Bratva Beast: A Dark Romance

“You look like you’re about to explain,” she said when I sat her down.

I sat next to her and put a hand on her thigh. “I need you to understand that I’m not proud of what I’m about to tell you.”

Her cheeks turned pale. “What did you do? Is there another woman?”

My eyebrows shot up. “Another woman? I haven’t left your side in days.”

“I know, but—”

I let you a frustrated growl and grabbed her hands, clutching them tight between mine. “There will never be another woman, Fiona. Do you hear me? Don’t ever ask me that again.”

She nodded slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. If you don’t trust me yet, that’s my failing, not yours.” I sucked in a breath to try to steady myself and slowly let it out. “I need to talk to you about a plan I came up with.”

“What plan?”

“I wanted to steal the shipment and give it to Evgeni as a gift.”

She blinked a few times then pulled her hands away. “Are you serious?”

“That’s what I thought I wanted, at least. When he kicked me out of the family I thought my life was over, but I was so wrong. My life is only just beginning.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re my life, Fiona, and it’s so much better than anything I experienced up to this point. I’ve been a ghost for so long, but now it’s like I have a new body and a new existence, like I can do anything I want to do. You gave me that.”

She softened slightly and shook her head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did. Maybe you don’t realize it, but nobody’s ever looked at me the way you do. Nobody’s ever given a shit about the monster.”

“You’re not a monster.”

“But I am, Fiona, and you know it. How many more men do I need to kill before you understand that?”

She looked away, down at her hands, and nodded to herself. “Okay, maybe you are, but I don’t care. I think there’s something better inside of you.”

“That’s why I love you.”

She looked up sharply, eyes wide.

I held up a hand before she could speak.

“I don’t want you to say it back. Not yet, at least. I want to hear those words when you’re ready, but I need you to know how I feel. I need you to understand how much I’m willing to give up for you. From here on out, Fiona, you’re mine, all of you, every inch of you, until the day you don’t want me anymore. And even then, I’ll still yours.”

“Mack—”

“I’m not going to steal that shipment for Evgeni. I’m going to steal it for you.”

I let that sink in for a long moment. She blinked rapidly, as if fighting back tears. I leaned closer and pulled her against me, hugging her tight. I didn’t want to make her cry, didn’t want to get her all upset—but I wanted to say all this now before it was too late.

Each day I woke up alive was a miracle, and I couldn’t waste any more time.

“I’m not sure I want a big shipment of drugs, if I’m being honest with you.” She sniffled and looked up at me.

I grinned at her. “Funny girl.”

“I mean it. I’m not super into heroin or cocaine or whatever’s coming in.”

“Pills, most likely.”

“Oh, pills? Never mind then. Bring it on.”

I chuckled and thumbed her lower lip. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Jokes are my defense mechanism.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself from me.”

“I’m afraid that I do.” She spoke so quietly, I had to move in closer to hear. “When I’m with you, Mack, I feel like I’m a different person. Someone that isn’t so damaged.”

“I feel the same way.”

“How did we get like this?” She smiled ruefully and shook her head. “A pair of broken idiots.”

I hesitated, touched her cheek. “I want to tell you something about myself. Will you listen?”

“Yes, please. I want to know everything about you.”

I looked over at the fountain. I loved that fountain, not because it was anything special, but because it was one of the few things I still had from her.

My mother.

“When I was a little boy, I used to come to this park all the time.” I smiled at the memory. “It’s a lot nicer now. Back then, it was basically a bunch of bushes and some overgrown weed patches. But that fountain’s always been there as long as I can remember.”

“That’s sort of sweet.”

“I’d come with my mother.” I could still remember the smell of her: laundry detergent, frying oil, wildflowers. I could almost hear her laugh. But her face still escaped me, just a backlit outline in my memory.

“She died when I was ten. That was before Evgeni murdered my father and took me into his home. I don’t remember a lot about her, but I remember sitting on a bench like this one near that fountain over there and laughing while she sang songs, or tossed down bread for pigeons, or whatever the hell we used to do. I remember her voice and her laugh and the way she smelled and the feeling of her hair against my neck and face as she tucked me in at night and kissed me.” I squeezed my eyes closed and tried not to let the memory overwhelm me.