by Cole, Jagger
The Bratva’s Stolen Bride
Jagger Cole
The Bratva’s Stolen Bride
Jagger Cole © 2021
All rights reserved.
Cover by Plan 9 Book Design | Editing by MJ Edits
Proofing by Jessie Stafford, Teshia Elborne
This is a literary work of fiction. Any names, places, or incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Similarities or resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events or establishments, are solely coincidental.
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No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal and a violation of US copyright law.
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Contents
The Bratva’s Stolen Bride
A Special Present
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Paying The Bratva’s Debt Preview
Also by Jagger Cole
About the Author
The Bratva’s Stolen Bride
Here comes the bride. My bride.
She just doesn’t know it yet…
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I've carved my name into this world by taking what I want. Born into the streets and raised on brutality and violence, it was the Bratva that took me and made me a man.
I decided years ago that there was no room for beauty or goodness in my life. But that goes out the window when temptation falls right into me; literally right into me, and right into my bed.
Zoey Stone is a sweetness I’ve never tasted and a softness these rough hands have never touched before. The pretty little rich girl’s had all the right friends, gone to all the right schools, and played by all the right rules. That is, until she met me.
It should have been a one time thing. But when I learn her father’s promised her to another man to cement a business agreement, there’s no way in hell I’m walking away.
Touching her was wrong. Doing it again could start a war. But I saw her first. I tasted her first. I claimed her first.
Like I said, I take what I want. No mercy, no weakness, no hesitation, and no damn way is she marrying some other man.
Zoey’s been mine since the second I laid eyes on her. And I’ll do anything to keep what’s mine.
...Even if that means stealing her from her very own wedding.
* * *
Heads up! This Bratva captive romance is guaranteed to leave your kindle steaming!
Safe, absolutely no cheating, no cliffhanger, and a perfect happy ever after.
A Special Present
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Prologue
Lev
Three weeks ago:
I can still taste her on my lips.
My blood throbs like diesel through my veins. My pulse thuds, muscles clenching, and my hands aching to hold her, and touch her again.
I stagger out of the elevator into my Chicago penthouse. I stumble like a drunk, but it’s not alcohol or drugs I’m fucked up on. It’s her. I’m high on her… overdosing, like I’ve just mainlined her to a fucking vein. I suck in a breath of air, trying to calm my racing heart as I stumble through the dark penthouse
I groan as I stagger into my home office. I storm to the bar cart and pour a heavy splash of vodka. Then I add three more heavy splashes. But when I bring it to my lips, I pause. I scowl at the drink and set it back down. Instead, I run my tongue across my lips, and I hiss.
No. I may need this drink—and I do fucking need it. But I can’t. I won’t sully the sweetness on my lips or the soft memory of her taste on my tongue.
For a moment, I weigh the possibility of never eating or drinking another thing again, so that I can keep this taste right here where it belongs, on my mouth. I breath and turn to the windows. Slowly, I can feel myself wresting back at least a sliver of control of myself as I take in the view of the city beyond the glass.
I have a house outside the city these days. But lately, this has been my sanctuary—my escape from the world. Also, the city feeds me. I don’t even like people, and I don’t go out or do “clubs” or any of that shit. But just being here, surrounded by the energy of it nourishes me.
You’d think it would be the opposite. If you knew the ugly, horror-show early chapters of my life, you’d think I’d want to go live in the fucking woods for the rest of my life, without ever seeing another person. Perhaps I could. But it wouldn’t be alone. Not after tonight. Maybe I could disappear into the wilderness. But it would be with her.
I close my eyes, and I let myself imagine her and I, just the two of us living like feral wilderness creatures out in the woods. Me trading the wealth I’ve created for myself, and the power I’ve wrested for a fucking log cabin. Just her and I, living off land—fishing, hunting, growing… fuck if I know. Corn or some shit.
And fucking like savages, all day and all night.
With a groan, I shuffle to the floor-to-ceiling windows and I lean my forehead against the cool glass overlooking this city.
I know this was a mistake. A line was crossed tonight, and a big one, at that. Loyalty has been blurred into a grey area. Rules I’ve made for myself have been shattered and neglected. Caution and rational thought have been ground to dust beneath the power of my lust for her.
Watch her, Viktor said. Just make sure no one’s been prowling around.
An order from my boss—no matter if he’s my best and oldest friend. No matter if even though technically boss, we are basically equals. Never mind that the girl I was to “check in on” was the best friend of his Fiona.
