Page 13 of Bratva Beast

He raises his voice and mutters in Russian, calling me a spoiled brat as he thrusts my backpack into my front.

I just keep walking, stepping out of the hospital and climbing through an open car door into the back seat. I clutch my backpack on my lap. Maybe Wystan will just be silent. The car door closes, leaving me alone in the backseat. “Whew.”

CYNRIC

The little pixie walks through my front door. It’s just after midnight, and I get up to stretch from my desk. It’s too late for her to be coming home alone. My jaw aches from grinding my teeth, reminding me of the constant slow burn of irritation that bubbles in my core. Everything about this woman grates on me like sandpaper swiping over a gash on my flesh. Wystan texted about an over-interested male nurse who bothered her. The photo of the nurse’s badge on my phone reminds me. I sit down at my computer and type his name into the search engine. He doesn’t have any affiliations, but there’s an old arrest for stalking. I blow out my breath. I need to make sure you understand Isabella is off limits. The debate bounces around my brain whether scaring him is something I want to do myself. My father’s ringtone jingles from my phone, changing the focus in my brain.

Chapter 4

TWO WEEKS LATER

ISABELLA

The neighbor kid I tutor turns his head to the door as it slams open. Two men carry in a third man with blood on his shirt as Anton, Cynric’s enforcer, storms into the small conference room in Cynric’s building which I borrow on the first floor once a week to tutor.

“Izzy, get him out of here. We need the room.”

I glance at the teenager and motion to his backpack. “You should review the rest of the chapter to make sure you’ve got it for your quiz, and I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He gives the tall, scary-looking, tatted man a wide berth as he exits the conference room on the first floor.

“Do you need me to go get Cynric, Anton?” I need to leave this room. I don’t have any business with any of this.

Anton has a large viper tattoo surrounding his neck. He’s creepy. His face is red, and his eyes are bulging. “Where’s your fucking bag?”

Crap. He’s high and irrational, as usual. “It’s upstairs in the condo entry closet. Why?”

“Fritz got shot.” I guess Fritz is the injured guy with the blood seeping out of his shoulder.

I’m collecting my calculator and the white board markers and putting them into my bag. None of this has anything to do with me. I glance again at the wound. “Take him to Mikhail’s dentist.” The man wasn’t really a dentist, but he’d lost his license to practice medicine two decades ago, and it was easier for the Bratva to just call him something else.

Anton blazes across the room and grabs my arm. His hand whips around and smacks my face. The sting morphs into a dull ache, and I have to stop myself from touching it. “You need to have that fucking bag.”

The impact of his strike jars my thoughts. Pain resonates through my cheek and into my jaw and skull. That night with my mother’s fuck buddy explodes in my brain. “Fuck. Take your fucking hands off me.” I’m not letting you hit me anymore. Asshole. I aim my knee into his crotch and, with all the force in my small body, I jam it into his nuts.

Anton screams as he falls to the floor. The two other members flanking the injured man chuckle.

Dominic, the younger enforcer, pops a broad smile across his face as he sees Anton writhing on the ground, and he quickly removes it, staring at me with a slack jaw. “Why’d you do that?”

“He hit me.” I rub my cheek and catch the tears falling from my eye. “The fucker hit me again.”

A voice booms from the door. “Great job, Isochka. I knew you had strength in you.”

I gawk at Cynric. The men in the room stare. The injured man stops moaning and catches his breath, looking at Cynric. “Boss, you’re out here.”

“No shit, dumbass.” Cynric stands above Anton and kicks out his steel-toed boot into his face. “You fucking hit her.”

Anton scrambles to get to his feet, thrusting his hand out to point at me. “She doesn’t fucking listen.”

Cynric’s face reddens, except for the scar along the side of his face, which remains pale. His intense glare catches me off guard. “When did he hit you before?”

I blow out a breath. “He hit me in Papa’s kitchen. He was high, like now, and pissed off that I wouldn’t let him fuck me.”

The color on Anton’s face drains as Cynric explodes in Russian swear words. “Does my father know?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Saxon told me he’d handle Anton. He said he’d make sure Anton never hit me again, then he told him and the others that I was not on the menu.”

Cynric pulls out his phone. Yelling in Russian into the phone as the three other men in the room cringe. He ends the call and stares at one of his men. “Take Anton to my father.”

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