Page 5 of Cruel Russian Monster
He leaned in closer and hissed, “If you make a scene, I’ll hurt you.”
In that moment, I didn’t think I’d ever been more afraid.
Then, suddenly, Jaroslav was there.
Before I could even process what was happening, he had snapped the guy’s wrist like a twig. The sickening crack echoed in my ears, and the man dropped with a groan, cradling his arm.
Jaroslav's steel-gray eyes, dark and dangerous, locked onto mine. Then his hand pressed firmly to the small of my back, and he guided me out of the bar without a word. Stunned and turned on by his touch, I didn't even think; I just moved.
Outside, under the dim glow of the streetlamp, he finally stopped and turned me to face him. That was when I saw it—his eyes weren’t just gray. Not anymore. They glinted like silver with an almost inhuman intensity that made my breath freeze in my throat. I nearly melted right there at his feet.
I was shaking, partly from what had happened inside, but mostly from the way he was looking at me. That expression…a dark blend of fury, concern, and dare I say it—possession.
He looked like a vampire dragged out of some haunting Slavic legend: athletically lean, elegant, and terrifyingly beautiful. Easily a decade older than me, maybe more. I should’ve been wary. I should’ve run. But all I felt was safe.
“It’s time to go home,” he commanded. “Where’s your car?”
I pointed it out. He didn’t ask anything else as we walked over to it.
I got in, started the engine with trembling fingers, and drove back to the hotel, still feeling the phantom heat of his hand on my back the whole way.
***
Over the next three weeks, I buried myself in exams, refusing to let my thoughts drift to him. I told myself it had been a one-time encounter, nothing more. But the truth? He lingered in my mind like a shadow I couldn’t shake.
The moment exams were over and the chance to return to Delaware came up, I took it without hesitation.
I walked into the same bar, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I ordered a drink, took a slow breath, and scanned the room.
And then, I saw him.
Butterflies turned into a full-blown storm. He was sitting alone, his expression unreadable as his gaze locked on me.
I didn’t let myself overthink it. I walked over to him, heart pounding in my ears, and asked if I could sit with him.
He looked at me for a long moment, then said yes.
That was the start of something wild and unforgettable. The kind of whirlwind that wrapped around your soul and refused to let go.
Shortly after, he asked me to be his, and I readily agreed, though I was just twenty and he was thirty-two. As a Bratva princess, he was everything I was drawn to: dangerous, older, and mysterious. With him, I felt seen, heard, and wanted.
We never mentioned our last names. Never asked too many questions. It was safer that way. I didn't want him to know who I really was, for fear that he would change his mind about wanting to be with me.
Not being with him wasn't an option. He was already a part of me.
We met whenever we could in Delaware—hotels, quiet corners of the city, anywhere the world couldn’t find us. It was like stepping into a secret bubble where only we existed.
The first time his lips brushed against mine, it wasn’t rushed or greedy. It was slow, searching, like he was memorizing the taste of me. My whole body responded before I could think. Embers ignited low in my core as I clenched my thighs together, wanting more but letting him take the lead.
And the first time we made love…God. He was gentle, so unlike the cold, steel-edged man he showed to the world when we were out together. He touched me like I was sacred. Knowingit was my first time, he made every moment memorable. He worshipped me, and then he taught me how to do the same to him.
We were perfect for each other.
But as with all good things, eventually it came to an end.
Kira and I had been out shopping with Yegor one afternoon in Philly. It was a perfect day: laughing, shopping bags in hand, and only happiness on the horizon. Then, out of nowhere, Yegor stiffened. His eyes narrowed, and he muttered something venomous under his breath about “a fucking Safin.”
I followed his gaze, and there he was. Jaroslav.