She’d been having problems, he’d said of Zoey. An older man was sniffing around, making her uncomfortable. For me, this was a simple job—far below my current pay grade if we’re being honest. And yet there I was earlier tonight, going to her house, looking around for any signs of a predator.
And yet, I became predator. I smile thinly as I chuckle. Or perhaps I was the prey, looking back.
My mind reels at the memory of crashing into her. Of the instant attraction… the magnetic pull that brought us groaning into each other’s arms. The softness of her lips. The smooth warmth of her skin under my rough hands. The panted breaths, the whispered urges. The way her panties caught at her knees and stayed there.
White wine on her breath, vodka on mine. Hunger in her needy moans and begging whimpers. The way the smug, slightly bratty, haughty bad girl routine shattered when I pinned her to the bed. And the wide-eyed, moaning innocence that took its place.
And now, it’s gone. Hours later, here I am, pulse pounding, body aching for her.
Crossing the line was a mistake. And yet now that I’m here, away from her, I know a worse mistake: leaving her bed.
I didn’t sleep with her just now. I didn’t make love to her. But I didn’
t just fuck her, either.
I claimed her. I made her mine, and mine alone.
I know damn well I should walk—no, run away from this line I’ve blurred and shattered. But if there’s one thing I know in this world, it’s my own heart. It’s my own stubbornness, and my refusal to back away from goddamn anything, even if it kills me.
I close my eyes, and I know—I know there could be the barrel of a gun against my fucking forehead right now, and I still wouldn’t back away or keep away from this girl.
Zoey.
It never should have happened. But it did. Even now that the line has been crossed, it should stay forever a one-time thing. But I know it won’t. It can’t, because I can’t back down or look away.
Besides that, at some point, I will probably need to eat or drink something. And after that, you can be damn sure I’ll need her sweet taste back on my lips.
So that leaves me only one option.
I sink into my chair, looking out the window of my dark office at the glittering, neon lights of Chicago.
She’s somewhere out there. Marked by me. Taken by me. Claimed by me.
And all mine.
1
Lev
Present:
“Morning, boss.”
I groan and open my eyes. The light blinds me, searing into my fucking head. I glare at the fucker pulling back the shades of my bedroom and my lips curl.
“The fuck is wrong with you?”
Nikolai grins and shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry, boss. You did tell me to wake you by seven.”
I scowl as I roll my face back into my pillow. He’s not wrong. But that order was given before I was up until four in the morning cleaning blood out of the trunk of my car.
I make a mental note to never buy that brand of tarp again… leaky fucking piece of shit.
With a sigh, I slowly slide my legs out of bed and set my feet on the hardwood floor. My hands rub over my face. I wince as waking up slowly reminds me how bruised the fuck up I am this morning.
“Here. Thought this might ease the sting.”
I smell the strong black coffee before I even look up. I open my eyes and groan in appreciation.
“Nikolai, I think I love you.”
My top avtoritet—captain—and subsequently my right-hand man, chuckles. “You ready to make an honest woman out of me, boss?”
“I’m ready to throw this coffee in your face if you don’t lower your goddamn voice,” I grunt.
He chuckles, but at least it’s a quiet chuckle. “Sorry, Lev.” He frowns. “Last night’s fishing trip went well?”
I nod. “Da. Perfectly, actually.” I glance up at the broad-shouldered captain and grin. “Good work again in getting that intel.”
He shrugs. “It’s what I do.” Nikolai pulls open the rest of my bedroom shades and then tosses the morning paper onto my bedside table. “Any problems?”
I shake my head and take an almost orgasmic sip of the black coffee. “The car got a little wet, but I took care of it.”
“You need to me do a second pass?”
I shake my head again. “Nyet. It’s taken care of.”
He nods. “Big fish, Lev.”
“Huge.”
I didn’t actually go fishing last night. I haven’t even touched a goddamn fishing pole since I was a boy. But I did land a big one.
Mostly, no one in this town is stupid enough to fuck with the Kashenko Bratva. With Viktor Komarov at the top and me as his number two, it could be the goddamn girl scouts and we’d be left alone. But apparently, the criminals in this city have gotten especially stupid recently.
Some particularly brain dead idiots decided to try their luck with opening a drug house within our borders. Nikolai and some of his crew were more than happy to crack some skulls shut it down with extreme prejudice. But in the process, they took home a couple of laptops they’d found. Nikolai being ex Russian Special Forces did some deep dives on the hard drives and came up with some tasty intelligence.
Apparently, the small Italian outfit who were behind this little adventure into Russian territory had themselves a fish on a line. That’s code for someone big and important that they had dirt on.
