British Bratva

by Flora Ferrari

  His laptop was gone. Of course it would be. He wasn't stupid enough to leave that lying around. But there was no sign of the oversized coffee cup he'd settled in with, and the place he'd been sitting looked like it had been vacant for a while.

  The bell at the top of the door chimed when I pushed it open and I gritted my teeth, swallowing hard, because the happy little jingle was so bloody unwelcome. Feeling shaken, I went up to the counter.

  "The guy who was sitting in the window, when did he leave?"

  All I got was a blank stare. "I'm sorry luv, I don't keep track of every single customer."

  I looked over my shoulder, eyebrows raising. "There's no one else in here."

  The guy matched my eyebrow raise, shifting his stance, weight on one leg and he folded surprisingly muscular arms - for a barista - across his chest. My eyes darted to the name tag pinned to his t-shirt. Piotr. "I didn't see anyone."

  I stifled a growl. "Of course you didn't."

  Maxim had bloody well left me here without a word. And now he was probably pissing himself laughing at me falling for his nonsense. Either that, or he had a fellow countryman who was willing to keep his cover for him at all costs.

  I shook my head, avoiding the urge to flip him off as I exited, letting the door swing back hard behind me. In the street, I tugged the cable out of the battery and transmitter set, irritated by the scratchy stickiness of the squares of tape glueing the damn wire to my skin.

  What was I expecting? All he wanted was the information he needed, and I'd just given him that. He didn't need me any longer. This was it. Daydream over.

  My chest was tight and I swallowed hard, determined not to let myself start crying in the middle of the street. What was I going to do now?

  I was on the point of despair, when I looked up, and there he was, standing in the street with his phone against his ear and a scowl on his face.

  "Come on. We don't have any time if we're going to get the damn thing off that bitch."

  Relief flooded through me, and I let out a gleeful little breath. Of course he hadn't given up on me. Maxim would never do that. He'd been fighting for me before he even knew me.

  CHAPTER 24

  Elizabeth

  When Max hung up the phone, he looked moodier than ever.

  "What's going on?"

  "Sandra's taking the manuscript to the publisher."

  "When?"

  "Right now."

  I frowned sharply. This wasn't good. If the list of names got out after everything he'd done to try and stop it, someone was going to try and say Maxim hadn't done his job, because I'd caused too much of a distraction. Worse, maybe they'd think I distracted him on purpose.

  "Where is she?"

  "I don't know. In her car."

  I took Maxim's phone off him. "Then it's not over yet. Get the bike, we need to go to Hammersmith. You're still tracking her, right?"

  "Of course I am. What are you planning?"

  "We're going to take it back, Maxim, that's what."

  Holding my breath, I waited for the phone to stop ringing and someone to pick up. "Mitch? It's Elizabeth. Can you do me a favor? I need some of the guys to help me out. The ones with mopeds. You know who I mean."

  Mitch sounded grudging and there was a solid pause, but the old man let a breath out anyway, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "What have you gone and got yourself messed up in, girlie?"

  "I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill you," I joked, and that was enough to get a bark of a laugh out of him. "It's got to be now, Mitch. I don't have any time to explain."

  "Alright. Leave it with me. Don't you worry. They'll be ready when you want them. Just don't go telling Cassie."

  "Thanks Mitch. I owe you big time."

  Maxim

  "Right lads, you understand what the job is?"

  I folded my arms across my chest, squinting across at half a dozen teenagers, dressed in an assortment of tracksuits that had nothing at all to do with a willingness to work out, although half of them had come from Elizabeth's boxing gym. Friends of friends of friends. Down the line enough that they didn't really know her. But Mitch knew the kind of people she was after.

  I was rewarded with a few unimpressed stares, and some wry, curling smiles. Someone revved the engine of their moped and helmets snapped down, and the other engines buzzed to life too.

  I'd seen enough of this town not to be surprised by how quickly Mitch had them here, under the underpass, right on the road that Sandra's car was due to come along.

