Bratva Prince (Bratva Series Book 2)

That fucking bastard.

I yanked on the restraints to the point of pain, the metal cutting into me and bruising my skin.

After Aleksandr left, he sent his lackeys in to take me to the bathroom. It was utterly mortifying. Completely humiliating. Without a doubt one of the worst experiences of my life, having to pee in front of two random men.

But hey, I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity. Who knew when that giant brute was going to grant me permission to go again.

I scoffed, shaking my head. Permission. Argh, who the fuck did he think he was? First he kidnapped me. Then he locked me up in his little torture dungeon. Then he had the audacity to tell me I was his to do with as he saw fit?

I wanted to strangle the life out of him with my bare hands. And fuck him until I couldn’t move.

Goddamn it. Why did he have to look so fucking good? It made it hard to focus on my anger. He was exactly my type. The sheer, ginormous size of him. Those ruggedly handsome features, and that dominant, commanding personality was everything I craved in a lover.

It was just my shitty luck that it all happened to be wrapped up in that asshole of a man.

I mean, I shouldn’t really be surprised though, should I? I’d always been attracted to the rough, bad boy type. To the kind of man that just took. Controlled everything, completely unashamed of their wants and needs.

There was a big difference between a confident man and a cocky man. A confident man was sexy. He was sure of himself, but not to the point of complete arrogance, where he assumed he could get any woman he wanted with a simple click of his fingers.

That was Aleksandr. He knew he was hot. He had a body women would stab their sisters in the eye for a chance to touch. But he wasn’t conceited. He didn’t strut around like some frat boy with a giant stick up his ass. He wasn’t vain, even though he had every right to be with those good looks and a body carved from fucking stone.

In saying that though, he knew how to harness those good looks and use them like a weapon if he needed to. My body was still on fire from his touch, from the way he gripped my face and stared at my lips like he wanted to take a bite out of them.

Such a filthy little mouth.

I groaned, clenching my thighs together as a torrent of lust rolled through me. He had to have the sexiest voice I’d ever heard. Deep. Husky. Thick with that Russian accent. It was the kind of voice that made your whole body shiver. That made your insides burn.

It honestly wasn’t fair that a voice like that belonged to a man that looked the way he did. Seriously. Women didn’t stand a chance against him. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if he had women throwing themselves at him everywhere he went.

And didn’t that thought just piss me the fuck off.

I tried not to think too much about it, chalking the emotion up to me being horny, since it’d been months since I’d gotten laid.

Yeah, that was it. I was just a horny bastard and in need of a good dickin’ to get myself back on track.

It had nothing to do with the mountain of muscle known as Aleksandr.

I glanced around the room again, looking for anything I could use that might help me escape, but the room was completely bare. There was nothing but four walls, a door and me.

Oh, and that stupid camera.

I narrowed my eyes on it. Was he up there right now, watching me? I wished I had a hand free to give him the finger but sticking my tongue out would just have to do. Childish, I know, but it made me feel better.

A part of me was still reeling from the fact that he somehow managed to get his hands on a police fingerprint scanner. I hadn’t been expecting that, and it put a serious hitch in the whole ‘keeping my identity a secret’ thing.

But that was okay. He had my name. My record. Basic personal information. But he didn’t have my story.

And he never fucking would.

The most pressing issue at the moment, believe it or not, was Angel. If he caved and opened his big, dumb mouth, we were done for.

If I couldn’t get out of here, I at least needed to figure out a way to get to him…and kill him.

My stomach grumbled loudly. I groaned, my head falling forward. The pitiful bowl of rice and beans they’d given me did shit all to curb my appetite.

I was a big eater. I loved my food, and if that was all they planned to give me for the day, I was going to get hangry really fucking quickly.

Nero might have been an ass, but at least he fed me whatever I wanted. Let me use the bathroom whenever I needed to. Unlike a certain Russian behemoth.

“Hey! Hey!” I yelled, trying to get one of the guards’ attention outside the door. “I know you’re out there and I know you can hear me! My voice travels!” When there was no response, I continued, undeterred. “Oi! Dumb and Dumber! Get your asses in here!”

That did it. The door opened, the short and stumpy one with the dark Santa beard walking in. He was younger than I first thought, maybe early twenties. That was good for me. It might make him more susceptible to influence.

“What?” he grunted.

“I need more food.”

“You’ve been given your allotted food for the day.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“You’re a prisoner. Prisoners don’t get a say.” He turned to leave and I thrashed, making my chair scrape across the ground loudly.

“Wait!”

He sighed. “You’re not getting any more food.”

