The Bratva’s Stolen Bride

by Cole, Jagger

  “Nikolai,” Lev grunts, addressing the man but still looking at me with those intense eyes “This is Zoey. Zoey, Nikolai.”

  He turns and says something in Russian to Nikolai. The younger man nods abruptly, and turns to stride from the room. When Lev turns back to me, I tremble when his eyes seem to burn into me. His jaw grinds, and his look is that of hunger. It’s the look I remember with total clarity from that first night with him: my first time with anyone.

  He starts to step towards me. But like a gut reaction, I gasp and quickly slam the door shut and lock it. I blush deeply when I hear him chuckling on the other side of it.

  “How was your shower?”

  “Good, fine,” I blurt.

  “Did you wash behind your ears?” he says sarcastically. My blush only deepens.

  “I’m sure I did,” I mumble.

  “Any place hard to reach place you might need...” I can hear the growl in his throat. “Help, with?”

  I tremble, and my breath catches as I squeeze my thighs together. I’m leaning close to the door when suddenly, I hear a woman’s voice outside—also Russian. Lev responds with his customary grunts. Then I hear his voice retreating along with the sound of footsteps. And then it’s quiet. I quickly finish toweling off and slide into the terrycloth robe I found in the bathroom.

  My room looks empty, so I open the door the rest of the way and step out into it. Instantly, my mouth falls open. There might not be anyone in the room anymore, but it’s not empty. Racks and racks of clothes fill half the bedroom, and my jaw drops even further as I step closer.

  It’s all new, gorgeous, and expensive designer clothes—elegant gowns, cute skirts, tops, even jeans. A whole rack has delicate, paper-thin looking and super sexy lingerie hanging from it. I blush as I approach that one. My fingers trace over the lace and the silk, my head slowly shaking.

  “If you need anything else—”

  I scream and whirl, then jump back at the strange woman standing in the doorway to the walk-in closet. She’s beautiful and tall with long brunette hair, thin rimmed glasses, and a blank professional expression on her face.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  She arches a manicured brow.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, I… you surprised me.”

  “Nina,” she sticks a hand out and shakes mine with a surprisingly firm grip. Though I’m sure it was her I heard speaking Russian before, her English comes crisp and fluent, and vaguely British sounding.

  Her name rings a bell though. I remember that Fiona told me about meeting her when she and Viktor got together.

  “You work for Viktor, don’t you?”

  “For Mr. Komarov, yes,” she nods curtly.

  “Zoey,” I say quietly. “I—”

  “And I’m aware of who you are, Ms. Stone.”

  “Oh.”

  She smiles professionally. “It’s my job to know these things.”

  “What, Lev’s captive women?” I blurt it bitterly before I can hold back. My face pales, but Nina seems to just smirk demurely before she hides it.

  “This is actually a first…” she frowns. “Well, for Lev.”

  I glance at the racks of clothes. “Are all of these…”

  “For you?” She nods. “Yes. I think you’ll find that they’re all in your size. But if anything isn’t, please let Mr. Nychkov know, and a tailor will be called.”

  I turn and let my eyes roam over the racks and racks of clothes.

  “Um…” I shake my head.

  “Yes?”

  “This is a shitload of clothes.”

  “It is, yes.”

  I frown. “I mean, how long is Lev planning on me staying here?”

  She smiles thinly. “I’m not sure there’s an end date in mind at all, Ms. Stone.”

  I blush, shivering. “Oh.” But then my brow furrows. “So, what. I’m just supposed to be his freaking captive, forever?”

  Nina smiles thinly. “That is beyond my purview.”

  I roll my eyes. “Is this just a Russian thing, then? Or a bratva thing? First Viktor with Fiona, and now Lev with me?”

  “I’m not sure I follow?”

  “Kidnapping women you have a thing for,” I mutter. “What is that, a culture thing?”

  She smirks. “That’s funny.”

  “I wasn’t joking. I’m actually asking.”

  “And I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you,” Nina says plainly.

