His Captive Bratva Princess: A Bratva Captive Romance

by Cole, Jagger

  I grin. “So, how bad is it?”

  “What? The fallout of you disappearing?” She groans. “Do you not have Wi-Fi up there?”

  “Nope. And I’m calling you on a burner flip phone.”

  “Wow look at you, sassy. A ‘burner phone,’ huh. That the lingo we’re using now?”

  I roll my eyes. “Just tell me.”

  “Well, yeah, it’s big news. The awards show got delayed because no one could find you. Then they trotted Daniel out on stage with that black eye reeking of booze and falling over himself. I’m also like ninety percent sure he dropped a bag of coke on stage. At the teen awards show.”

  I wince. “Yikes.”

  “Yeah, seriously. But when they finally dragged him off, they got that comedian from the Netflix show to like, ad-lib it. But Belle, people are seriously losing it about you being missing. There are tons of hilarious speculation stories on the blogs.”

  “Any good ones?”

  “Well, the grossest is that you’re leaving Daniel because he and I are having a thing. Puke.”

  I giggle. “How long can you keep that one going for me?”

  “Uh, negative time. There’s no way I’m falling on that sword, even for you. Sorry.”

  I laugh. But then I notice she’s gone quiet.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah… yes.”

  “River…”

  “It’s fine, girl, really.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  She sighs. “Okay, it’s just that these guys came to my house.”

  My stomach drops. “What?”

  “Russians. I think some of them I recognize as the guys from your place. They were just being aggressive, trying to scare me into telling them where you were. But I don’t scare easy.”

  “Fuck, River…”

  “Belle, it’s really fine. Oh,” she groans. “And Jim called me like a dozen times.”

  I scowl. “What did that asshole want?”

  “You, duh. He was as bad as the thugs. Tried to offer me these movie parts, modeling gigs...”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Look, just escape for awhile.”

  I look down at my toes poking at the water’s edge.

  “You’ve earned it, Belle,” she says quietly. “Drop out. Escape. Tune out. Have the wild adventure you only ever got to have on camera. Except do it for real.” She snickers. “Seems like you’ve got the perfect co-star for the job.”

  I blush as I turn to eye Niko down the shore. “Yeah,” I grin. “I do.”

  “Call anytime?”

  “Yeah, and same.”

  I shut the flip phone. Then I start walking towards him. I toss the phone into the grass and then slide into his lap. My lips find his, and I kiss him deeply.

  I have earned this.

  16

  Nikolai

  Chicago, Four Years Ago:

  Most days, it’s hard to think about a time I ever had “The Plan.” I look back on those days in Mr. Palmer’s garage, talking about being the heavyweight champion of the world, and it flips back and forth between nostalgic smiling and bitter anger.

  I was so naïve back then; so fucking optimistic. But that was then. This is now.

  I grunt when the man’s fist slams into my side. Yeah, “The Plan” has changed.

  It had to. It was inevitable. After the hell I went through in Afghanistan, I knew there was no “getting back to normal.” Something changed in me. Something broke. It kept me alive and kept me from blowing my own brains out on a couple occasions. But I knew getting back to this dream that Mr. Palmer and I had was never going to happen.

  And then there was the bit of information about the man who’d hurt my mother. His name is Fyodor Kuznetsov. He’s still alive. He’s still bratva-affiliated. He’s still a monumental piece of shit.

  What the Marines and the desert didn’t fuck up in me, the Russian underworld did. That’s where I went after my tours: to Moscow, hunting for the monster that destroyed my mother’s future. But after a year of wading into shit I had no business getting involved in, it was time to go home.

  A guy I knew from the Marines was opening a gym in Chicago and needed some help, so here’s where I landed.

  But the nightmares are only getting worse. Kuznetsov is still alive, and still out there. My mother and Mr. Palmer are still dead. And the anger inside of me is only burning hotter. That’s what brings me here—to the underground rings. It’s the only medicine that seems to drown out the screaming in my head.

