Bratva Beast: A Dark Romance

I found my cousins sitting outside surrounded by college kids from Drexel and Penn. They almost fit in—almost, except they didn’t have that air of privilege and money, didn’t have that fun-loving attitude. My cousins had an edge, even when they tried to look like they were normal guys, mostly because they never knew what it meant to have stability.

It was etched into the way they hunched over their drinks protectively and constantly looked around assessing the place for threats.

They lived in a world of danger, totally different from the rich Drexel and Penn kids. It didn’t matter if we were all the same age. We might as well come from different universes.

The one thing they had in common was they all drank like there was no tomorrow.

For my cousins, there really might not be.

Donal spotted me first. “Well, look at this,” he said, standing up and hoisting his liter glass of beer into the air. “The prodigal cousin has returned.”

“Shove it up your ass, Donal.” I grinned at him and waved.

“What’s up, Fiona?” Ferris said, waving.

Tully wouldn’t look at me. Only stared at his drink.

A couple other girls were there. Shannon, with her big blonde hair and loud laugh; Imogen with her heart-shaped face; and Cath with her slim figure and mousy looks. The boys were rowdy, clearly already a few drinks in, but Cath gave me a welcoming smile at least and I sat down next to her.

I didn’t have a lot of friends in the family. That was mostly my fault though—I pushed everyone away and did my best to interact as little as possible. They reminded me too much of my brother and my father, and I hated the way the family twisted everyone into this little mold, made them into perfect soldiers for Cormac and the other Doyle uncles.

But Cath was different. She was the nearest thing to a best friend I had, which was kind of sad, actually, because we weren’t that close.

“Where have you been hiding out lately?” she asked, giving me a big smile. She had dark brown eyes and long brown hair, and didn’t look at all like the other Doyles. I didn’t think she was actually related to me, but sometimes it was hard to say. The lines were always blurred, except for when the uncles wanted to marry one of the younger folks off, then suddenly they could remember who was blood with who.

“Oh, you know. Working at the bar then hiding out in my apartment.”

“What an exciting life.”

“Better than hanging around here with these morons.”

“Ey, I take exception to that,” Donal said, slurring a bit.

Ferris laughed loudly. “We’re a bunch of fun, Fiona. You’re just a big old stick in the mud.”

“Oh, got me,” I said, grinning. “At least I’ve got my own place. You still living with your ma?”

Imogen cackled at that. “You totally do still live at home. What’s wrong with you, Fin?”

“Aw, shut it,” he said, still smiling bashfully, and ruffled Tully’s hair. “At least I’m not a little runt like this one.”

“I’m not a runt.” Tully glared at him and pushed his hand away. “I think you guys give Fiona too much shit. No wonder she never hangs out.”

“Touchy,” Donal said. “Then again, yer always a bit touchy, Tull. What’s with that, anyway?”

“Leave him be,” Shannon said with an exaggerated sigh. “How about you go buy me another drink, Donal?”

Donal waggled his eyebrows at her and the group laughed. Fiona felt a sudden jab of homesickness—she missed hanging around with these guys sometimes.

But whenever she started to let her guard down, she always remembered what was waiting back in the neighborhoods.

Her father, his belt. The Doyle family and their violence.

There was a reason she got out and never looked back, even if it meant she’d never fit in anywhere—because as much as she hated the Doyles, she couldn’t shake them off. That family was a part of her, lodged deep into her core like the definition of her self.

She was different from all the college kids. She could lie to herself, pretend like she was better than her cousins—or at least not a violent bastard that sold drugs for a living—but it wouldn’t make a difference.

She was trash like them. Always would be.

“You look good, you know,” Cath said, leaning on her elbows and smiling up at Fiona. “Like, healthy or something. You been working out?”

“Hardly. My only workout’s the walk between my bed and the couch.”

“Sounds like mine.” Cath grinned but it quickly faded. “Seriously though, you look happy. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

I patted her hand and looked away. I didn’t know how to tell her that whatever she saw in me was just the leftover glow from sleeping with Mack the night before.

She’d never understand. None of them would. Being anywhere near a Morozov was the same as betraying the family—let alone sleeping with one.