  It was a stroke of genius on Elizabeth's part. She'd heard enough things not quite on the right side of the law to think that a Russian partnership wouldn't go amiss, and she wasn't wrong.

  Some had their hoods pulled up over their heads, others had helmets on, some with reflective vizors over their faces, others brightly colored and open at the front like motocross helmets and they all started buzzing around us, pulling into formation around my Ducati.

  Used to be the police couldn't risk a chase with a kid without a helmet on. They'd tightened that up, but I'd seen gangs like this make brazen smash and grabs at high speed, taunting the Old Bill as they gave chase. Fake plates and a bit of organisation, enough to get them weaponised and effective. It was one particular strand of crime us Russian's weren't immediately involved in. At least, we hadn't been until right then.

  My Ducati was by far the most powerful bike in the set, and the others only had little buzzing motors, but it didn't matter, they had speed and maneuverability. They could get in quick and get out faster. Elizabeth straddled the bike behind me, and pulled her helmet down, adjusting the vizor.

  The pair of us were all in black. Fake plates were an easy switch when I already had a garage full. I'd waited until we were away from the building, out of sight of any traffic cameras to switch them out.

  The mopeds flanked me as we roared up the dual highway, forming into a V like tight formation fighter jets. Each moped had a driver and a pillion rider, ready with fast hands and whatever weapons came to hand.

  Like something out of Mad Max, one of the kids at the back pulled a wheelie and another one clinging to the back of his mate's bike cranked up the volume on a portable speaker plugged into his phone. I might have been a gangster, but I'd never done anything as foolishly flashy as this.

  The lot of them were animals. Undisciplined, crazy, stupid. They were exactly who we needed to use.

  I saw the Jaguar pull out of the slip lane at the next junction we came to. We swarmed up the fast lane, overtaking until we were three cars ahead, two cars, distance narrowing. None of the drivers wanted to look at us. Passengers averted their eyes. None of them wanted to signal to us that they were likely targets.

  Maybe another day they would have been, but right now we were only after one thing.

  The deep red paintwork and chrome trim glinted in the low sun as I waved the boys closer. I felt Elizabeth's arms release from my waist. No doubt she was copying the cocky shit riding pillion while he wielded a crowbar in one arm, the other hand gripped onto the handle at the back of the bike, leaning back for balance.

  They came in obnoxiously close, near enough to shred the immaculate metalic burgundy paint, and from the way I saw Sandra's eyes flicker to her mirrors and her knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, she already knew she was in trouble.

  The car started to accelerate, until one of the kids zipped into the lane in front of her, weaving erratically across her lane while his mate looked back, jeering, laughing. There was never going to be any getting away. She glanced across, out of the side window and I could see the fear in her eyes.

  Up close to the window, I could see a manila folder on the passenger seat with a navy blue pen drive on top of it. Sandra gunned the engine, trying to make a break by pulling away into the fast lane.

  Two of the bikes behind crept around, engines buzzing like crazed hornets as they boxed her in. The panic must have been settling in, just the way the adrenaline had well and truly kicked in wi
thin all of us.

  I worked alone, but there was something unique about being part of a team and having a daring plan like this fall together. I could feel Elizabeth's body tense with it, and I knew she was feeling the rush, the buzz that could be all too addictive.

  Right now, we were all invincible. Just as long as no one made a mistake.

  I revved the engine, zipping in closer, pulling in along side the passenger door again. Sandra glanced across, reaching for her mobile phone on the dashboard.

  Even if she called the police, we'd be long gone by the time they got here. Rapid response took longer than that to mobilize. We just had to split up and get out of sight of the helicopters before they could scramble them.

  On the back of the bike, Elizabeth gestured to the kid with the crowbar, and he handed it over.

  Glass crunched, crumbling to sugar cubes, and Sandra screamed. I concentrated on the road, hands firm on the bike's handles to keep it steady. Elizabeth was worth a thousand times more than any list could ever be and the harsh concrete was spinning fast beneath us, ready to strip skin from bone if I made one false move.

