The Bratva’s Stolen Bride

by Cole, Jagger

  And I know two things with absolutely clarity: I’m never getting my fill of this girl. And we’re just getting started.

  16

  Lev

  Present:

  I’d say the dream is surprising, but it’s not. I’ve been reliving and replaying the night Zoey fell into my arms night after night since that very first time.

  If it were just me, waking up this sore would be shit. But I’m not alone when my eyes open. I look down and feel my heart surge as my pulse quickens. The angel lying against me with her cheek to my chest makes me forget everything else: the devil hunting us, my insanity of stealing her away. Even the bullet wound to my side—

  I wince as I stretch. Okay, so that last one is still there. I glance down at the makeshift bandage of tape and dishtowel that Zoey apparently applied last night, and I groan. I’m sore, but I’ll live. Getting some actual medial supplies though might be a bonus at some point.

  I lay back against the pillow, my arms circling her. I’m in a pair of boxers, she’s in the sweatpants and t-shirt from last night still. I actually don’t remember falling asleep with her, or even undressing or coming into the bedroom. Only that I had to sit down and then lay down before the room would stop spinning from the blood loss.

  I look down at Zoey again. A hint of a smile curls at the corners of my mouth. I like that she’s in my arms. I like that I slept with her.

  I shake my head. I don’t sleep with anyone, not even the women long in my past who I saw or was together with briefly. Like I said, I’m not a monk. But I’ve never once spent the night. I’ve never once woken up in a bed with a woman.

  And yet this feels good. This feels really good, actually. It only underscores why I took her to begin with—why I lost my cool and control and stole this girl from her own wedding. Because she makes me lose control. Because she’s worth the war I might have started.

  I take a breath, ignoring the pain in my side for a second. I look out across the small little cabin bedroom and out the windows at the gorgeous view of the trees and the lake. I grin, and my hands tighten on her as I think back on the fantasy I had before, of being in a cabin in the woods with her.

  Just the two of us, away from everything. Looks like that’s where I ended up anyways.

  Part of me knows I could stay in this bed forever with her, just holding her body to mine. But the gurgling of my stomach is a ticking time bomb. It’s also loud enough that I worry it’ll wake her up.

  Gently, I slide out of bed. Then I lay her back down against the warmth of the sheets and pillows. I shuffle into the kitchen, grunting and holding my side. The shelves are bare when I start to poke through them, which starts to put a damper on any thoughts of a good breakfast. I do find powdered instant coffee, which I already know is going to be shit. But it’s better than nothing. We’ve also got some canned beans, a can of cranberry sauce, and one can of spam.

  The man who lives in a twenty-million-dollar penthouse above Chicago, who has another twenty-five-million-dollar estate outside the city that he barely even stays in, who drives a three-hundred-thousand-dollar vintage muscle car, and wants for nothing, groans.

  But the boy in me who used to dig through rotting trash for a bite of rancid food rolls his eyes. It’s not much, but back when I was a kid, the food on these shelves would have been a feast.

  I get the water boiling and make some coffee. Then I hear the footsteps quietly shuffling in behind me. I turn, and I grin when I see her standing in the doorway. The light from the lake gleams in behind her, making her long blonde hair glow like a halo and wings.

  I growl, drinking in the sight of my angel. The lack of bra under the t-shirt makes me groan a little. So does the way the sweatpants sink down low on her hips, riding low enough to flash an eye-full of her creamy, tempting skin.

  “Hey,” Zoey murmurs sleepily.

  “Hey yourself,” I grin. I move into her, and she bites her lip as I scoop her into my arms. I lean down to kiss her, but she tenses.

  “I don’t have a toothbrush…”

  “And I don’t care.”

  My lips crush to hers, and she moans as I kiss her deeply. When I pull back, her face is red, and her eyes are shining as they search mine. Then she sniffs the air and groans.

  “Oh my fucking God, is that coffee?”

  I grin and reach over for her mug. I pass it to her and then clink my own mug to hers.

