Give Me More (The Bratva Chronicles 1)

Alexa was his Zvyozdochka, his little star.

“Sir,” the bartender said as he pushed over the filled shot glass.

Yvgeny tossed it back, but by now his throat was already numb from the drinking they’d been doing, so the burn didn’t take root.

He spoke with the bartender for a few minutes, the guy having worked for the club for the last year. He was Serbian, but he was one of the employees who had no idea exactly the type of man or organization he worked for.

Yvgeny would keep it that way.

Even if he trusted the people that worked closest with him, not all of them needed to know about the Bratva, or exactly how deep things ran here.

“No, thanks.” Although the music was blasting, Yvgeny could hear Alexa’s voice in the distance. “I said no thanks.” Her voice was slightly raised, stern, and when he glanced at her, he could see why.

This little fucker, one he didn’t know well, but knew enough that he’d come with a few of the Bratva from around the city, was reaching out and touching Alexa’s arms. Every protective and territorial instinct in Yvgeny rose up. It didn’t matter if he hadn’t staked a claim on Alexa in front of these men. It didn’t matter if the fucker didn’t have a clue that Yvgeny loved her.

The fact was he was touching her, and that was grounds for getting his ass kicked.

He stalked toward them, and just as he saw Alexa’s mouth open, maybe to tell the prick to back off for a third time, Yvgeny reached out and grabbed his arm. He pulled the bastard away. The guy stumbled backward, and when he turned and looked up at Yvgeny, he could see the asshole’s bloodshot eyes and smell the stench of alcohol and vomit coming from him.

He was drunk, probably not thinking clearly, but it didn’t matter. He’d touched Alexa. That was enough to set Yvgeny off.

“Yvgeny,” the guy stuttered out. He then started to speak in Russian, his words spoken fast, slurred. “You’re upset. I didn’t do shit. If this is about breaking that—”

“You don’t touch her,” Yvgeny said in English, cutting off the drunken asshole. He wanted Alexa to hear this, to understand. He could have easily spoken Russian so she wouldn’t have heard the possessiveness coming from him. But he needed her to hear this, to know all of this, all of him.

Maybe it was the alcohol he’d had or the fact he was getting too damn selfish when it came to her. But he wasn’t holding back right now. Yvgeny also was annoyed with himself that he was holding back, even if he told himself over and over again it was for the best.

“You don’t look at her.” He stepped closer. “You don’t even fucking breathe in her direction.” Yvgeny leaned down so they were eye to eye now. “And if I even have a feeling you’re thinking about her, I’ll cut your balls off and make you choke on them.”

The guy nodded quickly and took off in the other direction. Yvgeny straightened and looked at Alexa. Natasha was beside her, her head downcast, as she clearly didn’t want to make eye contact with him.

“What was that about?” Alexa asked, confusion clear on her face.

He didn’t speak right away, didn’t even look at her. He was angry with himself for getting out of control with his emotions, nearly kicking that guy’s ass for just touching her, and especially annoyed with himself for not being a man and claiming the fuck out of her.

“Yvgeny?”

He turned and left her standing there without saying anything. Yvgeny went back to his office, shut the door, and tore off the suit jacket that felt too damn constricting. With one hand, he undid the first three buttons of his shirt, pulled at the collar because he felt like he was suffocating, and walked over to the bar. He didn’t need anything to drink, and as he looked down at the bottle of whiskey he held, he curled his hand around the neck tightly.

Fuck.

He closed his eyes, seeing Alexa standing there looking pretty fucking good, but then he realized he’d just left her there, amongst all those damned men.

He turned and headed toward the door at a swift pace, and when he opened it he swore. There she was, standing on the other side, her hands in front of her and her eyes wide as she looked up at him.

“Yvgeny? What the hell is going on?” she asked in a soft voice.

He thought about her being with another man, thought about someone else touching her, making her feel good … loving her.

“Are you okay?” she asked and took a step closer.

He shook his head. “No, I’m not,” he answered honestly. He had a grip on the doorframe, and for as tightly as he held it, Yvgeny was surprised the fucker hadn’t come off.