  The first moped came in close again, dropping back ahead of us to slot into a dangerously tight space ahead of my bike and I let out a growl that no one could have heard. If the dickhead lost control and skidded, we were all dead.

  Elizabeth shifted on the back of the bike, and I countered the wobble, leaning out the other way as she stretched across, inside the car. When I glanced over, the data stick was just out of reach, and Sandra was making an attempt to bat her hand away.

  Elizabeth grabbed her fingers, twisting them sharply enough she let out a yelp and the car swerved dangerously, making the moped on the far side of the car drop back to avoid getting sandwiched between the car and the guard rail.

  I was glued to it, eyes on the road, the car, Elizabeth. They say bikers see five moves further ahead than car drivers, and I was damn well testing that theory out. Everything was a knife edge calculation, angles and speed and braking distance. Caution was gone. All that mattered was getting it right.

  Elizabeth came out with the folder, holding it high. One of her boxing mates was right there, tickling the treads of our rear tire with the damn mudguard on his rally bike, and she handed it back to him with the ease of a relay runner passing a baton.

  "Got it?" I shouted against the roaring wind.

  She shook her head. "Still need the stick."

  I gritted my teeth, leaning the bike back in to steer us close enough for her to make another grab. With her helmet on, all Elizabeth could do was reach her arm in. She couldn't get eyes on what she was reaching for.

  In the distance the roar of sirens started up. Racing down the other side of the central barrier, a barrage of police cars were on there way. They'd be at the roundabout in minutes, racing along to catch us.

  We needed off at the next exit.

  Elizabeth straightened up again, and I revved, ready to cut and run.

  "Leave it!" I barked, but she had other ideas.

  "One more go!"

  Without a moment's pause, she tugged her helmet off.

  In the car, Sandra's eyes widened in recognition and I heard her shout out. "Oh my God, it's Elizabeth Harrington!"

  Half of me wanted to brain her, the other half wanted to fuck her senseless. She didn't need to take that risk just for this, but she had and she would do, because she knew we needed it. Fuck whatever Valentin thought, she was good as Russian.

  The slim chance she'd had of slipping back into her old life had just gone up in flames. As of right now, she was officially on the run. Every effort I'd taken to keep her away from the consequences had gone up in smoke. And she'd just stated pretty bloody solidly that she was on our side.

  God damn it, she was sexy when she got demanding, gesturing me to bring the bike back closer in. She was born for this. Just like I was.

  She leaned out further than I could have with my bulk, making the most of her petite frame and the strength in her arms as she used the frame of the car to hold herself, head ducked into the window.

  This time, it took her a matter of seconds to grab the data stick, and she leaned close to tuck it into the zip pocket on the front of my leather jacket before she pulled her helmet back on.

  "Let's go!"

  One hand high, she gave the universal OK gesture to our entourage, and the mopeds peeled off, zig zagging up the road.

  I gunned the engine and let it rip, practically igniting the road beneath us, rubber burning as we licked a straight line right up the centre of them. The pair of us in black from head to toe, and the bike flashed deep, bright red. We must have been no better than a streak of color to Sandra's stressed out eyes.

  Sirens shrieked behind us, and I made it to the first junction ahead of our moped team. They scattered, peeling off down different turnings, and I bore us on, before doubling back towards the underpass, killing the speed.

  I hated to have to ditch the Ducati, but we had no other option.

  In the shadow of the bridge, the guy who'd snatched the folder handed it back over. Adrenaline high, there were handshakes and squeezed fists. I slapped shoulders, nodding thanks.

  And we ducked into the Addison Lee car I'd had waiting in the layby. We'd been using them to courier drug deals and to sub in for getaway cars for years and they always proved useful. Respectable private hire taxis couldn't easily be held to account. Especially when it was all individual drivers and cash in hand.

  "We're always in your debt. Don't worry, a Russian always looks after his friends."