  “It’s shit, but…”

  “I’ll take shit over no shit at all,” she giggles. She frowns. “I don’t suppose there anything to eat?”

  I gesture at the half dozen cans on the counter. “We won’t starve. But…” I shrug.

  Zoey frowns. “Hmm. Well, we could go hunting or something, right?”

  I smirk. “With a pistol?”

  “Well, I don’t know these things!” she giggles, rolling her eyes. “Hello, city girl?”

  I laugh and pull her close. My eyes land on the wall behind her, and I freeze when they narrow on the two ornamental looking fishing rods hanging on the wall above the sofa.

  “Ever been fishing?”

  For a rich city girl, she takes to fishing off the end of a dock in the morning like a natural. She sits in my lap on the edge of the dock, rod in hand as I show her how to cast and reel it back in. She doesn’t catch anything, but she’s into it. She shrieks in laugher, giggling when I yank a few mid-sized walleyes out of the lake.

  “Okay, now what?”

  I grin. “Now what?”

  “Yeah, with the fish. Do you just put them in the oven or something?”

  I chuckle and she playfully hits my good side. “Sooo sorry that I never lived in the woods before, geesh.”

  I laugh and pull her close as I lean in to kiss her.

  “Now, I clean them.”

  “Clean?”

  I shrug. “The messy part. Taking the inside out, scraping off the scales…” I smile. “You don’t have to watch that part.”

  “Yeah, but I want to.”

  I frown. “It’s a little gruesome.”

  “So? I want to see.” She smirks. “I did play surgeon last night to a bullet wound.”

  “This is very true,” I chuckle. “Well, come on then.”

  I show her how to cut the head off, and then use the edge of my knife to peel the scales off. I show her how to hook into the belly and pull out the organs. She even does it herself on the third one.

  She’s washing fish guts off her hands when my phone rings. I glance down and grunt. It’s Nikolai. My hands are still wet, so I tap the answer button and put it on speaker.

  “You’re on speaker, Nikolai. Talk to me.”

  “I take it this means you found somewhere to lay low?”

  I frown. “Shit, sorry.”

  He chuckles. “It’s all good, boss.”

  “I needed to patch up a hole when I got in last night.”

  “Fuck, Lev. Are you good?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a graze. Zoey fixed me up, actually.”

  “Oh?” There’s a curiosity in his voice. Zoey blushes, her eyes sparking into mine.

  “Has there been any blowback on Kashenko interests?”

  “Nothing yet. I used some back channels to reach out to Volkov’s last night, though.”

  I arch a brow. “And?”

  “Yuri is aware of what’s going on, but he’s not behind any of this shit with you. It kinda feels like one of those things where he’s also not going to stop it, but he’s not directing any of it. It’s this Fyodor guy, apparently.”

  I grit my teeth. I turn, and my eyes slide across the kitchen to Zoey. She looks worried at what Nikolai is saying. But when she sees me looking at her, she grins back and leans against the sink.

  “Lev, do you know this guy?”

  “We…” I scowl. “We have history.”

  “Well, whatever you did to him, he’s after you, man. And it seems… I don’t know; personal.”

  “It is,” I say quietly.

  �
�Shit. Well, I had some guys take care of your place and get rid of the bodies there.”

  Zoey swallows, looking pale.

  “Thanks, Nikolai.”

  “Don’t mention it. So where’d you end up finding a place to hide out? You guys need anything?”

  I glance back at Zoey, and I grin. I don’t need shit. Everything I could possibly want is standing twenty feet away from me, making the whole world a little brighter when she smiles at me.

  “Nah, we’ll make do. We’re up in Pine Crest, on Lake Geneva. Found an unrented lake-house to break into.”

  “Got it. Well don’t be a stranger if you need anything, Lev.”

  When we’re done, I walk back over to Zoey.

  “You okay?”

  She nods. “Just trying to process it all.” She smiles wryly. “Believe it or not, this is the first time I’ve run from a rival Bratva to hide out in the woods.”

