Bratva Beast: A Dark Romance

Like she was pissed that I’d saved her life.

“I told you that I’d keep you safe,” I said softly, head tilted to the side, trying to understand why she seemed so upset.

“But I don’t understand why. You keep killing for me, keep going against your own family, but for what? Don’t you get it, Mack? I’m not worth it.”

I stood up and stared down at her, barely keeping control of my rage. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Her eyes widened and she laughed. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“And you still don’t get to decide what you’re worth to me. You want to run away and go against this city on your own? Go ahead, you know where the door’s at. But you’ll still be mine, princess. Even if you run away.”

Her jaw tightened. “I don’t want you to throw everything away for me. I don’t want that pressure. I can’t ever pay you back for it.”

I stepped toward her and she leaned back against the couch. Maybe she saw the look in my eyes—pure, starving hunger—or maybe she realized how vulnerable she was again. Either way, the rage faded, replaced by uncertainty.

I knelt down in front of her and put both hands on her thighs. I spread her legs gently and looked her in the eyes.

“You don’t owe me a thing. You don’t owe anyone anything. Do you hear me, Fiona?”

“You don’t know what I owe.” The words came out strangled.

I squeezed her thighs hard enough to dimple her skin.

Hard enough to bruise.

“I don’t care what you’ve done. Don’t you get it? I’m a monster and a killer. I’ve been broken more times than I can count. But right now, all I know is I want to keep you safe. I want to help you save your brother and do the right thing for once in my miserable, horrible life. I don’t care if you think you’re worthless. I’m telling you, to me, you’re worth so much more than you’ll ever know.”

Her lips parted and that tongue, that delicious tongue, pressed against her teeth, and her gorgeous eyes widened as she bit down on her plump lower lip—but I pulled back, released her legs, and stood up.

My cock strained against my pants as I turned away. “We’re leaving late tonight. Get some sleep if you can.”

She didn’t answer as I walked away.

Just this once.

I meant what I said. She had one pass—but when I wanted her and when I saw that same look reflected back at me, when I tasted her hunger and felt her arousal slick on my fingers, I wouldn’t stop again.

I wouldn’t hold back, not anymore.

* * *

Evgeni lived in a small, simple house in the Wharton neighborhood. It was filled with mostly Eastern-European immigrants and their descendants and working-class folks down in the eastern half of South Philly, and Evgeni blended in perfectly. I had somewhat fond memories of my time in that house—and some nightmares.

Fiona squinted out her window. “That’s it?”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Grandeur, I guess. He’s the head of a pretty major crime family.”

“Does Cormac live in a mansion?”

She shrugged. “No, but the Italians—”

I waved that off. “The Italians are all show.” I pushed the door open and stepped out into the night. “Come on.”

She followed me down the block. I bypassed the front door, since it was electronically locked and watched by two different security cameras. I didn’t care if the family knew I paid Evgeni a visit, but I didn’t want him to be alerted before I got inside.

The back of the block had a thin, glass-strewn alley running between the backyards. We squeezed down the path, walking carefully.

“Don’t step too hard,” I whispered in her ear, holding onto her arm and keeping her close. Her warmth was like a nightlight in the black. “You don’t want to break any glass or get a needle through your foot.”

Her eyes widened. “Needles? Seriously?”

I only smiled and pulled her along.

Evgeni’s house was midway down the block. I jumped the fence first then helped her over. The backyard was just like I remembered: all the flowerbeds were dead, sprayed with weed killer every year.

I walked to the left side and picked up a rock tucked back into the dirt. I dug down with my fingers and found the buried key. I held it up and it glinted off the moonlight.

Fiona smiled nervously, her arms hugging herself as I unlocked the back door and pushed it open.

The alarm buzzed. I hurried to the pad and entered the code. It turned off—but Evgeni would be awake now. I closed the door and gestured for Fiona to follow.

Evgeni’s place was sparsely furnished. I probably got that from him. There was very little on the walls, only a few pictures and paintings done by local Russian craftsmen and artists, the sort of stuff he could point out and say, look, here, I support our people. The stairs creaked as we walked up them and light bloomed from beneath Evgeni’s bedroom door. I glanced down the hall, back to the room where I used to stay—