Bratva Prince (Bratva Series Book 2)

I blinked, taking in the scene in front of me. Sitting on a massive king-size bed with a thick metal chain cuffed around her ankle was a small Hispanic woman.

And by small, I meant small, barely pushing five feet. She had beautiful, caramel skin, long dark hair and enough curves to make even a priest break his oath with zero regrets. She had a diamond-shaped face, soft delicate features and dark eyebrows that sat above the most mesmerising amber eyes I’d ever seen.

The state of the room was the next thing I noticed. Unlike all the others I’d seen so far, this one was in pristine condition, apart from the broken lamp on the floor. It had expensive oak-wood furnishings, black silk sheets and exotic Persian rugs covering a wide section of the floor.

This had to be Nero’s room.

A thud and a clank drew my attention back to the small woman. The cuff was no longer around her ankle. It now laid in a crumpled mess on the floor, a piece of wire clasped firmly in her hand.

She picked the lock.

I eyed the woman curiously as she shook out her leg and slowly got to her feet. There was something…different about her. The few women I’d seen so far in this shithole were just shells of their former selves. Dirty. Filthy. Drugged up. Covered in blood and semen. Used and abused.

But the woman in front of me was the picture of perfect health, full of life and light. Not a blemish on her fine caramel skin.

An image of me biting into that soft, smooth skin and leaving a mark of my own soared through my brain and blood rushed to my cock, hardening it.

I cursed inwardly. Fuck. Now was not the time for me to be getting a fucking hard-on. I shook my head slightly to clear the lustful thoughts and focused on the matter at hand.

“Move aside, Big Guy,” the woman said, faint traces of a Spanish accent coating her words. “You’re in my way.”

I stayed where I was, blocking the door, my gun still aimed at her chest. “Who are you? What are you doing in this place?”

She was someone important to Nero. That was glaringly obvious considering there wasn’t a hair out of place on that pretty little head of hers. And yet, every other woman I’d come across here looked like the living dead. There was also the fact that she was wearing clothes, while the others had been as naked as the day they were born.

A pair of dark, ripped skinny jeans covered her legs, the fabric sticking to her skin, accentuating those curves. She had on a black t-shirt with a skull printed on the front, a bloody knife sticking out of the head. She was covered in ink, two full sleeves of graphic images running up her arms and neck, stopping just before the jawline.

She held her hands up in front of her and took one step forward. “You wouldn’t shoot a poor, unarmed, tiny woman, would you?” she tilted her head, feigning innocence. She took another step.

I narrowed my eyes and cocked my gun. I didn’t think for a second this woman was as sweet and innocent as she was trying to make herself appear to be.

No.

There was something deadly in the way she moved. The way she glided across the floor. That laser-type focus she had on my gun. The cunning look in her eyes. It showed her for what she was.

A predator.

“Take another step and I’ll put a bullet in your pretty little head,” I warned darkly, letting my voice take on the deep, menacing tone that has made men three times her size piss their pants.

But she just smiled. And what a radiant smile it was.

Either she had no concept of danger, or she did and she just didn’t care. Both were dangerous.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” she ran her fingers down her neck in a light caress, drawing my attention to her breasts. Her eyes darted up and down my body. “And you’re just a tall glass of hard, toned and sexy, aren’t you?” she bit her lip. “Look at all those muscles. God, what I’d like to do to you. Are you on the gear? Because that would be highly disappointing. Not to mention cheating.”

I ignored the comment. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked if I took steroids. When you were as big as I was, people automatically assumed it was because you took performance enhancing drugs. But in reality all it took was hard work, commitment, a healthy diet and, well, good genes.

She was being overly sexual. Was it a ploy to distract me? If it was, it was a stupid one. Yeah, I was hard for her, but I wouldn’t let that rule me or cloud my judgement.

When she took another small step, one so small she thought I probably wouldn’t notice it, I fired a warning shot, nicking the top of her ear.

She ducked, wincing in pain.

I expected her to scream. To cry. To drop this carefree, crazy act she had going on.

What I did not expect her to do was fucking smile.