  I smile and pull her close.

  “I’m guessing it’s not your first time, though?”

  “Yes and no.” I shrug. “The woods are new.” I pull back to smile at her. “We’ll be okay here.”

  “This guy who’s looking for you…”

  “Fyodor,” I hiss.

  She nods and looks up at me. “Why? I mean why does he care that you messed up that awful wedding?”

  There’s a lot I want to tell her. But I can’t bring myself to do it yet.

  “Fyodor’s a big player in the Volkov Bratva. He's been running muscle for Marvin Brubaker’s company—basically ‘incentivizing’ businesses that Marvin wants to acquire into taking the deals.”

  “Incentivizing?”

  “A gun pointed at your children can be quite incentivizing.”

  She shudders, her face paling. “Jesus…”

  “I need you to know that that is not a style of doing business that Viktor or I engage in.”

  She nods quietly.

  “Fyodor had a lot of money—personal money, not Volkov money—betting on this merger with your father.”

  Her face falls. “So when you took me and killed the deal…”

  I nod.

  “How much money?”

  “Enough for him to bring a hit squad over from Russia especially for us.”

  She pales. I pull her tighter into my arms. “We’re safe here, lastachka. And I trust Nikolai implicitly to help keep it that way.”

  “Is he like your personal assistant or something?”

  I chuckle, and she rolls her eyes as she swats at me. “Okay, again, soooo sorry for not knowing the hierarchy of the Russian mafia.”

  I laugh and pull her into my arms. “Well, allow me to teach you. Viktor is the boss of this…” I shrug. “I guess you could call it a branch of the Kashenko Bratva, which is based in Moscow.”

  “And you’re his secretary, right?” She smirks, teasing me.

  “Brat,” I grunt.

  She giggles.

  “I’m his second in command, by choice. I have no interest in being the boss.”

  Zoey grins. “See, I have it on good authority that you’re pretty good at being the boss. Or maybe it’s just bossy?”

  I grin as I reach down to give her ass a little smack, making her jump and squeal.

  “There are multiple avtoritet—captains—that report to Viktor or I. That’s what Nikolai is.”

  “He’s Russian too?”

  “Sort of. Born here to a Russian mother, and not Bratva affiliated. I found him fighting in the underground boxing circuits and took him under my wing.” I shrug. “He’s sort of a little brother to me, I guess.” I chuckle. “A little brother who’s got half a foot and probably thirty pounds on me.”

  I glance past her at the fish fillets sitting on ice in the sink. Zoey turns and frowns. “Fish and baked beans,” she makes a face. “Mmm…”

  I grin. But she’s also not wrong. It’s not ideal, but we need to go out for supplies. I mean there’s fish in the lake, but there’s not much else here to feed two people for however long we’ll be laying low here.

  “I’ll go out and get some food.”

  Zoey turns to me with a frown. “No, you won’t. I will.”

  I scowl. “Lastachka—”

  “Don’t you ‘little bird’ me, mister,” she jabs a finger at me. “You’re wounded.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You have a Russian accent and Bratva tattoos. Not exactly undercover in the land of RVs, fanny packs, and Midwestern accents, Lev.”

  My mouth thins.

  “You know I’m right,” she mutters. She grins and slides into my arms. “Now you go rest your little boo boo and I’ll go get us some supplies.

  I smirk. “Very funny, but—”

  “Lev.” She leans up and kisses me. “I’ll be fine, okay?”

  I frown. “Fine,” I mutter begrudgingly. “There’s grocery mart and gas station about five miles back up the road. But the nearest actual grocery store is about forty miles away, which is too far and too busy.”

  She shrugs. “No problem then. I’ll go to the one up the street and maybe make a quick few stops for some clothes—”

  “Zoey.”

  “Hmm?”

  I chuckle. “There’s no Saks or Louis Vuitton around here.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Thanks,” she drawls sarcastically. “But I’m sure there’s some kind of—”

  “Nope. Just the one store in town. And there’s no way you’re going to any place bigger. We can’t chance being seen by anyone looking for us.”