  “So, no one’s kidnapped you lately?”

  She smiles. “Not lately no.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Is there anything else you need?”

  “My freedom?” I mutter dryly.

  Nina smiles again. “I’m afraid you’ll need to discuss that with Mr.—”

  “Right, right, yeah. Outside your purview, right?”

  She smiles. “Something like that. Well,” she takes a breath, standing tall. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Stone.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  She turns sharply and starts to walk out.

  “Hey, Nina?”

  She pauses and turns back. “Yes?”

  “Do you speak Russian?”

  She nods. “I do.”

  “What does dyaval mean?”

  Her lips thin. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I was in the bathroom showering just now, and I heard Lev and someone else saying it; it and my name?” I frown. “I was curious—”

  “It means devil.”

  “He was calling me the devil?”

  She shakes her head, her eyes growing cold. “No. The Devil is who he took you from.”

  I frown. “Chet Brubaker?”

  Nina’s mouth thins. “You should ask Mr. Nychkov.”

  She nods curtly, turns, and walks out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. I shrug to myself and turn to start pawing through the rack of clothes. The door opens again behind me, and I sigh.

  “Let me guess, more clothes?”

  “I thought this would get you started.”

  I gasp, whirling to see Lev standing in the doorway. I tremble as his fierce gaze slides over me.

  He smirks. “But, if you somehow need more than forty outfits, I’m sure there are more clothes in Chicago we could have brought in.”

  I purse my lips. “What I need is to be able to leave.”

  “Do you?” He shrugs, stepping into the room with a hard smirk on his face. “And I thought you needed this vacation?”

  “And yet the doors are still locked.”

  “Are they?”

  I roll my eyes. “So I can just leave now? Just like that?”

  He says nothing. I laugh coldly.

  “That’s a no then, I guess.”

  When he still says nothing, I can feel my temper rising. I glare at as I sweep my arm back at the rack of clothes. “So, this is the new lock then?”

  “What?”

  “All of this!” I jab my finger at the clothes. “Is this how you plan on keeping me? With pretty things? This is how you think you’re going to control—”

  I gasp as he surges into me. Lev growls, grabbing me and pushing me back into one of the tall racks of clothes against the wall. I moan as his lips crush to mine as my back hits the clothes and the wall behind me. His rock-hard body presses into me, pinning me to the wall, and I whimper as he suddenly shoves both of my hands up high with one of his.

  His free hand drops to my waist, and my jaw drops in shock as he grabs the tie at the front of my robe. He yanks it free as I choke out another gasp, the robe falling open.

  “What the fuck do you think—”

  I moan when he shoves my hands up again, and suddenly, the robe tie is loping around my wrists.

  “Wait—!”

  Lev growls, ignoring me as he pulls it tight around the high top bar of the clothes rack. He yanks it tight, keeping both of my arms up, my wrists bound. The robe slips open, and my face burns hotly as he steps back. His hungry eyes sweep shamelessly over me, and I
tremble under his heated gaze. Lev reaches for me, and I moan again as he yanks the robe open, exposing all of me to him.

  Heat pools between my thighs. My face burns as my breathing comes heavier. I know he’s seen me naked before—and so much more. But it feels so dirty and so wrong being tied like this with my kidnapper’s eyes drinking me in. But it’s dirty and wrong in a very, very hot way.

  My thighs squeeze together, my body twisting.

  “No, lastachka,” Lev hisses thickly. He shakes his head. “This is how I will control you. Not with pretty things. With restraint.”

  I swallow back a moan and narrow my eyes at him. “You… you…”

  He smiles. “Yes?”

  “You arrogant prick!”

  “Spoiled little brat,” he snaps back.

  “Asshole!”

  “Princess.”

  “Scumbag!”

  “Tease.”

  “You—”

  But my words fumble into a moan as he kisses me hungrily. He kisses me hard enough to bruise my lips. I fight it at first, but the feel of his lips on mine and his tongue demanding entrance pulls a moan from deep in my chest. And he hears it when I do.

