by Jagger Cole
Hunted By The Bratva Beast
Jagger Cole
Hunted By The Bratva Beast
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
Hunted By The Bratva Beast
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
Epilogue
Paying The Bratva’s Debt Preview
Also by Jagger Cole
About the Author
Hunted By The Bratva Beast
The monster hunting my nightmares might be the man of my dreams.
The hell I was born into broke me, damaged me, and pieced me back together. I’ve come a long way from Russia’s foster system – now I’m third in command to my brother, the head of the Kashenko Bratva.
But the past has a way of never staying there.
There’s a demon on the loose — a huge, savage, ruthless killer they call The Beast. Kostya Romanoff has broken out of his cage looking to settle a blood debt he thinks my family owes him.
Now he’s hunting for one thing: me.
The hunt is on. But I shouldn’t like that he watches me. I shouldn’t tremble with heat and anticipation every time I feel those those eyes pierce, possess, and caress.
The prey shouldn’t ache for the hunter. The rabbit shouldn’t crave the wolf’s sharp teeth.
He’s invading my every waking thought. Corrupting every dream. And it’s getting hard to keep track of what I should or shouldn’t be feeling.
I might be the broken beauty he’s been looking for. And God help me, he might be exactly the beast I’ve always wanted.
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Buckle up: this Bratva stalker/captive romance is a steamy nonstop thrill ride that I promise will leave you breathless and aching for more. Safe, absolutely no cheating, no cliffhanger, and a perfect happy ever after.
A Special Present
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Trigger Warning:
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This book contains flashbacks involving abuse and past trauma. While these scenes were written to create a more vivid, in-depth story, they may be triggering to some readers.
Prologue
Kostya
My finger slips across the cold metal of the trigger like a lover’s familiar touch. My grip tightens on the stock of the rifle, and I lean into the scope. Slowly, I pan to the left across the lavish pool patio. The wind rustles the branches of the tree I sit in, but I pay it no mind.
My focus is singular. My intentions here today undiluted and unflinching.
The scope moves across the patio of the enormous Chicago suburb mansion; the palatial pool area, the six-car garage with luxury vehicles, the household help, manicured gardens…
My lips curl into a sneer as the anger ripples to the surface. The arrogance of these people makes me want to scream. But I hold it in. I focus, gritting my teeth and tensing my shoulders.
There’s movement by the doors to the patio. The scope moves with the subtle shift of my wrists. The patio doors open, and I growl quietly when they all come tumbling out—laughing, joking, smiling. My mouth sneers as the fury rises.
I know these men now. After three weeks of tailing them each individually, looking for the weak spots, I know them instantly; almost intimately. The first laughing man that strolls bare-chested out onto the patio with a beer in his hand is Lev Nychkov—second in command of the Chicago branch of the Kashenko Bratva. Behind him comes Viktor Komarov, the man at the top. Neither of them pulled the trigger. Neither of them is the direct reason I’m here, waiting like an angel of death. But they’re equally as responsible. They played as much a hand in what happened as…
The third man steps out, and I my blood curdles. This one is Nikolai Antonov—one the fastest rising avtoritet—captains— in their organization. But I don’t give a fuck about his position or title. I give a fuck that a few months ago, he shot my mentor, Fyodor Kuznetsov—the man who was the closest thing to a father I ever had—in the head.
The guilt of not being with him—and perhaps stopping what happened—comes rising like bile in my throat. But I shove those regrets down, and I bury them with my hatred and anger—the same hatred and anger that have been my sword and shield for my entire life.
Hatred and anger have kept me alive, especially in the hell I’ve been in for the last ten years. I look at these men laughing and enjoying their lavish lives and spoils in the sunlight and I snarl. I know none of these men grew up with the money and power they have now. I’ll grant them that. But still. Here they are, smiling in their wealth and arrogance like little oligarchs.
Their “broken childhoods” don’t hold a fucking candle to mine. I was born into Hell. I grew up molded by its fire and pain. And I’ve lived the last ten years of my life in its deepest pit—the Russian Gulag prison that’s been my home for a decade. It is that pit of blackness I clawed my way out of when I learned of my mentor’s death. It is that hell that I broke free of, with the sole purpose of coming here and avenging that death.
Inside, they called me The Beast. But the beast has broken out of his cage. And he is starving.
The three men move to sit at a patio table. They open more beers. I simply shake my head. Then I focus on the task at hand. I’ve been practicing with this rifle for weeks now. I know the recoil. I know the way it kicks, and I’ve timed my reload to the tenth of a second. I know I can get three shots off before the first man even hits the ground.
