Brutal Boss (Bratva Brothers 1)

“There, now was that so hard?” He lets go of my hand because his phone is buzzing in his pocket, and I yank myself farther back and away from him.

Mikhail either doesn’t seem to care that I stepped away from him, or he’s too busy reading his text messages on his phone to notice me. I glance toward the door. I could bolt outside and go where, exactly?

Would he come after me? If he did and one of my colleagues happens to pick me up, then everything that’s happened is for naught.

I just have to deal with Mikhail a little while longer. Getting him imprisoned behind bars will make everything I deal with worth it in the end.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket, satisfied with whatever message was sent. “Tow truck will be here in the morning. He’s got a half-dozen calls already because of the ice on the roads. You’re staying here tonight.”

My mouth goes dry, and my hands tingle, but I think it’s because I’m still quite chilly from the cold. Having moved away from the fireplace and no longer having the blanket around my shoulders is making me uncomfortable.

I should have asked for a sweatshirt or something with long sleeves to wear. The house is enormous and, because of it, chilly. My feet are bare against the floor, and I could have used a pair of socks or slippers, something to keep me warm.

“I’m sure I can call a cab or a rideshare and find my way home,” I say. I don’t need him telling me what I can and can’t do. He’s a stranger, and even if I’m supposed to hunker down with him, get to know him and win his trust, it’s not going to be by following his orders.

I’m not one of his soldiers.

I’m not Russian or bratva.

He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t just say thank you when someone is trying to do something nice for you?” Mikhail asks. He pins me with his stare.

My breath catches in my throat, and he steps closer. The blanket that I shoved at him earlier was still in one of his hands. He lifts his arms and wraps the scratchy wool over my back and around my shoulders.

“You look like an icicle,” he says.

“I could use a pair of socks.”

He raises an eyebrow. He seems surprised by my remark.

“The girl who insists she should leave wants something from me,” he says.

I don’t know whom he’s talking to. His men seemed to have scattered the moment we stepped into the hallway together.

Mikhail is less forceful as he grabs my arm through the blanket and escorts me back into the study. The warmth from the hearth is much more evident with it having been left on the last several minutes.

I stalk toward the fireplace.

“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll get you a pair of socks.”

“And a sweatshirt?” I ask.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Mikhail says. He turns and shuffles into the hallway. One of his men, Luka, the one from earlier in the vehicle, grabs his attention.

They step aside, their voices low. I try to inconspicuously listen in to their conversation, but it’s not easy several feet apart. If I step closer, I might catch a bit of the discussion, but Mikhail is bound to wonder why I’m not by the fire.

With one hand, I keep the blanket cinched shut and the thumb drive in my grasp, and with the other, I let the fire warm, trying to make me toasty.

I’m left alone. The two men bustle down the hallway, and I can’t tell if Mikhail is going up the stairs to grab me a pair of socks or if he’s accompanying Luka and something else is going on instead.

It’s not as though Mikhail trusts me. I can’t come out and ask him what’s going on. We’re strangers. I’m lucky that he’s not throwing me outside into the storm.

I glance out the window. It’s hard to see much of anything. A blanket of darkness surrounds the property.

“I brought you something,” Mikhail says. He’s carrying a blanket and pillow. “You can sleep in here, by the fire,” he says.

He brings the items to the sofa and puts them down, shutting the curtains.

“I don’t get a bedroom?” The place is enormous. He’s bound to have an extra bedroom or two not being used for the night.

He huffs under his breath and barges in on my personal space, stealing the heat of the fire with it as he blocks my view of the amber glow.

“You get what I give you,” he says roughly.

I glance at the sofa. There are worse places that I could be right now, including in the rain or trying to drive home with black ice coating the roads.

“The couch is acceptable.”

“That’s a good girl,” he says with a wry grin. “I’ll have one of my men retrieve a pair of socks and sweatshirt for you to wear. In the meantime, our private chef has prepared dinner. You’re welcome to join me.”

I’m not hungry. Being under the bratva’s roof has raised my adrenaline levels and made me lose my appetite. “I think I’ll just head to bed.”

Mikhail’s brow furrows, and he glances at his watch like he’s really making sure he’s not losing his mind. “Nonsense. You will join me for dinner. I’m not asking.”

He’s irritating. I’ll give him that.

“What kind of host would I be if I didn’t feed my guest?” Mikhail asks.

I pause. He’s right. He doesn’t know who I am, that I’m cautious around him because I know he’s a monster who has murdered men and threatened children and their families.

Taking anything from him is dangerous, and the thought that he could poison me isn’t the least bit reassuring. But what choice do I have? He will grow suspicious if I don’t eat, and I hate to admit that I am hungry.

“Thank you.” I force a smile past my lips, and he escorts me out of the study and down the hallway until we reach the dining room.

There’s an elegant table, set with dinnerware for two. Was he expecting other company? “What about your men?” I ask. “Don’t they eat with you?”

“They dine when I’m done,” Mikhail says. “At least for tonight.”

I purse my lips, and my gaze tightens. “This isn’t a date,” I say. I don’t want him getting any filthy ideas about what might transpire between us.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He escorts me to my chair and pulls it back, waiting for me to sit.