Page 3 of Bought & Bred By the Bratva

I tiptoe to the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise. I open the cabinet and check the cereal box, finding only a handful left. My stomach grumbles, but I ignore it. I dump the cereal into a bowl for them, setting it out on the counter so they have something to eat when they wake up. I’ll figure myself out later.

After throwing on my work uniform for my shift at the diner—a plain black polo and jeans—I head out. The work is nothing special, but it’s steady, and I need steady. It’s the only way I can keep a roof over our heads.

Before I leave, I take one last look at Jamal and Nia. My heart aches because I’m leaving a child to take care of another one. But it’s only for a few hours, I reassure myself. And tomorrow they’ll be with adults at school.

My gaze falls on the framed picture hanging on the wall by the door. Jamal’s big brown eyes, the same as mine, his serious expression that makes him look older than his years. Nia’s smooth cocoa-colored skin. Her soft, round cheeks. I hate that they’re growing up like this, but I promise myself it won’t always be this way.

* * *

The diner’s busy. I keep my head down, moving from table to table, taking and bringing orders, avoiding eye contact with customers who think they can look at me some type of way. It’s just another shift, but it feels longer today. My body’s here, but my mind’s back at that mansion, thinking about Aleksander Maksimov. About those big tatted hands I’ve been imagining on my body. The gravel of his deep voice in my ear. Those blue eyes…

I try to shake it off, telling myself he’s just another hot zaddy. But the way he looked at me, the way my skin prickled all over when he came closer—yeah, I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. And I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be with aman like him instead of the few boys I’ve hung out with so far. Including his own son. Oh God…

I’m lost in my thoughts when my boss calls. “Sierra, order’s up!”

“Coming!” I yell back, shaking out of my daydreams.

* * *

When I get home after my shift, the silence inside our tiny place hits me wrong. It’s too quiet. I push the door open, and find the place is a mess. The table’s overturned, papers and clothes are everywhere, and the TV screen’s cracked. I run inside, my heart pounding. “Jamal! Nia!” I yell.

I find them huddled together on the small, worn-out couch. Jamal’s holding Nia tight, and she’s crying, her little face buried in his shoulder. “What happened?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.

“Mom and Dad came back,” Jamal says, his voice small but steady. “They were looking for money. Then a man came.”

My chest tightens. “What man?”

Before he can answer, I hear movement behind me. I turn and there he is—a tall, broad guy with a mean look in his eyes. He’s leaning against the back wall like he’s got all the time in the world.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” he says, smirking. “I was wondering when you’d get home.”

I step in front of Jamal and Nia, my body tense. “Who the hell are you?”

He pushes off the wall, walking toward us. “Marcus. Your parents owe me ten grand. And I’m here to collect.”

I swallow, my pulse quickening. “I don’t have any money.”

He laughs. The sound is harsh and cold. “Figured. But someone’s gotta pay up, sweetheart.” The word takes me back to the last man who called me that. Tall, dark, handsome… But before my mind can wander off, Marcus grabs me by the arm, yanking me so hard I stumble. “And since your folks ran off, that only leaves you.”

I pull my arm back, but he’s fast. His hand wraps around my throat, and he squeezes just enough to make me panic. “You listen real close, now, honey,” he says, his face inches from mine. Hot breath and cheap cologne assault my nostrils even with my clothes and hair permeated with the smell of fried food. “You got one week to get me my money, or I come back. And I don’t care if it’s you or those kids that end up paying the price.”

I claw at his hand, my breath coming out in desperate gasps. And he gives me just enough air to croak out, “I’ll get it! I swear!”

Marcus lets go, shoving me back. “You better. Or next time, it won’t be so easy.” He leans in, his eyes dark and dangerous, glinting with something sick. Like he fucking enjoyed hurting me and scaring us to death. “And you know what? I like it when it isn’t easy.”

I swallow hard, fear rising in my sore throat, but I keep my eyes locked on his.

He grins, the kind that makes your skin crawl. “One week, sweetheart.”

Then he walks out. I feel the burn in my throat, and I know the bruises are already forming. I don’t let myself cry. Not in front of Jamal and Nia. And I wait until the door slams before I turn around, pulling them into my arms.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” I whisper, even though I feel like the ground’s been ripped out from under me.

* * *

Later, after I’ve made sure Jamal and Nia are fed with leftovers from the diner and settled, I sit at the kitchen table, rubbing my sore throat. I’ve got no way to get that kind of money in a week, and I know Marcus wasn’t bluffing. He’ll be back, and next time, it’ll be worse.

I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find Tisha’s name. She’s been my best friend forever, and she’s always got her ear to the ground. She was the one who told me about that auction. The one that pays a small fortune for virgins. Enough money for a fresh start. Money to pay off my parents’ debts and escape this miserable life.

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