My scope focuses on Nikolai first. My jaw tightens. He goes first. The other two will die today too, but the man who spilled Fyodor’s blood gets his spilled first. My finger curls around the trigger, ready. I relax my body, ready for the death sentences I’m about to dole out.
There’s movement by the patio doors again. I hesitate, frowning as I take my finger away. I shift the scope to follow the movement. But instantly, my breath sucks in. My jaw tenses, and a low growl rumbles in my chest.
The bikini fits her like a second skin. Like it was tailor made to fit her tempting curves and long, sensual legs. Her hips sway as she pads barefoot across the patio, long dark hair pulled back in a high ponytail, and dark shades perched on a cute button nose.
I�
��m hard in half a second.
Perhaps before, I would never be distracted by tits and ass like this. But I’ve been in prison for the last ten years. Ten long, long years, without so much as a glimpse of a woman. I’ve been back in “the world” now for three weeks. I’ve seen women. But I’ve never in my life seen a woman like this one.
I groan as I watch her move across the patio. The bright white bikini cups her full tits tantalizingly. The bottom stretches across her drum-tight ass and curved hips. I follow her with the sight, and I’m spellbound.
She walks to the table with the men. For a minute, I wonder if this woman is one of theirs. But no. I’ve observed them all for three weeks. Nikolai is single and married to his work for the Bratva. Viktor’s woman is a redhead—Fiona, is her name. Lev’s woman is another American—a blonde named Zoey. This gorgeous creature is brunette.
They’re talking, and I frown to focus. I have a listening device with me, though I’m not close enough to get much from it. I pull it out anyways and train it on the patio. The earpiece hisses quietly. I narrow my eyes, tuning my ears. But all I get is the faint muttering of words across the expanse from where I’m perched.
Until suddenly, Viktor stands. He turns so that he’s facing me, and his voice becomes especially loud as he laughs at something she says. And then, I hear it.
“Sister.”
I freeze. The tall, gorgeous brunette is Viktor Komarov’s sister.
My scope slides back to her. My pulse thuds in my ears as my eyes drink in every inch of her stunning, tempting beauty. But suddenly, the three men stand. I hiss, cursing myself for allowing myself to be distracted by a woman.
I swing the rifle back, but it’s too late. They’re moving back to the house. I could maybe get one shot off. But I won’t get all three. And getting one means alerting the other two that they’re being hunted, making a second attempt even more impossible.
Viktor opens the patio door and steps in, and I swear again viciously. The moment is lost. The opportunity, at least today, gone.
When the other two men step inside the large mansion after him, I growl and lower the rifle. Quickly, I disassemble it, sliding the components back into my shoulder case. But movement stops me. I grab the scope and bring it to my eyes as I glance back towards the house.
She’s still out there, on the patio. The girl—Viktor’s sister—takes a sip of the beer her brother’s left at the table. She walks lithely across the patio and sinks into a chair by the pool. She reclines back, her bare skin glistening with sunscreen, those dark shades keeping my eyes from hers.
But I stare at her nonetheless—hungrily, lusting, wanting.
Nikolai, Lev, Viktor, and the whole fucking Kashenko Bratva took something from me. Now, I will take something from them
I’ll take her. I’ll make her mine, and I will drown myself in her sweetness, until it’s running down my chin.
My lips curl greedily as I stare at my new target—my new objective.
“Soon, little one,” I growl quietly. “Soon, you will be mine.”
1
Nina
“Okay! Ready?! Nina! Get in here!” I laugh when Fiona yanks me over into the selfie she’s taking with Zoey. I pull my glasses off to avoid flash-glare, smile—well, my version of a smile—and lean my head to the side as she clicks the phone camera.
“Wait, wait, take it again,” Zoey groans. “I’m doing that derpy smile thing I do.”
Fiona rolls her eyes. “Dude, you look great. Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, who’s pre-wedding party is this again?”
I grin as Fiona sighs and gives me an “is she serious” look.
“Okay, okay, fine. Nina, get in here again so we can make sure Her Majesty is happy.”
“Dick,” Zoey giggles under her breath. She and I both lean in to Fiona again as my sister-in-law clicks the camera once more.
“Okay, better now?”
“Much, thanks,” Zoey nods, glancing at the shot. She looks up at the both of us and grins. “I’m so glad we could do this, you guys.”
