The Bratva’s Stolen Bride

by Cole, Jagger

  I shake my head.

  “It’s right in neither place.”

  I glance past him at the laptop. He frowns and turns to close it.

  “None of that is…” I scowl, looking down.

  “You are a popular girl,” he grunts.

  I glare at him. It’s—”

  “None of my business.”

  I open my mouth to say, “not true,” but I shut it instead.

  “I was merely curious.”

  “Satisfied?” I mutter.

  Lev says nothing for a moment before he shrugs. “We all have our pasts, Zoey. Our own demons and devils. Our own decisions that were our own. Now, I give you one. A decision to make.”

  I purse my lips. “What is it?”

  “You could leave. Leave and go back to your father who would sell you for a business arrangement. Go back to your doting fiancé who is I’m sure missing you terribly.”

  I snort a laugh. Lev rolls his eyes.

  “Go back to the men who would use you as a pawn in their silly, stupid games.”

  I swallow. “Or?”

  “Or,” he growls as he moves towards me, making me tremble. I back away as he approaches until my back hits the wall behind me. Lev keeps coming, until he’s pinning me to it with his body. I gasp quietly, my pulse racing.

  “Lev—”

  “Or you stay, here with me.”

  I shiver against him. His hand falls to my thigh. I gasp when his fingers grip the poufy white dress. He yanks it up, and I whimper when his fingers slip down to brush over bare skin. His fingers stroke my thigh, making my head spin as my body aches for him.

  “If…” I swallow, panting. “If I choose the first…”

  His jaw grinds.

  “You’ll—” my breath catches when his fingers tease over my skin. “You’ll really let me go?”

  His eyes burn into mine, his lips curl.

  “Nyet,” he growls.

  I blink. “Wait, no?!”

  “No.”

  “Wait a second! You just said—”

  “I lied,” he grins.

  “You asshole!”

  “Think of this as a vacation,” he chuckles.

  I bristle. “A vacation.”

  “Da.”

  “Vacations don’t involve locked doors.”

  “Not with that attitude they do not.”

  Lev turns and starts to walk back into the kitchen.

  “They don’t involve wearing a freaking wedding dress twenty-four-seven either!” I yell after him.

  “Then you are welcome to take it off,” he grins over his shoulder. “If you need help to that end, I’ll be down the hall.”

  I grit my teeth, seeing red. And suddenly, without any freaking idea what the hell I’m doing, I rush at him. I swing my fist towards the back of his head, when suddenly Lev whirls with a snarl. He catches my thrown punch at the wrist effortlessly, twisting my arm away as he yanks me against him.

  I gasp, and I barely have time to register what’s happening before his mouth crushes to mine. His lips take mine as he kisses me deeply.

  But instantly, I’m all his. I moan into the kiss, panting and whimpering as my body sinks against his. Until suddenly, he pulls away, leaving me breathless. My face burns, and my lips feel swollen from his.

  His eyes pierce mine, and a low growl rumbles in his chest. But then he turns and strides down the hall, leaving me trembling, confused, and aching for more of him.

  7

  Lev

  My teeth grind, and my body clenches as I push. I can feel my biceps screaming as I groan and strain. The bench-press bar grits against the palm of my hand; sweat beads on my forehead. I lift it high again, seeing red through the strain.

  This is my yoga; my mediation. Honestly, it’s my therapy. A real shrink would probably be a good thing. But I also doubt I could find one who could actually look over the edge of the abyss of my childhood and still be able to talk in full sentences.

  So instead, I lift weights. Instead, I push myself physically until I’m at the bleeding edge of my endurance. Until I myself can look back over that edge of my past, into the darkness.

  But today, as I grunt and heft the double-loaded bar high, it’s not my past I’m trying to scorch from my psyche. Today, I’m trying to figure out what the actual fuck I’m doing with Zoey Stone.

  Put plainly, I want her. I desire her, more than I’ve ever desired anything or any woman in my life. There’s a need for her that pulls at me, tugging a loose string in me that keeps unraveling, until I might just fall the fuck apart.

