Page 8 of Bratva Hunter

“Hi. I’m…”

She holds up her hand. “Nope. I don’t think anyone can find you here, but never use your name.”

I nod. “I’m using an alias.”

“Excellent.” She approaches and places her hand under my chin. “I’ve got some makeup to cover that.” She nods at my lip. “Not much we can do about the split.”

“I know. Not my first time, but hopefully my last.”

“You have gorgeous hair. We could put in a color wash that would wear off.”

Shaking my head, I take a breath. “I’d like you to color it. I want to look different. Men are searching for me.”

“I get it.” She picks up a comb and runs it through my long black hair. “Thoughts on a color?”

I blow out my breath. “Blonde.”

She cocks her head and raises her brow. “Can’t get there today. We can get you to a warm brown.” She touches my shoulder. “You’ll be stunning.”

I chuckle. “You’re stunning. I’ll be okay as a brunette and maybe I’ll have more fun, or at least fewer bruises.”

“Let’s get started.”

Three hours later, I’m eating a sandwich and waiting for the color to finish. Janelle glances through the foils and smiles. “It lifted lighter than I thought. Your virgin hair made it easy. Now, how short?”

I stare at myself in the mirror. I love my hair. The color and the length are me. Tipping my head, I bite my lip. “How short do you think?”

She leads me to the hair washing station. “Let’s get it washed out and colored and see what we’re looking at. You might just need to keep it braided or up to look different.”

An hour later, my hair is virtually the same length as before but the warm brown makes me look completely different. The technician bleached my eyebrows to match my hair color. The makeup she suggested darkened the color of my complexion to give me a tan I’ve never had. When I walk out of the salon, I feel lighter. Maybe I’ll save myself.

After five days and four different cities, I’ve arrived in Denver. The clerk at the B-budget hotel ignores me and takes my prepaid card. She hands it back. “I put a three-hundred-dollar deposit on the card, so I don’t need to take your license.” She looks at me like she can see through the makeup. It’s obvious to me I’mnot the first bruised woman she’s seen. That’s a sad commentary on our society, that seeing a battered woman isn’t a surprise to people. I take my stuff to my room and shower. I startle myself in the mirror with the color change of my hair and my brows.

Chapter 2

RORIC

My second oldest brother, Thane, strolls into Biggie T’s, one of the clubs owned by our bratva, and sits down at my table. It was actually his table. He used to oversee this club. The woman he’s fucking used to dance on the stage as Little Red Riding Hood. I snicker. Thane thinks he’s so sly.

“Hey?” I raise my head to the server so she’ll bring a second glass to join mine with my bottle of vodka. I pour a shot for Thane, and he downs the glass.

He settles into his seat and leans back in his chair. Loud music resonates around the darkened club. Two stripper poles and a platform for the dancers take center stage. He pours himself a second shot as he purses his lips and frowns. “You’ve got a job to do.”

I turn my head from the gorgeous redhead on stage. “What job? I thought you’re in trouble with our father.”

Thane shrugs. “Papa is pissed at me, but he’ll get over it.”

I chuckle. “You were an asshole to Cynric’s woman. He won’t get over that.” My oldest brother, Cynric, is the second in command of our father’s bratva. “She saved him, you know?”

“Saxon told me.” Saxon is our youngest brother and the one who maneuvers all five of us brothers to get along. Thane sighs. “It’s my fault he got shot.”

I cock my head at my favorite brother. “You can’t control everything. Isabella handled his gun-shot wound, and they’re both settled in a new place.”

The stripper ends her routine on the stage. She’s nowhere near as entertaining as Red, Thane’s girl.

“Isabella’s pissed at me too.”

“No shit. She handles Cynric; she’s got no problem handling you.”

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