  I grunt again when the man’s fist slams into my stomach. But I’m ready this time. I absorb the punch and then swing up with an uppercut that crushes his nose. The man roars in pain, clutching at his ruined face. But there’s no mercy here. There’s no rules. And there’s no bowing out of the ring.

  This is kill or be killed. In the bareknuckle rings, you fight until someone can’t stand anymore, if they’re even breathing.

  This is my church; my therapy.

  My fists swing, again and again. The man is fading, but I don’t care. Hell, I don’t even see him. I just see my anger. I see my fury in human form. He’s the demons that nip at my heels, and the nightmares that keep me awake at night. And I want to destroy him for it.

  He’s breathing when they pull me off of him. Barely; but breathing. I turn, glaring at the judges table and holding a finger up to signify one more. One more fight.

  The fight organizers stare at me like I’m insane. Then they turn to each other and frown as they talk closely. When they pull back, the guy in charge turns to me and shakes his head.

  “No mas,” he grunts. “No, crazy. You’re done.”

  “The fuck I am,” I snarl. I storm over to the table and slam my hands on it as I leer into his face. “I’m on a hot streak.”

  The man is almost as big as I am and jacked. But even he seems to shrink back from me a little. Still, he shakes his head. “A streak? No, cabrón. You’re on a death wish.”

  “The fuck do you care?”

  He smirks. “Because I just put a lot of money on you for next week.”

  My jaw grinds. “One more.”

  “You’ve had eight tonight. The limit is three.”

  “Fuck the limit.”

  He sighs and hold a hand up. His fingers, like everything, are blurry right now.

  “How many fingers.”

  I frown, trying to focus.

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  “Four.”

  “It’s three.”

  Shit.

  “Manuel, just give me one more fucking—”

  “The answer is no, loco.” He glares at me. “Go the fuck home.”

  I snarl. “Just one more fucking—”

  A hand clamps on my shoulder. “Let it go.”

  I whirl savagely, fists raised. The big guy who’s just put his hand on me is covered in tattoos, but also dressed like a million bucks. Three-piece suit, polished leather shoes, slicked back hair, and a watch that looks like it costs a fortune on his wrist.

  He also instantly moves into a perfect defense position, hands up and ready.

  “I’m not trying to fight you, so we’re clear,” the man growls in a thickly Russian-accented voice.

  “Yeah? Then fuck off.”

  I start to turn back to Manuel to argue again.

  “What’s the plan here?”

  I growl and turn back to the Russian in the suit. “What?”

  “The plan. I’ve been watching you all night. You look good out there.”

  I smirk. “If you’re looking to get your dick sucked, you’re barking up the wrong tree, comrade.”

  The man grins. “How’s that working out for you?”

  “How’s what working out for me?”

  “Being a smart ass with a mouth and a chip on his shoulder.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Well, thanks. Now is there something you need or can I tell you to get fucked again?”

  He chuckles. “I was asking y
ou what your plan is. You just gonna keep picking fights until you finally find the guy who can kill you in that ring?”

  I shrug. “Why, you looking to bet against me?”

  “I think we both know that would be unwise.”

  “So you want to bet for me?”

  “I wanted to offer you a job, actually.”

  I frown. “What?”

  “Ty russkiy, da?”

  I glare at him. “Nyet.”

  “You were speaking Russian to a man outside earlier. And you have Bratva affiliation tattoos on your arms.”

  “I like to travel,” I grunt as I turn away from him.

  “So I’ve heard, Marine Sergeant Antonov.”

  I freeze. I forget about the fight, and Manuel. I turn back to the Russian with the suit and way too much information about me.

  “You have five seconds to tell me who you are and what the fuck you actually want. And then I may or may not mop the floor with that smug look and fancy suit.”

  The man grins and puts a tattooed hand out. “My name is Lev Nychkov. I work for the Kashenko Bratva, and I’ve been looking for a man with your capabilities and background.”

  My eyes narrow. “For?”