  It was one night. One fucking night. I’ve never been one for man-whoring around or picking up random women. The clubbing scene, or the singles scene at all has never been my interest. But I’m also not a saint. I’m no monk. I mean I’m thirty-two years old; I have a past whether I’m proud of it or not.

  But none of that past holds a candle to Zoey. The night I had with her was so fucking incredible that I can barely even remember anything besides her. Christ, it was so good that it’s driven me to madness—it’s driven me to fucking kidnapping.

  If I wasn’t who I was, taking her from who I did would be bad enough. But I am who I am. I work within the organization I work for. And that makes having taken the girl I currently have locked in my penthouse with me a much bigger problem.

  Because the blowback from the Volkovs won’t just be on me. It will be on the entire Kashenko Bratva. Worse, I know Viktor. It could mean the end of him and the end of everything we’ve worked for, and he’s still stand up for me. He’d still protect me, even if what I’ve done is fucked up.

  He’ll protect me even if it’s the devil himself I’ve pissed off by taking Zoey. And I’m under no illusions now that the man I’ve fucked with by taking her is the devil.

  Not Chet. I mean Fyodor Kuznetsov.

  Even thinking his fucking name makes me see red. I snarl, and suddenly, the overloaded weight I’m bench-pressing feels weightless. I grunt, shoving up again and again. I ignore the pain in my muscles, because all I can feel is the biting hatred for this man.

  The demon from my past, the shadow that still haunts my dreams and drives me ever forward.

  Bratva families tend to not rock any boats. If business is good, you keep it that way. You don’t meddle with someone else’s shit, and they don’t meddle with yours. And you certainly don’t ever meddle with the Volkov Bratva’s shit.

  Yuri Volkov, the head of the Volkov family, is no one you ever want to fuck with. I mean the man was making his millions even before the Soviet Union fell. But it’s not Yuri that worries me in this. It’s Fyodor.

  I snarl one last time as I shove the bar high. My muscles scream in agony, sweat dripping down my face. With a roar, I let the bar drop to the rack above me with a clang. I go limp across the bench, sucking in air.

  Shit, there’s a chance Viktor is right. I may have bitten off more than I can chew here.

  As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door to my home gym.

  “Enter.”

  The door swings open, and Zoey sweeps in. I smirk as my eyes drink her in.

  “I could get used to you being in a wedding dress all the time.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Wow, that’s hilarious,” she says dryly. “Uh, but, on that note; I need to shower.”

  I shrug. “There is a full bathroom attached to your room, or you may use—”

  “I’m not showering and putting this freaking dress—which I slept in, by the way—back on.”

  “Alternately, you could not put it back on.” I smile. “I actually like that idea much better.”

  She blushes deeply and does that thing where she rakes her teeth over her bottom lip, which is dangerously tempting.

  “I need clothes.”

  I study her. “That would suggest that you plan on staying.”

  “Well, the doors are locked,” she says dryly.

  “If you wished to…” I growl. But I pause that thought. I think of Fyodor,
and this business merger he’s involved in that I’ve just thrown a wrench into. I’m not scared of him. And I don’t respect him. But I respect the power he wields these days working with the Volkov family.

  Letting her leave could avoid an utter shit-storm—for me, and for the Kashenko Bratva. And yet, the idea of her leaving here gets me… angry. It makes me furious, actually. It makes me want to pin her down and keep here, forever.

  “I…” Zoey looks away, her brow knitting. “If I were to stay…”

  I raise a brow curiously.

  She sighs heavily. “What you said before…”

  “Concerning?”

  She shifts her weight from foot to foot. “About thinking of this as a vacation…”

  I smirk. “Yes?”

  Zoey sighs heavily. “Okay, there’s a small chance I could use a small vacation.” She looks down at her twisting fingers. “Even if it entails locked doors and you.”

  She looks up at me and I grin wolfishly.

  “This has nothing to do with…” she blushes. “You know…”

  “I don’t know.”

  She rolls her eyes, and her face grows warmer. “You know.”

  I do know. But watching her twist on this line is amusing, and more than a little arousing.

