Bratva Beast: A Dark Romance

My whole life was dedicated to the Morozov family, and finding myself thrown outside of it broke something fragile inside of my chest. It was like being kicked into a black pit with a rope just out of reach and nobody willing to push it down enough for me to climb back out.

I slipped out of the house quietly, making sure I didn’t wake her up. The streets were empty and dead this late and streetlights glowed a gentle orange. I skipped the car and walked, trying to work out some angry energy, but each step was like a pattern on my heart, pushing my thoughts to darker and darker places.

I wanted to make this shit up to Evgeni. As much as I hated the man, I craved his approval and acceptance more than anything else in this world. He was the only person that saw something in me back when I was younger. He took me in after killing my father and helped me get over what happened with my mother.

Then the training began.

He broke me down at first. Shattered me to pieces. I was just a kid and hardly understood what he was doing, but soon he began to build me back up, turned me into a killing machine, a cold and emotionless automaton.

It was brutal and terrible, and yet I relished every minute.

Because I was important. Evgeni gave me so much of his attention back then, spent hours with me each day, lavished praise on me when I got things right and broke my fingers when I got things wrong.

But he was fair, always fair.

Losing the Morozov family was like losing a piece of my body.

I found myself standing outside of a rundown barber shop. Metal grates were pulled over the windows, but the door wasn’t covered over yet. The inside was dim, though lights were still glowing over each station, illuminating the rundown and torn chairs and the hair-drenched scissors.

The door opened easily. They never locked it—never bothered. Nobody was stupid enough to go inside this late at night, especially without an invitation. I smelled alcohol and cleaning solution as I walked toward the back room, more light coming from the cracks. I hesitated only a moment before pulling it open.

Several men sat around a card table. Cigar smoke was thick in the air. The TV played a football game from earlier in the day and several bored-looking girls in very skimpy outfits sat on a couch nearby talking to each other quietly. One laughed nervously, shrill and awful.

The men didn’t notice me at first. Not until a low-level soldier named Viktor looked up. “Holy shit,” he said, shoving his chair back.

Instantly, all the men at the table were standing.

Several pulled out guns and aimed them at my face.

I ignored them. These men knew me, knew what I was capable of. Even unarmed and outgunned, most of them wouldn’t walk out of this place alive if it came to a fight, and they all knew it.

German stepped around to the front of the group and held his hands up. “Easy,” he said. “Lower your damn guns.”

“Boss, that bastard killed Peter.” Viktor spit the words, his eyes wild and wide with a mixture of fear and rage. “The Pakhan said—”

“Forget what the Pakhan said.” German turned to Viktor, strangely relaxed. “Lower the guns.” He waited a moment, but the men obeyed. The Pakhan was the spiritual leader of the Morozov Bratva, but German ran things on the ground, and his crew would be loyal to him. He looked back at me and tilted his head to the side. “What are you doing here, Mack?”

“Came to talk.”

He grunted. “Funny way of doing that. You’ve got my number.”

“This is important. Come up front with me.”

“Don’t do it,” Viktor said. “He killed Peter. He might—”

German shot him a look. “Shut your fucking mouth, Viktor. Say another thing and I’ll have Artyom slice off your cock.”

The chubby man with a patchy, ugly beard cackled. “Gladly, wouldn’t take long, cutting off that baby little thing.”

Viktor glared at him, but didn’t speak.

German sighed and gestured to me. “Lead the way.”

I hesitated, didn’t want to turn my back on those guys, but did it anyway as a sign of good faith. I stepped back into the dim barber shop and German followed behind me. He walked over and sat down heavily on one of the chairs, swiveling slightly in my direction as I paced around the waiting room like a tiger.

He lifted a cigar to his lips. The cherry glowed bright and cast his face in orange sparks.

“Bold move, showing up here after what happened.”

“Evgeni never should’ve sent Peter,” I said angrily. “He knew I’d protect the girl.”

“I’m not sure he realized how far you were willing to go yet.”

“I thought I had more time.” I stopped pacing and faced him. “I was going to come up with some other way, but Peter appeared out of nowhere. I had no other choice.”