  Lev chuckles darkly as I groan, blushing. His knee slips between my thighs, and I whimper as he spreads my legs open. His hand falls to my bare hip, and I gasp sharply. His warm, powerful touch traces over my skin, making me writhe with need. My stomach caves beneath his touch as his hand slips lower and lower.

  “Lev…” I whimper and then groan deeply when his hand delves between my legs. He cups my pussy and slowly drags a finger through my lips as I cry out.

  “And yet again,” he growls thickly. “I find you soaking wet for me.”

  “That… shower…” I fumble.

  “I’m sure,” he chuckles. His free hand cups my jaw. He runs a thumb over my swollen lips as his fingers stroke over my clit. I moan for him before he suddenly kisses me hard.

  He pulls back, and my heart skips when he suddenly drops to his knees.

  “Lev…” I gasp.

  His mouth presses between my thighs, and I cry out. His tongue drags through my lips, and then bumps over my clit. I shake all over, straining against the binds on my wrist. He swirls his tongue around my clit again, and I shudder in pleasure.

  “Oh fuck…” I whimper softly, sagging against his mouth.

  His tongue slides slowly through my lips, pushing against my entrance. He sucks on my clit again as I throw my head back. I tremble with desire as I feel the loss of control with the soft tie pinning my hands above me.

  “You like it when I do this, yes…” he snarls, looking up at me. His lips glisten with my desire, igniting something even hotter in me. And yet I feel the need to fight him. I feel compelled to not “give in”—to fight against this totally unfair way he’s seducing me over.

  “No-”

  “Yes, you do,” he chuckles darkly. He licks his lips clean, making my skin burn hot. “You like being my captive…”

  I moan.

  “My toy.”

  His tongue dances over my clit, and I groan in pleasure even as I’m shaking my head.

  “I… no I… no I don’t…”

  Lev abruptly pulls away. “No?” He shrugs and stands. My jaw drops as I stare at him.

  “What are you doing?” I gasp.

  A smug, victorious smile teases the corners of his mouth.

  “Well, since you don’t like this, perhaps I should just leave.”

  He grins. I’m trembling for him—like actually physically shaking. I’m aching for more of his touch, and he damn well knows it. I’m so wet that it’s practically dripping down my thighs

  “I—”

  “Now, should I leave you tied up like this?” He grins. “Or free one of your hands to finish what I’ve started?”

  I blush deeply. “You arrogant—” I gasp as he suddenly reaches up and yanks the tie free. His body is so close to mine, the heat of him teasing my skin as he looms over me. He uncoils the terry-cloth tie from the rack and slips it into my now free hands before he steps back.

  My face is burning as I quickly yank the robe shut, looking at the ground.

  “I will keep you however I please, lastachka,” he growls quietly. “With locks, with pretty things…” he groans. “However it pleases me to keep you here, as mine.”

  “You can’t just—”

  “I already am, lastachka,” he says quietly, his voice edged and heavy.

  “And what about my family, hmm?” I hiss.

  “You mean your father, who would sell you for a business deal?”

  I glare at him… hating him, wanting him, wanting him to tie me back up and then feeling like a complete freak for wishing it.

  “I wonder how Fiona would react to hear about you keeping me here like this?” I say thinly. “Or… who is it that she’s with? Oh right! She’s with your boss, isn’t she?” I sneer. “Wow, I wonder what he would say—”

  “Your friend and mine are busy on vacation, away from phones and distractions.”

  “For forever?” I snap.

  “For now.”

  “Well, when they get back, you can be damn sure I’ll be calling her to—”

  “You aren’t making a very strong case for getting your phone back, you know,” Lev grunts. He pats his back pocket and smiles.

  “You’re a psychopath, you know that?”

  He shrugs. He turns to leave the room as I stand there hugging the robe around myself—hating him and aching for him. But for some reason, I frown and open my mouth again.

  “Who is the devil?”

  He pauses and glances back at me with a frown. “What?”