She lightly touched her ear, a few drops of blood coming away on her finger. Maintaining eye contact with me, she put her finger in her mouth and sucked it clean, hollowing her cheeks.

Fucking hell. My cock throbbed painfully in my pants at the erotic show she put on. I envisioned her on her knees in front of me, hands tied behind her back while I fucked that pretty little mouth hard enough to make tears stream down her face.

Jesus. Why was I all of a sudden so pent up? I’d have to call Mila when I got home.

“Alright, Big Guy, you’re in charge here. And you’ve made your point clear. I won’t move. So why don’t you just tell me what you want so I can be on my way.”

“I want to know what it is you’re doing here. Who are you?” I asked, keeping my guard up. I didn’t believe for a second she all of a sudden decided to be cooperative.

“Nero paid me for the night. But when I heard all the screaming and gunfire, I decided to cut my losses and run,” she shrugged idly, her bottom lip jutting out in nonchalance.

“Paid you?”

“Yeah, you know. Paid me,” she did some vulgar gesture with her hands and poked her tongue into her cheek repeatedly.

My brows raised. “You’re a hooker?”

“We prefer the term ‘escort’.”

I narrowed my eyes, scrutinising her closely. She was lying. I wasn’t sure how I knew it, but I called bullshit. She wasn’t telling the truth. She was hiding the real reason why she was there.

Why? Why lie about it? The whole thing baffled me and made me even more determined to get to the bottom of it all. Unravel the mystery surrounding her.

And I would.

I slowly lowered my gun, tucking it away securely. Taking one step to the side, I cleared a path through the door for her and flicked my head to the side, signalling for her to go.

She gave me a bright, beaming smile and made her way towards the exit, a bounce in her step. “You know, it really is a shame we met under such crappy circumstances,” she said, skipping towards me. “You…I’d fuck for free,” she winked.

I didn’t respond, despite how much her words excited me. She actually thought I was letting her go.

When she got within reach I grabbed her, tossing her over my shoulder. She was so tiny compared to me it was like lifting a pillow. I was over a foot and a half taller and at least four times heavier. Her weight was literally nothing to me.

She screeched in surprise and unleashed all that fire and spirit I knew she was trying to hide behind that sweet and innocent part she was playing.

She beat into my back with her fists and kicked into my stomach with her legs. All while she screamed and cursed at me in Spanish.

“Put me down, you big behemoth! ¡Voy a cortarte las pelotas! ¡Cómo te atreves! ¡Hijo de puta! I’m going to cut your balls off! How dare you! You son of a bitch!

When she realised no amount of hitting or kicking was going to get me to let her go, she lifted her upper body up and tried to wrap her arms around my neck in some sort of reverse choke hold.

The move cemented my original thoughts about her. She was definitely more than she was portraying herself to be.

I wound my arm around her thrashing legs to hold her still, pulled a knife from one of the sheaths at my waist and held the blade to the soft, smooth skin of her hip.

She stilled instantly.

“You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not. Best accept it now. I’m not afraid to hurt you if that’s what it takes to get you to cooperate,” I warned, caressing the flat of the blade against her skin.

A shiver racked her body. Was it from fear or excitement? Was she into knife play?

I shook my head to clear those thoughts from my mind. What did it matter if she was or wasn’t? I wasn’t taking her home to fuck her. I was doing it to find out who she was and what she was doing with that Chicago Outfit bastard, Nero.

“Why?” she choked, like she was a heartbeat away from crying. “I-I’m nobody. I don’t know anything. P-please, just let m-me go.”

She wasn’t fooling me. I had to give her props though. She was one hell of an actress.

I scoffed and put my knife away. “You might as well stop with the tricks. I don’t believe you’re as innocent as you claim. No. You’re hiding something, and I’m going to find out what.”

Her personality switched again so fast it was a miracle I didn’t get fucking whiplash. She went from scared and upset to angry and violent at the drop of a hat.

“You bastard! Let me go! I swear to God you’re gonna regret this! ¡Maldito imbécil! ¡Voy a hacer que te comas mi maldito cuchillo! You fucking asshole! I’m going to make you eat my fucking knife!

