Bratva Beast: A Dark Romance

I couldn’t imagine what was going through the girl’s head right now.

At least she didn’t stick around to watch me kill and dismember her old man. Letting me shoot him was bad enough—but watching me break his arm into several small pieces was maybe a bit too much.

I had a black rage in my heart, thinking about what that family put its people through. The Morozovs weren’t much better, but at least they were honest about everything. I heard what her father said before I kicked down that door, and the idea of him beating that poor little kid with that belt in order to toughen him up made me sick to my stomach.

Evgeni did something similar with me. But at least when he punched me in the face, then locked me in a room alone with no food or water for twelve hours, at least he explained why he was doing it. He didn’t just show up every night, beat my ass, then expect me to feel grateful afterwards.

Killing Fiona’s dad felt better than it should’ve.

If I were a thinking man, the kind of man that looked very deeply at himself, I might start to make certain connections between the feeling I got when I shot Fiona’s dad in the skull and my own adopted father, Evgeni. I might start thinking that maybe it wasn’t Fiona’s dad that I wanted to kill, but my own.

But fortunately, I wasn’t a thinking man, because killing Evgeni wouldn’t be a simple thing, even for me.

Azar’s place was all quiet. He met me out on the sidewalk and thrust the phone at me. “This was a real pain in the butt, you know.”

“Sorry to hear it.” I typed in the passcode and it opened up. The kid had a stupid Celtic cross as his background. “Thanks, though.”

Azar waved a hand and headed back inside. “You ever need another one of those unlocked, you know where I am. Don’t kill anyone again though, please.”

“Can’t make promises.” I got back in the truck and drove back to the apartment.

Fiona met me at the door, looking eager. I held up the phone and waved it in the air.

“Does it work?” She followed me into the kitchen and I unlocked it for her. She gasped with delight and snatched it away. “God, I’ve always wanted to go through someone else’s phone. Aren’t you curious about that sort of thing?”

“I’m not much of a snoop.”

“I’m not either, but it’s just, I’m curious. These stupid phones know so much about us.” She hesitated, frowning at the screen. “And now suddenly I’m having a moment of conscience.”

“Don’t worry then. I’m not.” I snatched the phone from her. “You’re too nice sometimes.”

“Sorry I’m not a big monster like you.”

I grinned and kissed her lips viciously. “Oh, you’re a monster, but you’re a little beautiful one instead.”

“Thanks, maybe.”

I sat down at the kitchen table and she joined me, pulling her chair right up against mine. She leaned against my arm and looked over my shoulder, and seemed much more like herself than she had when I last left her.

I wanted to ask why, but decided not yet.

“You still need to find out how many men are going to be there for Renzo, right?”

“Yeah, exactly.” She chewed her thumbnail. “Does he have a number for a guy named Padraig Maguire?”

I scrolled through the address book. “Lots of uncles in here… Uncle Maguire? Would that be it?”

“That’s it. Ask him. I think he was close with Tully.”

I opened up a new message with him and the phone populated the old conversation. Sure enough, there were a fair number of texts, stretching back weeks. Tully and Uncle Maguire did seem close—though they messaged almost exclusively about the Phillies.

“They sure do love baseball.”

“That’s all code. I heard the boys talking about it once. They’re texting about drug drops.”

I snorted. “Figures. I didn’t think anyone could like baseball this much.”

“You’re not into baseball?”

“Nah, I’m a football man myself. Sports aren’t worth watching if there’s not a chance of someone getting seriously injured.”

She rolled her eyes. “Typical meathead.”

“Just how I feel.”

“Type up the message, meathead.”

I hesitated, letting my big thumbs hover over the tiny keyboard. “I’m not sure how to do this. Would Tully ask in code?”

“If we would, we don’t know it.” She grabbed the phone from me. “Here, I’ll do it.”

I watched her type, Thinking about the drop next week. How many guys u need? She frowned at it, got rid of the capital letters, added a typo, and hit send.

We stared at the phone. The message went through.

Nothing else happened.

“Well, crap. I hoped he’d answer right away.”

Then three dots appeared and she let out a shocked squeal. I grabbed the phone from her and stood, walking away.

She hurried after me.

“He’s typing, hold on.”

She tried to jump up and grab it. “Let me see, let me see.”