  “Before, when I was in the bathroom still, you and someone else were saying dyaval a lot. Which is devil, right?”

  When his brows knit, I bite my lip.

  “Nina told me.”

  “Nina spoke out of—”

  “Who is the devil?”

  Lev purses his lips. “The devil is who I took you from.”

  “Not Chet.”

  He shakes his head.

  “Not his father.”

  His jaw grinds. “No.”

  “Then who—”

  “Enjoy your new clothes, princess.”

  His eyes burn into mine, sucking the air from my lungs. I can’t tell if I want to rush over to him and hit him in the face or kiss his mouth. But without another word, he turns and strides out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

  Slowly, I start to think that perhaps I’ve fallen out of the frying pan and into the fire…

  9

  Lev

  It’s growing dark outside as I drum my fingers across the top of my desk.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. I had my own usual men on it.”

  “And it was definitely his—”

  “It was Fyodor Kuznetsov’s plane, boss,” he grunts. “And I know a hit squad when I see it.” He tosses a stack of photographs down on my desk.

  My eyes narrow. Viktor was right. I have officially bit off far more than I can chew.

  I know the bear I’ve poked, so I’ve had Nikolai watching important Volkov Bratva targets—Yuri Volkov’s home here in the city, his jazz club, some of their warehouses, and the private airfield outside Chicago that I know the Volkov crew is fond of flying in and out of.

  Nikolai’s men have confirmed what I feared. Part of me hoped this would blow away. Or at least simmer and then die. After all, I didn’t take Fyodor’s fucking bride, just a bride that was part of a business arrangement he was involved in. Business arrangements change all the goddamn time, especially in our line of work.

  But it’s been two days, and instead of backing down or letting it go, it would appear Fyodor has doubled down. I look at the pictures on my desk and scowl. Fuck. I know some of these men, at least by reputation. And there’s no mistaking the looks on their faces, or the tattoo marks on their necks.

  These are hunters, and Yuri Volkov’
s top hunters, at that. Ex Russian military—men hardened in Chechnya or other bloody civil disputes. And now they’re here and I have little doubt that my fucking balls are in their crosshairs.

  “You want to start getting a response team together?”

  I shake my head.

  “Boss, these guys—”

  “I know who they are,” I grunt.

  “You know they’re here for you, then.”

  “Da.”

  “Lev—”

  “This is not a Kashenko war,” I growl. “Or Viktor’s, or yours, or anyone else’s. If it were Yuri making these moves, that would be different.”

  “We don’t know that it’s not.”

  I shake my head. “It’s Fyodor, trust me.”

  “Fyodor who is a top underboss with the Volkov Bratva, Lev!” Nikolai snaps. He’s loyal to a fault, but the man has a darkness in him the same as me that he fights to hold back.

  “We need to get a team—”

  “I said no team,” I snap.

  “You’re not fighting a fucking Volkov kill team by yourself,” he hisses. “Goddamnit, Lev, listen to what I’m—”

  “Nikolai,” I hiss quietly. The defiance on his face instantly fades. We’re close, but Nikolai’s military background suddenly overtakes his need to argue with me. He stiffens.

  “Da, boss,” he grunts.

  I sigh, rubbing my temple. “Let me handle this, okay? Keep an eye on things, of course. If Yuri gets involved or if they make moves against any of our interests—the Kashenko interests, that is, not mine—then we’ll move against them. But not before. Is that understood?”

  He nods stiffly. “Da, Lev.”

  I know Nikolai is just worried about me. Maybe I am, too. But this is my war with Fyodor. This is my blood feud—a battle that’s been raging for a very, very long time.

  When Nikolai leaves, I lower my gaze to my arm. I roll the sleeve of my dress shirt up, and my eyes harden. The little spotted scars trail up the inside of arm from my wrist all the way to my chest. To some, they might look like buckshot wounds. But I know better.

  I know they perfectly match the size of the end of a Yava brand cigarette. I close eyes, and I can almost smell the scent of the shitty tobacco mixing with the frying smell of my own skin.