Page 5 of Claimed and Bred By the Bratva

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of mindless Netflix and stress-eating leftover Chinese takeout. I try not to think about Josh's threat, the coldness in his eyes, or how easily he could make my life difficult if he wanted to.

Instead, I think about bronze-flecked eyes and controlled power and the way Dimitri looked at me like I was something precious, something worth protecting. Which is ridiculous because I barely know the man. Besides, I just protected myself just fine, thank you very much.

But as I finally drift off to sleep, I can't shake the feeling that someone's watching over me. That somewhere in the darkness, a guardian angel with dangerous eyes is making sure I'm safe.

It should terrify me.

Instead, I sleep better than I have in weeks.

Dimitri

Iwatchithappenthrough the cameras.

Every. Fucking. Second.

The little piece of shit forcing himself onmyAmani. She's fucking mine, now. I've held off because I know she deserves better. But fuck that shit. Where was her better man when she was fighting off scum? When that asshole had his hands on her body. His mouth where mine should be. The way she fought—brave, fierce, magnificent—and the terror in her eyes when he locked the door.

My coffee mug explodes against the office wall, ceramic shards embedding in Italian leather and imported wood. The screens blur red around the edges as something primal and murderous unfurls in my chest.

Josh Brennan.

I have his full name, address, class schedule, and social security number within minutes. The benefits of owning people in very useful places.

By the time Amani is deadbolting her door and sliding the chain into place, I'm already moving. Gun in my shoulder holster. Knife at my ankle. Brass knuckles in my jacket pocket.

Tonight, he'll learn what happens when you touch something that belongs to Dimitri Ismailov.

The Brennan family estate sits on twelve acres of manicured perfection in the hills above the city. Old money. The kind that thinks it can buy absolution for any sin. They're about to discover how wrong they are. Josh's Mercedes is parked in the circular drive. He stumbles up the front steps, probably drunk on adrenaline and rage from being denied what he thought he deserved. Stupid boy. If he'd succeeded in taking what's mine, I would have skinned him alive.

Since he failed, I'll settle for something more... educational.

The security system is expensive but predictable. Old-school pressure sensors and motion detectors that a competent ten-year-old could bypass. I'm inside within three minutes, moving through hallways lined with family portraits and false gentility. Josh is in his bedroom, pacing like a caged animal while talking on his phone. His voice carries through the partially open door.

"—told you, she's just another whore who doesn't know her place. But don't worry, I'll figure out another way to—" The words die in his throat when I enter.

He's younger than I expected. Maybe twenty-one, with the soft features of someone who's never faced real consequences. Blond hair mussed from running his hands through it. Still wearing the same clothes he had on when he put his hands on my woman. The phone slips from his fingers, clattering to the hardwood floor.

"Who—how did you get in here?" His voice cracks on the question. "This is private property. I'm calling security."

"Please do." I close the door behind me with a soft click. "I'd enjoy meeting them."

Something in my tone must penetrate his pathetic brain because he takes a step backward. Then another. His gaze darts to the window, calculating distance and angles like prey sensing a predator. Smart boy. Too bad it won't save him.

"Look, I don't know who you are, but—"

"I'm someone who doesn't appreciate watching little boys put their hands on women without permission."

The color drains from his face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Amani Greene."

His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for water. The confirmation I needed, written all over his guilty face. "That—that was a misunderstanding. She invited me over, and then she—"

My fist connects with his jaw before he can finish the lie. The impact sends him sprawling across his perfectly made bed, blood streaming from his split lip. "Try again," I suggest conversationally, pulling on black leather gloves. "And this time, tell me what really happened."

Josh scrambles backward until his spine hits the headboard, eyes wide with the dawning realization that Daddy's money won't buy his way out of this. "Please, I don't—she attacked me! I was just trying to—"

The second punch catches him in the solar plexus, doubling him over as he fights for breath. When he finally manages to wheeze air back into his lungs, I'm standing directly in front of him. "Here's what's going to happen," I say, voice calm as still water. "You're going to tell me exactly what you did to her. Every word. Every touch. Every thought that went through your fucked up excuse for a brain."

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