I don’t think she realised I could understand everything she said in Spanish. Or maybe she did and she just didn’t care. Either way, I kept a tight grip on her flailing body and marched back through the house, dispatching any fucker I ran into that I hadn’t already killed with a bullet to the head.

The smoke from the explosive had dissipated and I expected her to scream and cry at the sight of all the blood on the walls and dead bodies on the floor. Or at least when I started shooting people.

But no. She just kept pummelling my back with her tiny fists, cursing me out six ways from Sunday.

Not that I particularly minded. I fucking loved her fighting spirit. I loved the feel of her body thrashing against me. It made my cock hard as fucking steel.

Now that I thought about it, that probably wasn’t a good thing. I’d likely have to kill her.

I could always fuck her before I kill her?

No! Fuck. I really needed to call Mila.

I rounded a corner, ignoring the tight, curvy little body currently threatening my self-control and saw a tall, dark-haired woman I’d recognise anywhere.

Illayana.

A tidal wave of relief rushed through me. She was dirty and wet and looked like she was covered in blood, but she was alive. My baby sister was okay.

Emotion choked me, and for a second I almost faltered. I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around her and hug her to death. But I wouldn’t. I could never allow myself to show such emotion, especially in the eyes of our enemies.

So I did what I always did. Locked down my feelings.

Illayana gave me a surprised look at the woman over my shoulder.

“Glad to see you, brat,” I grunted as I walked past, heading for the front door. The second I stepped outside, the cool night air hit me smack in the face. I took a deep breath in. It wasn’t until then that I realised how hot and stuffy it was inside the house.

Nik and Lukyan stood in the driveway, herding a group of men into a blacked-out van. Lukyan’s eyes flicked to me and his brows shot up at the woman flung over my shoulder, kicking and screaming her head off. He barked an order at one of our men and started making his way towards me.

I walked down the steps of the front deck—keeping a tight grip on the flailing woman screeching in my ear—and headed towards Ivan, one of our soldiers who stood next to a dark sedan.

“Keys,” I barked, tucking my gun away and holding my hand out.

Without missing a beat, he pulled them out of his pocket and dropped them into my open palm.

I clicked a button on the fob and the lights flashed, the boot popping open. I pushed it all the way up and chucked the woman in just as Lukyan got to my side.

She grunted on impact. Her amber eyes snapped to me, burning with anger. “I’m gonna fucking kill—”

I slammed the boot shut.

A muffled screech reached my ears, soft thumping coming from inside the trunk. She was beating her fists against the car.

“Who’s the crazy chick?” Lukyan asked, staring down at the trunk.

“I don’t know. I found her locked up in Nero’s room.”

“No shit?” Lukyan took out a cigar from inside his suit jacket and lit it up, smoke billowing into the air. “Why didn’t you stick her with the other prisoners?” he gestured to the blacked-out van behind him with a flick of his head.

“For all we know, she’s tied to the Zetas somehow. Better to keep them apart for now, until we figure out who she is.”

“True, true, true. Smart, smart, smart.” Lukyan took another drag of his cigar, puffing the smoke into my face.

I glared, swatting it away. “Why aren’t you wearing your Kevlar?”

Lukyan shrugged. “I took it off after we got outside. Fight’s over. I don’t need to wear it anymore. I hate the fucking thing. It itches.”

“Father will have your head if he catches you without it on. Fight’s not over until we’re safe at home. You know that. Go put it back on.”

“But—”

“Now, Lukyan,” I ordered, leaving absolutely no room for debate over it.

He grumbled but walked away to do as I commanded. He knew better than to disobey an order from me, even if he was a little shit half the time.

As Father’s firstborn, I was the one due to inherit the role of Pakhan, leader of the Bratva when he passed. It was a role I was born for. I’d trained my whole fucking like for. From the moment I was old enough to understand what would be passed down to me, I worked endlessly to become the strongest I could be. Not only physically, but mentally too.

I’d watched every move Father’s ever made. Studied every attack and defensive plan he’s ever had in the hopes I could be even half the Pakhan he was when the time came. The legacy of the Volkov name fell on my shoulders, and I refused to be the one to tarnish it.