  “For a job, Nikolai.” He looks at me. “And as for your threat to fuck up my suit?” He shrugs. “Well, I’d genuinely like to see you try.”

  I glare at him. I think about it for a second. Then I shake my head as I start to turn.

  “I don’t need a job—”

  “Yes, you do.”

  I pause, my back to him.

  “Not just a job. You need a purpose. You’re thirsty for it. It’s why you keep coming to places like this to swing at your demons, hoping they’ll finally hit back hard enough to end the roaring in your head.”

  My jaw clenches. I slowly turn to him.

  “You think you’re the only angry asshole who’s gone down that road, Nikolai?”

  “You don’t know shit about me,” I hiss.

  “Yes, I do.” Lev gets right in my face, without flinching. “Because I’ve been you. I’m offering you purpose, Nikolai. I’m offering you a place in a family, in a brotherhood.”

  I think about it. My mind goes blank for a second. And suddenly, I’m in Mr. Palmer’s garage again.

  Fix your stance, Niko.

  My eyes close. My stance is fucked. It’s been fucked for years; I’ve just refused to correct it. I just keep teetering and trying to find my balance, because I don’t want to look down and face reality.

  When I open my eyes, I almost hope this Lev guy has fucked off so I can go back into the darkness again. But the fucker is still there.

  “Well?”

  He holds his hand out. I look down at it. Then slowly, I shake it.

  “Fuck it, sure.”

  He smiles thinly. “Yeah, we’ll work on that attitude.”

  Present:

  By the fourth night at the cabin, I never want to leave. Literally never. It’s late, and I look down at the angel sleeping in my arms. My hand gently strokes Belle’s bare back, and I smile. Fuck, I want this moment to last forever.

  It’s good that there’s no internet up here, and that we’ve just got shitty flip phones without web access. Lev’s filled me in a little bit about the aftermath and fallout of me taking Belle like I did. I’m not worried about the Volkov shit; fuck them. But I am worried about derailing her entire career.

  Luckily, it seems like Daniel came through in a pinch to take the heat away from her disappearing act. For one, the guy walked out on stage at that awards show after I knocked his ass out looking like shit. He also allegedly dropped coke on stage, which his agency vehemently denies. But there’s a dozen clips on YouTube of it literally falling out of his pockets. At an awards show aimed at twelve-year-olds.

  So now the focus is on him, and that Belle left to “get away from his drug problem.” I roll my eyes. Whatever. All I know is, she’s here with me.

  Lev’s also told me that it’s actually weirdly quiet back in Chicago, which seems fishy to everyone. Yuri Volkov himself is in town, which everyone thought was going to mean all-out war. But there hasn’t been shit. Yeah, they’re poking around for Belle. But there hasn’t been a single incident or shot fired. Nothing.

  I close my eyes and slide a finger up and down her spine. For the first time in my damn life, the screaming in my head has gone silent—and I do mean silent. I smile. I’m not used to this silence. I’m not used to the feeling of peace.

  Maybe I’ve just been too busy fighting my whole damn life to notice that at least for this moment, there’s nothing to fight. My mother’s demon is dead by my hand. I have a purpose, and a brotherhood. I have a brother, at that.

  And I got the girl.

  So this is what peace feels like. It’s a weird fucking feeling when you’re not used to it.

  I start to close my eyes to follow Belle into sleep. But then I see the lights. My heart thuds. I sit up quickly and yank my head around to glance out the window.

  Fuck.

  Three sets of headlights are barreling though the trees towards us, down the dirt road. It’s not Lev; he’d have called. And whoever it is doesn’t give a shit that I know they’re coming. They’ve got their headlights on, for God’s sake. They want me to know they’re coming. Which means they know it’s just me and Belle here.

  My jaw ticks. The fight impulse kicks in.

  “Belle,” I growl, shaking her awake.

  “Hmm?” She opens her eyes sleepily and then grins. “Who’s insatiable now—”

  “We have to go, now,” I grunt.

  She instantly shakes off sleep, sobering. I nod out the window, and her hand flies to her mouth.