  “My English…” I say with an extra thick accent.

  She groans and rolls her eyes. “You know what the fuck I’m saying,” she mutters. “I mean this has nothing to do with the other night, Lev.” Her face burns bright red. “When we…”

  “Made love?” I grin.

  Zoey’s face somehow gets even redder. “Or something,” she mumbles quietly

  “Definitely something,” I groan. I stand from the bench. Her eyes slide over my bare chest and abs, and her lip quivers. She drags her gaze back up to my face, but it quickly falters and drops again.

  “So we’re clear, if I do stay here…” she frowns. “Just because that… that happened, before,” she whispers. “That doesn’t mean…”

  “I’m aware of the concept of consent,” I growl. “I’m not a monster.”

  She swallows as her eyes slide up to mine. “Yes, you are,” she croaks.

  I pull closer, my eyes narrowing on her hungrily. “And perhaps you just haven’t decided if you like that about me or not.”

  She bites her lip again. She needs to stop doing that.

  “All those little boys before me,” I growl. “You’ve never had a man like me, have you?”

  “No,” she whispers.

  “You’ve never had someone fuck you like you need to be fucked. Like you have been aching to be taken.”

  Zoey whimpers breathlessly as I keep stepping closer to her. I groan as I move against her, pushing her back to the wall. My hands fall to her waist, but she doesn’t stop me. She doesn’t push me or try and slip away. And when I feel her hips raise to arch into me, I hiss.

  My mouth leans down until my lips are brushing against the soft skin of her neck. Zoey gasps again, her hips pushing against me with an eagerness that has my cock surging hard. I press my mouth to her delicate neck. When she moans at the touch, the rest of my willpower breaks.

  I snarl against her neck as I nip and suck at it. She’s moaning for me, gasping as her hands slide to my bare hips. My own hands grip her tighter, yanking her against me. One hand drops to her dress, and I slowly pull it higher and higher. My hand slips beneath the hem, to her bare thigh. Zoey gasps sharply.

  “Lev…” she moans.

  My fingers trail up the smoothness of her inner thigh. I keep dragging it higher, snarling against her neck and into her ear. She gasps so eagerly as my fingers trace higher and higher, until suddenly I can feel lace against my fingertips.

  With a groan, my big hand cups her between her thighs. My lips pull back into a hungry smile when I feel how fucking wet her panties are.

  “You are eager for me,” I growl quietly.

  Zoey moans. She tries to shake her head, but I stop her with a nip of my teeth against her earlobe.

  “Yes, you are, lastachka,” I groan again her skin. “Eager and hungry for me. For my touch. For my hands on you, right here. And for my mouth to follow.”

  She moans as she trembles against my hand. My finger drags across her seam through the soaked lace panties. I can feel how fucking wet and sticky she is beneath my touch as her arousal drenches her panties and my finger. I rub up and down, before my finger curls to the edge of the lace. I slip it beneath the hem.

  Zoey whimpers when I tug her panties to the side. My thick finger slips over her pussy, slipping between her lips and then sinking into her. She gasps, gripping my wrist as the finger curls deep within her. My palm grinds against her clit, and my cock surges when I feel a fresh wave of wetness dripping down my finger.

  “Lev,” she moans desperately. Her hips push against me, like she’s begging for more.

  “Have you been wet like this since I stole you from him?” I snarl.

  She moans again, breathing heavily.

  “Answer me,” I hiss.

  My palm rubs her clit as I sink my finger deep into her tight little cunt. Zoey cries out in pleasure and nods her head eagerly.

  “Yes!” She gasps.

  “Bad girl,” I groan. “Such a bad girl getting so fucking wet and so fucking desperate for a bad, bad man like me to put my hands on you. To touch where you’ve been dying for me to touch you. To make this little pussy my own little toy. To make you my toy.”

  I rub her faster, and her legs start to shake. Zoey clings to me, moaning desperately as her cunt drips sweetness down my hand. I press a second finger against her entrance. She’s so fucking tight, I almost wonder if two can fit. But she’s so slick and wanting it, then when I push, they both sink into her.