“This is really in your best interest, you know. You ever been around a woman when she’s hangry?”

His face paled, a terrified look flashing in his eyes.

I felt like laughing. He was thinking about someone. Maybe a sister, or an ex-girlfriend? Possibly his wife? Either way, the look on his face made it quite clear he had firsthand experience with a hungry woman. And he did not want a repeat.

“Exactly,” I whispered, letting my voice take on a dark, scary edge. “You really want to get me some food.”

An uncertain look crossed his face, like he wasn’t sure what to do. He scratched the back of his neck in discomfort, his lips pursed in thought. He opened his mouth to say something when another deep voice cut through the air.

“Pavel! What are you doing in there?” The Shaggy-from-Scooby-Doo lookalike came bursting into the room, his eyes hard and full of reprimand.

Damn it. He was older, years of fight and wisdom on his face. There would be no influencing him.

“You know you’re not allowed to talk with the prisoners.”

“But she—”

“I don’t care what she did or said. If the boss finds out you’re in here chatting away with her like you’re best friends or some shit, he’ll have both our heads. Out.” He pointed to the door, one hand on his hip like a disappointed parent.

Pavel backed out of the room without further argument.

“Psst, Pavel,” I whispered.

He paused in the doorway, looking back at me with a questioning gaze.

“What does malyshka mean?” I blurted out randomly.

“What?” he frowned, confused by the sudden change in conversation.

I couldn’t really blame him. My mind tended to jump from one topic to another at the drop of a hat. Short attention span and all that.

“Malyshka. What does it mean? It’s Russian, right?”

“Yes, it means—”

“Pavel!” Shaggy snapped, cutting in. “Go. Now.”

Pavel left the room, disappearing around the corner.

“What about you, Shaggy? Do you know what malyshka means?”

He stared hard at me. “Yes.” Then he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

“Rude!” I yelled, loudly enough that there was no way he didn’t hear me.

I huffed out a frustrated breath, glaring at the closed door. The silence surrounding me put me on edge. It made my skin itch, an uncomfortable feeling creeping down my spine. The unbearable solitude wasn’t helping matters, either.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember the words of advice my father used to say to me when I was on the brink of losing my mind—which, growing up, was pretty much twenty-four-fucking-seven.

As a teen, I had a teensy-weensy bit of an anger problem.

Okay, it wasn’t just as a teen. It carried well into adulthood, but it was something I was working on, and I was actually quite proud of the progress I’d made.

Now, instead of losing my shit any time someone cut me off on the road, I took a deep breath, counted to ten and swore silently, instead of sticking my head out the window and cursing them out six ways to Sunday.

I just had to remember not to let my anger rule me. Not to let my frustrations over a situation I couldn’t control make me want to throw a tantrum like a two-year-old. To keep my cool. Relax.

There was nothing I could do right now except sit and wait for whatever was going to happen next. The problem was, I wasn’t good at sitting still. I liked to always be on the move. Doing something. Anything.

Aleksandr didn’t know it, but this was the worst kind of torture for someone like me. I worked to hide my discomfort, though. I didn’t want them to see how much it really bothered me. They’d taken enough from me. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me filled with so much unease.

My mind wandered to Juan. How long had it been since I last spoke to him? I didn’t even know. I could take a guess, but I had no way of knowing if it was right. I wasn’t even sure what fucking day it was. What the date was.

Anxiety spiked within me. I loved my brother, but sometimes he didn’t always think his decisions through. What had become of the cartel since my incarceration? Had he kept up with all our regular orders? Had he overseen all the packing and distribution?

More importantly, how was he handling The Outfit? There had to be repercussions after Nero’s death. Did he know I was no longer their prisoner? Was he still taking their orders to keep me safe?

I had so many questions, and not knowing the answers, not having the opportunity to find those answers, put me on edge.

I had to get out of here before Juan did irreparable damage to the cartel. He wouldn’t do it intentionally, but like I said, he didn’t think about the consequences of his actions. He would launch into something without thinking it all the way through, and the result would be disastrous.

What could I offer the Bratva in exchange for my release? Everyone knew they didn’t deal in drugs. They were arms dealers. Perhaps that’s what we could offer? A chance to corner the drug market in Las Vegas.

I didn’t know who already ran the drug trade in Vegas, but I knew whoever they were, they wouldn’t be able to hold it against the Bratva if they had a steady supply of the purest drugs at their disposal.

I ran through scenarios in my mind, trying to come up with the most enticing deal to offer the Bratva. What would tempt them?

If I could just find out what they wanted the most, I stood a chance of getting out of here alive before Juan fucked things up.