Bratva Beast: A Dark Romance

I couldn’t decide this for her. She had family here, her entire world was on these streets.

And it was the same for me. All I knew was the Bratva.

They were my life.

And now, I might have to give that up and find some other meaning in an otherwise impossible and brutal world.

Fiona nodded, ever so slightly.

I looked back at Evgeni. “You’ve got a deal. We’ll solve this problem with Connor, and you’ll back the fuck off until it’s finished.”

Evgeni nodded slowly. “It’s a deal then.”

I grabbed Fiona’s hand and pulled her away from that bed. I turned my back on my mentor, on a man that was practically my father, and walked to the door. I couldn’t stay there a moment longer, not in this house where I’d bled, where I’d given so much of myself and left a broken man.

Pieces of me were scattered between the floorboards.

“You break my heart, Mack,” Evgeni called out as I reached the stairs. “You were like a son to me. I loved you.”

I paused, only for a moment.

Then walked away as fast as I could.

Fiona kept up. I went back out the front door. Fuck the cameras.

Fuck everything.

I slammed my fists against the steering wheel of my truck and Fiona watched me with silent, pitying eyes.

I hated that look. And hated myself for letting my rage slip toward her.

“Mack,” she said softly and touched my arm.

I shrugged her off. But she touched me again. Gently, probing, kind. She leaned closer.

“Mack,” she said again.

I couldn’t meet her gaze.

The Morozov Bratva was my entire world. I was ripped from my old life and brought up to believe in Evgeni like a savior. He broke me down then built me again, he gave me all my skills, made me what I am today.

Without the Bratva, I was nothing.

I was less than nothing. I was a monster, a killer with no cause.

“Mack.” Fiona’s voice was closer, right next to my ear. Her breath was warm on my neck. She pulled me against her and wrapped her arms around me, hugging me close.

I didn’t know how to react.

I couldn’t remember the last time someone hugged me. This sort of thing didn’t happen to me. I dealt with my emotions the only way I knew how: through drinking and fucking and fighting and killing.

I didn’t get hugged. I didn’t get comforted.

But Fiona was warm against my body, her breasts pressed to my shoulder, his chin next to my neck. I shifted slightly and wrapped my arms around her and pulled her closer, holding her in the truck as rage and anguish rolled through me in equal measure.

Done with the Bratva. Done with my life.

Except there was still a glimmer of hope.

Not for the Morozovs—no, I knew there was no going back.

I knew it the moment I killed Boris in the street.

But Fiona was that hope.

Maybe if I could take care of her the way I’d never been able to take care of another person before, maybe then I can come back from whatever grave I was currently digging for myself.

She was the reason for all this, and I couldn’t lose sight of that.

“Come on,” I said softly and gently pulled away from her. “Let’s get home and try to sleep. I have a feeling we’re going to be busy soon.”

She sank back into her seat as I left that house behind.

11

Fiona

After that night at Evgeni’s house, it was like a darkness oozed out from Mack’s core and wrapped itself around his body.

He was quiet in the morning and angry in the afternoon. I didn’t say much, only went to my afternoon shift at the bar and poured drinks for the alcoholics. The whole time I kept thinking, why would he do that for me? Why would he give up so much for a girl he barely knew?

And every time I wondered, I thought of that first night, his fingers on my soaking pussy and the orgasm that rocked through my body.

I didn’t understand it. None of this made sense. I wasn’t worth giving up so much, and yet Mack threw himself recklessly forward like there was no other option but to keep me safe.

And I kept letting him, because I was afraid Connor had no other options.

I was a selfish monster. I knew it, and couldn’t stop myself.

There were too many nights where I failed to do the right thing. Too many evenings spent huddled in my childhood closet behind hanging shirts and pants, breathing in the smell of thrift stores and old shoes, trying not to listen to Connor’s crying in the other room, or the sound of leather on flesh, or my father’s angry admonishments slurred by alcohol.

Too many nights.

Now I felt like I had a chance to do something. Mack was that chance, his skills and his knowledge. If anyone in this damn broken city could bring my little brother back to me, it was Mack.