“Yeah, like we’d miss out on this fucking view?” Fiona snorts. She glances around the lavish rooftop deck, on top of the obscenely beautiful three-story penthouse apartment that Zoey and Lev—my brother’s best friend and second-in-command—recently moved into in downtown Chicago. She’s not exaggerating either. The view of the city and the lake from the private roof garden is absolutely stunning. And for the price they paid, it damn well better be, I think to myself with a wry smile.
“Feeling like moving back to the city?”
I smile at the sound of my brother’s voice behind us. I turn in time to see Fiona slide into his embrace and peck him on the lips. When he grins, my own heart swells.
I never knew family or love like this until six years ago, when he found me. I didn’t know much of anything besides pain and fear actually, before then. But six years ago, my brother—well, half-brother—found me in the horrible foster house in Moscow that was home. He found me, pulled me out of there, and brought me here, to Chicago and to the life I live now.
I’d have honesty been happy even if my long-lost half-brother was a vagrant living under a bridge without a penny to his name. But as it turns out, Viktor is the head of the Chicago branch of the Kashenko Bratva. And business is very, very good. Good enough for Viktor and Fiona to live in a freaking palace out in the suburbs, and for Zoey and Lev to move into a penthouse that would make Christian Grey jealous.
Fiona grins. “And leave our house? And the pool? Nope, no thanks.”
“It’s okay, only the cool people live in the city now anyways, right Nina?”
I smirk as Lev sidles up to Zoey. He slips an arm around her waist and winks at me. Since he and Viktor grew up on the streets together basically as brothers, Lev is like a second brother to me, too.
Fiona frowns. “I still can’t believe you moved out,” she pouts at me.
I roll my eyes and grin. Since I moved to the US, I’ve lived with my brother. I mean lord knows it’s big enough. But with Fiona and him being married, and the almost certainty of them starting a family soon, it was time. Plus, I’m twenty-three years old. Huge house or not, a girl needs her own place that isn’t one of her brother’s guest rooms.
“Oh, c’mon,” I tease back. “You guys need your space.”
Zoey smirks. “Was your room even in the same zip code as theirs?”
“No, but some people…” I nod with my chin towards Fiona and my brother. “Have volume issues.”
Fiona turns bright red as Zoey and Lev crack up. Viktor groans, rolling his eyes before he grins at me.
“Hilarious.”
“Yeah, when you’re waking me up from another time zone, not so hilarious. There are some things you never need to hear, and your own brother—”
“Ooookay,” Viktor groans, actually blushing himself. “Who needs a drink?”
He flags down one of the catering staff, who brings over a tray of champagne flutes. Around us, the party is in full swing—DJ, lights, fancy food, and drinks; the whole nine yards. Officially, it’s a pre-wedding party for Lev and Zoey. But also, it’s a celebration of everyone being able to take a breath. After the drama of Fiona and my brother getting together, and then the craziness of Lev and Zoey’s romance, involving the rival Volkov Bratva, we could all use a sigh of relief that it’s over. And this party is the perfect opportunity.
And yet, though I toast with the others, and smile, and laugh… something’s missing. It’d be easy to point out the obvious—that I’m the perpetual fifth wheel now with these two couples. But that’s not really it. I know to others—namely Fiona and Zoey—it appears as though I’m “forever alone” and heading towards a future full of cats and late-night reruns. But there’s not a love interest in my life because I choose not to have one.
As if on cue, I spot Nikolai, one of my brother and Lev’s top captains, across the party. He grins and gives a wave, I smile back. Fiona and Zoey desper
ately tried to push that agenda a few months ago. As if Nikolai and I are the last single people on the planet and of course need to get together. It’s not happening; no interest or romantic connection on my part, none on his. And that suits us both just fine.
But the thing is—and it’s something I don’t really expect Zoey or Fiona to really get—is that I’m not “different” because I don’t have a love interest in my life. I’m different because I’m not like any of these people. I’m not like Fiona and Zoey, who grew up with wealth and safety. I’m not like various politicians, society elites, and minor celebrities at this party that my brother rubs elbows with, given the power he wields. And though he and Lev grew up very hard and rough on the streets, even they don’t know the darkness that was my life growing up.
Yes, Lev and Vik had hardship. They came up together fighting for scraps on the vicious streets of St. Petersburg. But they were men. They were big, and strong. They could fight back, unlike me. My childhood almost broke me. My life before Viktor found me is a darkness not even he fully grasps or understands.
And that’s why, even with my brother being who he is, and even with the money, privilege, and life I have now, I’m not like other people. I won’t ever be like most other people, and I’ve made peace with that. There’s no “getting over” or getting past the traumas of my old life. There’s just moving forward and keeping the demons at bay as best I can.