  “Oh my God,” she gasps. She surges against me, rocking her hips into my hand. My mouth slides up her neck and over her jaw before she turns her head to meet me. She moans as my mouth captivates hers. My lips taste her, and my tongue dances with hers.

  Her body trembles and arches into me, her hips bucking shamelessly. I snarl, plunging my fingers in and out and stroking her clit. Her moans get higher and more desperate, until her entire body is shaking and rocking into me.

  I suck her bottom lip between my teeth and snarl as I grind into her clit. Zoey cries out as she starts to convulse. And suddenly, she’s coming for me, again. Just like I’ve been dying for weeks to feel her come again.

  “Lev!” She moans my name as her mouth crushes to mine. I stroke her little cunt through her orgasm, until she’s trembling and shaking against me.

  Slowly, I slide my sticky fingers from her panties. I pull back from her, my eyes holding hers. She watches me with wide eyes and a heated blush as I bring my fingers to my mouth, wrap my lips around them, and suck them clean before her very eyes.

  “Go take your shower, lastachka,” I growl quietly. “I’ll get you your clothes.”

  8

  Zoey

  My pulse beats so loudly that it drowns out the sound of the shower spray on my face. I close my eyes tightly, my entire body throbbing with heat. My head lowers, water dripping down over my face as I cling to the tiles in front of me.

  I wish what I was feeling was shame, or regret, or disgust at myself. But the feeling that pools deep in my core and tingles over my skin only has one name: desire.

  He might be my captor, and my jailor. But he’s also my fantasy. He’s my aching desire and lust. He’s the monster that pushes all the right buttons. I don’t know what that says about me, but there’s no pretending anymore.

  Lev makes me ache with lust. He makes me hungry—no, desperate—for more. I want his hands on me always, and so much more than his hands. As the water streams over me, I start to remember the feel of his mouth all those weeks ago, and I blush deeply.

  I remember his hands spreading my legs or bending me over. I remember the feel of his thick cock sliding into me, stretching me open. I moan quietly and think back to how wet he made me—how
he made my body tremble and shake.

  My hand slides between legs, touching where he just touched not ten minutes ago. But I pull my fingers back with a groan. It’s not that I don’t want to feel that feeling again. It’s that I know my touch won’t be the same. It’s like having a great taste in your mouth and not wanting to eat anything else to sully it.

  Touching myself won’t be him touching me. It won’t even come close.

  I thrust my face beneath the shower spray, gasping. What is wrong with me? What about this rough, dangerous, criminal of a man gets me so fucking hot? What about his lewd words and demanding touch has me aching for more?

  I scowl when I realize it actually makes me angry how much he turns me on. Because it’s not fucking fair. Angrily, I rinse the rest of the soap from my skin before yanking the water off.

  The elegantly soft and oversized towel surrounds me like a huge blanket. I dry quickly and step out of the gorgeous white tile and silver accented shower stall. When suddenly, I gasp and freeze. I can hear voices on the other side of the bathroom door, in my bedroom. I hear a man’s voice that isn’t Lev, and my heart jumps. I glance at the door, making sure it’s locked as I step closer.

  The man is speaking in Russian, and I hear Lev’s voice respond. I tremble, wondering what the hell he’s plotting for me now. The words “Volkov” and “dyaval” keep getting repeated. And then I hear my name.

  Gingerly, I unlock the bathroom door and peek out. Lev’s back is to me, and he’s facing a huge beast of a man. I mean Lev himself is enormous. But the guy he’s talking has almost half a foot on him, with even broader shoulders.

  But as I spy on them, suddenly the stranger glances past Lev. His eyes land on me, and his mouth shuts instantly. He clears his throat and juts his chin just a small fraction. But Lev instantly freezes and turns.

  His eyes harden and narrow when he sees that I’m clearly in just a towel. The man he’s been speaking to seems to understand that as well, because he quickly averts his eyes. Which is ludicrous because it’s not like I’m freaking naked. And the towel is maybe half the size of a duvet. But it speaks to Lev’s power.