  She frowns. “Okay, but I don’t have any clean clothes.”

  “Then go naked.”

  Zoey blushes deeply and sucks her lip between her teeth. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I would, in fact.”

  “All part of your master plan?”

  “Now it is.”

  She giggles. “No, but seriously I don’t even have any underwear.”

  “Then you’re going commando.” I cup her face in my hands. “One store, Zoey.”

  “Ugh, fine.”

  17

  Zoey

  The sign proclaims the building I’ve just parked the truck in front of as a “gourmet food mart.” Which is a really nice way of saying “gas station selling pretentiously priced organic food to vacationing yuppies.”

  But it is what it is.

  Inside, I grab one of the little wicker baskets by the door and start wandering the four aisles. There’s more stuff here than I thought there’d be, and I quickly start to stock up on groceries. Luckily, Lev had cash on him.

  It also turns out there’s more stuff crammed into the little shop than you’d think. Aside from food, I also snag some toiletries. I even find a small section that has some clothes—nothing fancy, but a few “Lake Geneva” t-shirts that are more my size than what I’m currently wearing. I grab some basketball shorts and a pair of sweatpants for Lev, and a pair of jean cutoffs for me. There’s no underwear, but when I think about being alone in the woods with Lev and going commando, I blush.

  No panties might not be a bad problem to have, given the current situation and company.

  When I think I’ve got all we need, I turn to head up to the cashier. But I’m not even halfway there before I freeze. My eyes slide past the women at the counter with her back to me. She’s turned to watch the small tv on the shelf behind her. I stare at it, and my skin crawls.

  On the tv is a big color photo of me.

  Under it, the headline screams that I’ve been kidnapped, “possibly for ransom” from my wealthy and well-known father. Actually, the full headline is “KRV Financial CEO Bill Stone’s Socialite Daughter Abducted—Possible Ransom Story Unfolding”

  I tremble, my mouth going dry. The screen changes, and I groan. Suddenly, my face is been replaced by a video of Chet standing in front of a bunch of microphones. The store clerk clutches her heart, shaking her head as she turns the volume up

  “…Just want to say to whoever took her,
the money is yours, no questions asked. I’ve got one-hundred-thousand-dollars, cash, with your name on it. Please, just bring me back….” Chet looks like he’s getting too emotional to speak and turns away. I gag as I roll my eyes.

  It disgusts me to see the serial date-drugging piece of shit getting all weepy about me being “kidnapped” from our wedding.

  “I just want my fiancée back,” he sobs on the screen. “Just bring me back my Zoey. Please. Thank you, no further statements.”

  The screen is filled with my picture again, along with the hundred-thousand-dollar bounty and four different numbers to call if I’m spotted.

  I swallow thickly. Shit.

  The clerk starts to turn. I duck into one of the aisles, my pulse racing. If she sees me, there’s no way she’s not going to freak and call one of those numbers. But shining a light on where I am might not only bring the police.

  It might bring the killers hunting us, too.

  I’m about to set the basket of food and clothes down and just leave. But where’s the next closest store again? Forty miles away. And it’s in a bigger town, with means more TVs and more chances that I’m recognized.

  I groan. Fuck. It looks like I’m heading back to the cabin empty-handed. But then my eyes land on the shelving across from me. I see the big canvas beach bag, and I bite my lip.

  It’s bold, but I might just work.

  I glance back out of the aisle. The clerk is back to her TV screen. I slip back into the aisle and grab the canvas bag. I yank the tags off, and then rub it all over the floor. I step on it, scuff it, and basically make it look as not new as I can. Then I transfer all the stuff I was going to buy from the basket to the now beat-up looking beach bag.

  I take a breath and glance out at the clerk again. Then my eyes swivel to the door. Guilt nags at me, so I reach into my sweatpants pocket and pull out the cash Lev gave me. I peel away two hundred dollars and tuck it onto a shelf to appease my guilt.