But what can I say; Russians love us some good fish.
So last night, we went fishing. Myself and a few heavy-handed guys knocked in the back door of these clowns’ clubhouse. To their credit, they went down swinging—hence my fresh bruises. But they did go down—down to the last man, which means their secret dirty is now our secret dirt. Their fish is now our fish.
I sigh as I drink another sip of the coffee. As my head clears, the flashbacks of my brief dreams come teasing back. It’s been the same dreams for three weeks—every night, a replay of my night with her. Every night, I relive the feel of her beneath me, and the taste of her on my tongue, only to wake pissed, alone, and hard.
It’s not like she’s a mystery girl. I know exactly where to find Zoey Stone; at either her father’s lakeside townhouse, or the ritzy apartment he’s bought for her while she’s attending college here in Chicago.
That would be the same ritzy apartment where I ripped her panties off and buried myself to the hilt between her creamy thighs as she begged for it harder.
I groan, blowing air through my lips. No, it’s not as if she’s unreachable, or unfindable. But that’s the problem. She’s not a random one-night fling, or just “some girl” I picked up. If she were, this would be much, much simpler.
But she’s not. She’s a job. She’s an innocent I was supposed to protect, and “keep an eye on”. Not “keep her legs wrapped around my waist while she comes all over my cock”. Worse, her best friend is Viktor’s—my boss’s—one and only, Fiona.
I crossed a major line three weeks ago. And I’ve been paying for it every morning when I wake up with the dreams of her slipping through my fingers.
“Are you going today?”
I glance up at Nikolai. “Going where?”
He frowns. “Sorry, boss. I assumed.”
“Nikolai.”
“Da?”
“I’m on three hours of sleep. What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The wedding?”
I scowl. “Wedding?”
“Yeah. I figured you were going too.”
I winkle my brow. “Viktor and Fiona are in Mexico.”
Call it a perk of being as wealthy and powerful as Viktor—or me, for that matter. When you find your true love, like my friend has with Fiona, you can fuck off to wherever you want at the drop of a hat to bask in it.
Nikolai shakes his head. “Nyet. They flew back last night.”
I scowl and reach for my phone on the beside table, which I haven’t bothered checking since before the raid last night. Shit. Sure enough, there’s two calls from Viktor, and a text about flying back and to call him.
“What did they, forget about it?”
He smirks “Apparently it was sudden engagement.”
I roll my eyes. “Who the hell get married that fast?”
He shrugs. “Someone Ms. Murray knows, apparently.”
I stiffen. Ms. Murray is Fiona. Viktor’s Fiona.
“Anyways, unless you need anything else, I’m gonna—”
“What?” I hiss.
Nikolai pauses at the door and looks back. “What?”
“What fucking friend,” I snarl quietly.
He nods at the morning paper on the table next to my bed. “There’s an announcement in there about it. Seems pretty fancy. I mean a full page in the Tribune can’t be cheap. You need anything else, boss?”
I shake my head in a daze. I’m aware of Nikolai leaving, and the sound of door to my penthouse shutting. I reach for the paper in slow motion. My hands feel like they’re made of lead, or cement; my fingers clumsily gripping each page and whipping aside. Until suddenly, my heart stops.
On the front page of the Society section, in full color, is a picture of the girl I’ve been dreaming of claiming every single night for the last thre
e weeks.
My forbidden lust.
My untouchable temptation.
Zoey fucking Stone. And she’s getting married.
I stare at the page. Next to her smiling picture is the smug face of some fucking douchebag named Chet Brubaker—her groom. My eyes drop, and my jaw clenches. Nikolai wasn’t wrong. The full-page write-up mentions the suddenness of the engagement, labeling it shit like “sparks flying” and “true love can’t wait”. I don’t even realize how hard I’m clenching my teeth or how hard I’m gripping the paper until my jaw hurts and the page rips.
The wedding is today. Today, the girl I can’t get out of my fucking head is marrying some other man.
My vision throbs as I stand, snarling. The paper crunches into a ball in my fist before dropping to the floor.
No.
I’ve carved a place in this world for myself by taking what I want—by showing no mercy, or weakness. By never, ever backing down, and conceding nothing.
Three weeks ago, I took her. I tasted her. I felt her nails raking down my back as she begged for more. Three weeks ago, I claimed her, and I made her mine.
The morning light gleams into my eyes as I snarl and look out the window over this city—my city.
Speak now or forever hold your peace, they say?
Well, I about to fucking roar.