  “Not your people?”

  I shake my head. “No, but I have a guess who it is.”

  Her face pales. “How?!”

  “Not a clue, but we need to move, now.”

  She scrambles from the bed. I march over to the big, cheaply-framed poster of the Black Sea on the wall of the living room. I roll my eyes and think “nice touch” to whichever of my Russian brothers with a sense of irony set this cabin up.

  I yank the poster down and reach for the brass poker next to the fireplace.

  “What are you—”

  The poker smashes into the sheetrock wall.

  Belle gasps behind me. “Niko, what the fuck?!”

  I swing again and again, until I can see the door behind the sheetrock. The headlights are getting close. I hiss and start using my hands to rip away the rest of it, revealing the big storage locker behind the wall.

  Belle stares at the gaping hole in the wall. “What the hell is that?”

  “This is a Brava safe house,” I growl. I punch in the key code, and the door clicks. When I swing it open, Belle gasps.

  Inside is an arsenal—AKs, handguns, ammo… my mouth thins. And grenades. There’s also some cash, a couple suits, some men’s jeans and t-shirts, and some men’s tracks suits, which is so Russian mafia it almost hurts.

  I grab the smallest track suit I can find and turn to her. Belle frowns.

  “Not a lot of women in the Bratva huh?”

  “We’re working on that.”

  She smirks, but I can tell she’s fucking terrified. She slips the track suit on while I pull on some jeans and a t-shirt. I grab a rifle and two handguns, checking the clips on all three. I eye the grenades as the cars come to a stop outside.

  I hear doors opening, and barked commands in Russian. Yeah, it’s the Volkovs. I glance at Belle, my mouth thin. This is going to get hairy, and fast.

  My bike is on the far side of the house from where the cars just pulled up. But we’ll never get out and back down that road without getting shot to bits.

  I take a slow breath. This is going to be do or die. And I am not dying here. More importantly, there’s no fucking way I’m letting a single hair on her head get hurt.

  “Belle!”

  Her head snaps to mine when we hear Daniel shrieking her name out
side.

  “You fucking whore! Get out here!”

  I hear laughing, and then another voice I recognize.

  “Nikolai!” Vadik, Yuri’s second-in-command calls out. “Do not be fucking stupid, Nikolai!” He yells. “This doesn’t have to end in you dying. This isn’t about Michail and the mess you left at the Drake Hotel. It is water under the bridge. But you took something that does not belong to you,” he barks. “We are merely taking it back.”

  “Come and try!” I yell back.

  I check the rifle. I glance out the windows and do a quick count before the heat turns up.

  Shit. There’s three cars of guys—Vadik plus twelve others. And Daniel, but he doesn’t count. I glance again, eyeing the Volkov men. They’re not elite forces, at least that much is obvious. They’re not in any real formations, and they’re way too tight around those vehicles.

  Helmand province flashes back to my mind for a second. Yeah, everyone hugging the cars like that would not fly over there. That’s how you get group-fragged.

  I glance down at three metal balls by my feet and smile thinly.

  Like with a grenade.

  I turn to Belle, my eyes holding hers. “This is going to happen fast,” I say quietly.

  She nods. She’s obviously terrified, but she’s swallowing it back.

  “Belle—”

  “I’m fine,” she says tightly. She swallows and looks into my eyes. “Are we—”

  “We are not going to die here,” I growl. “I promise you.”

  “Just send her out, Nikolai!” Vadik barks. “I’m serious. No one is looking to start a goddamn war over this.”

  “Yuri out there?”

  He chuckles. “We don’t need to involve Yuri in any of this. You send her out, we leave, you go on with your life. It is that simple.”

  “Yeah? Well, it’s not happening. And I have a better idea.”

  Vadik sighs. “Niko, think this through before you—”

  “How about you take Daniel’s fist and shove it up your ass. How’s that?”

  “I’m gonna cap your ass for cold-cocking me, you fuck!” Daniel spits furiously. He sounds like a spoiled little child, angry that he didn’t get his way.