Page 6 of Bratva Beast

Thrashing in my bed, my dream takes me to the past.

I walk out of my room in our Pakhan’s estate. I’ve been living here for two years and do my very best to stay out of the way. Peeking around the corner, I scan for men. The kitchen is dark as I creep to the refrigerator. I open the door, casting a glow across the room. Shit. I flick my head around, searching for someone to notice the light. I grab the container of chicken salad I had for lunch and a soda. Mayo sits on the shelf, and I add it to my arms. I set the stuff on the counter and find the home-made wheat bread. Papa’s housekeeper is an awesome cook. It didn’t take me long to catch up to my expected weight after living with my neglectful mother. My mind reflects back to living with my mother and always feeling hungry and scared. I dismiss the thought and put on the small light above the island. Smearing the chicken mixture on the bread, my stomach grumbles. I addthe second slice to the top and crack open the soda. The fizz tickles my nose as I take a sip.

A door slams. Mid-bite into the sandwich, having eaten half, I pivot my head to the door and debate if I have enough time to escape. I don’t. Three men trudge into the kitchen. Blood covers Cynric and two enforcers as they chuckle walking into the room.

It’s not the first time I’ve seen this scene. My father and Papa’s enforcers often came to the house in similar disarray. My father was a step-brother to Papa’s late wife, so I’ve seen the Bravikov Bratva life. The men’s voices still as they enter, and I refuse to raise my gaze.

“Isabella?”

I bring my eyes up first, before my face raises to focus on Papa’s oldest son.

He nods. “You’re up awfully late.”

“I. Um. I lost track of time while I was studying, and I was hungry.”

It seems like he’s going to ask more and a door slams shut. Voices carry through the foyer into the kitchen. Wystan clomps into the kitchen speaking in Russian. “You don’t have to go back. He’s dead.”

Cynric snarls. “I didn’t expect you’d kill him before we got the info.”

Wystan’s eyes snap to me, and I hold his gaze. “Fuck.”

Cynric shrugs. “She doesn’t care.” He glares at me. “Do you?”

I put the last bite of sandwich into my mouth. “Nope.” I put my dish in the sink and drop my can in the recycle bin. Ingrid, our housekeeper, is a stickler for recycling.

Cynric talks around me. “I got what I wanted before I left. I just figured he’d bleed out.”

Wystan grabs a drink out of the fridge. “I guess I moved that along.”

Eyes bore into the side of my face as I move to the doorway. “I’m going now.” Wystan steps in my path. I look up and cock my head. “Yes?”

He points his finger. “Don’t tell anyone what you see and hear.”

I nod. “I understand.”

He opens his mouth as Cynric scoffs. “Leave her the fuck alone. No one gives a crap about her or what she knows.”

I head to my room and close the door. “Truer words have never been uttered. Asshole.”

Chapter 2

CYNRIC

I’ve been running on the treadmill for over an hour and my thoughts won’t shift from the little pixie sleeping two rooms away. The sun still hasn’t drifted up over the horizon. My penthouse view is one of the first to catch the morning light. I slow down the machine, stepping off and grabbing a towel. Mrs. Belova will bring my breakfast to me in an hour. When will Isabella get up for school?

I stroke my cock in the shower, thinking about surprising her in her room. I’d wrap that long soft hair around my fist and thrust my cock into her mouth, over and over until I come. She’d swallow every drop. The image of her luscious mouth wrapped around my length, swallowing all I have to give, is just the mental porn I need to finish. I complete my shower and step out, drying myself with too many thoughts racing through my brain. I should listen to my father and get my face fixed so I can jointhe living again. My mind takes me back to the day my entire life changed.

LABOR DAY WEEKEND

FOUR YEARS BEFORE

The number seven car slams into the wall at the fourth turn of the Virginia Motorsports Park. Cars brake and swerve as pieces of metal and rubber fly around hitting cars and the track. I dodge to miss the cars in front of me, dropping to the lower track. “Whew! I missed that collision. Time to pit.”

My crew chief yells in my earpiece. “Pit now.”

I pull into my pit, and my crew chief hands me water. “You’re killin’ it.”

It feels good that Jack’s happy with my performance. He’s a former racer and the best mechanic. I wouldn’t be here without him. Men hustle around my car like a choreographed ballet of men in fire suits.

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