  Elizabeth slid onto the leather back seat, into the far corner, already pulling off her black jacket and wiggling out of her jeans, unashamed about changing in the back of the car. I'd made it clear to her the best way to vanish was to be completely different from what the police were communicating over radio.

  I slammed the car door closed behind me, leaning in to take a deep, deep kiss, thoroughly turned on by the fact that Elizabeth was wearing the data stick around her neck like some kind of pendant now. And not much else.

  "Sergei, let's go. Drive carefully."

  "You got it Maxim."

  I caught his eye in the rear view mirror and I glared at him as his eyes started to wander towards Elizabeth.

  "Eyes on the road Sergei."

  He gulped audibly. "Right you are mate. Don't want to get pulled over for any funny business in the back, that's all. The windows aren't that tinted, you know what I'm saying?"

  I didn't care. I wanted her, right then and there. The woman was going to be the death of me.

  She had me ready to go, zero to sixty, and I loved the way she pulled herself hard against me, letting me arch her back against the seat as I kissed my way down her chest. Her thighs spread to wrap around me and my hand slid down her hip, my thumb hooking the side of her knickers and drawing them down.

  Elizabeth's eyes locked onto mine. "Wait until we get home, Maxim."

  CHAPTER 25

  Elizabeth

  Maxim was all over me, riled up like I'd never seen him and I realised he was utterly turned on by my performance on the back of his bike. He wasn't the only one still riding on the adrenaline.

  If there was ever any doubt that I wanted to be a part of Maxim's life in the Bratva, it was gone now. I'd loved every minute of cornering Sandra's car. I was going to replay the look on her face when I took my helmet off a million times over.

  Snatching the manuscript right out from under her fingertips made me feel so powerful, so strong. The getaway was thrilling. Sergei drove like a race car driver, while the pair of us changed in the back seat, and Maxim couldn't keep his hands to himself.

  Maxim called out another address, South of the river, in the dodgier side of Battersea that was all council houses and housing association flats, and when he screeched us to a stop, I was still stuffing my clothes into my bag, and Maxim was still grabbing for me, kissing me at every turn.

  He led me up the concrete steps
that smelled like someone had peed in the stairwell and up along a dark corridor, pulling out a set of keys.

  I could see the window of the back room of the narrow apartment as soon as he opened the front door. The place was tiny, and the laminate flooring was coming up in patches, but I didn't care.

  There was a photo of a kid, who looked a lot like Maxim on the wall, and he dragged me into a bedroom with yellowing anaglypta wallpaper, peeling away from the walls at the seams and a standard sized double bed. Just the mattress, covered with a sheet, and sleeping bag curled at the end of it.

  He walked backwards into the room, pulling his jeans down, stripping off his shirt, and I pushed him inside as keen for his kisses as I was to get rid of every single scrap of extraneous clothing that was keeping us apart.

  In just my underwear, I straddled him when he was sitting down on the bed, and he pulled at my lace knickers, stretching the elastic until I heard it start to tear.

  "Oh, fuck, Maxim."

  I was wet for him already and his cock was straining up to meet my pussy once the thin lace was out of the way. Rising up on my thighs, I made a grab for him, pulling his cock into alignment and I sat down on him, taking him in deep and slow.

  Maxim let out a hum of a purr, voice almost too low for me to hear it, and his eyelids flickered like he was already close to losing control.

  "You're so sexy Yelizaveta. The sexiest woman in the world."

  I rode him hard, shouting out every time his cock bottomed out inside me, shooting electricity through me with the force of a thousand volts. His cock was made to fit inside me perfectly and every stroke lit me on fire.

  I could barely keep the motion going, and just as I was flagging, Maxim let out a groan.

  He flipped me on to the bed, pulling my leg up so my knee was over his shoulder and he plunged into me deeper than I'd thought he could go. I nearly died, arching and groaning, seeing nothing but black as he pounded into me, faster and faster, lips on every inch of my skin.