing through me with every rough beat of my heart.

5

Mack

I parked outside of my house and killed the engine. “Home sweet home.”

She chewed her lip and stared at the simple brick row home on a quiet, shady block near the South Street Bridge. “You live here?”

“What did you expect?” I opened the door and stepped out.

“I don’t know. Blood and guts. Do No Enter signs on the door.”

“Yellow police tape?”

“Rolls and rolls of it, yeah.”

I laughed and walked up my stoop. The door was a deep black and the key slid into the lock with a satisfying oiled click. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m much more boring than that. I keep all the corpses in my basement.” I pushed open the door and walked into the cool foyer.

She followed, looking around, and shut the door behind her.

I liked to keep my life simple. It helped with my work—having my mind in the game and not burdened with needless anxiety kept me from making stupid mistakes that might end up getting me killed or thrown in jail.