Hunted By The Bratva Beast: A Bratva Stalker/Captive Romance

by Jagger Cole

  “A lot of the time. Most of the time.”

  “Did you scare my date off tonight?”

  “Yes,” he snarls, roughly. The possessive tone makes me shiver, and it makes me throb with a need I’ve never known before. I want to ask the next question. But I’m scared to. I’m scared of what the answer might be, but also scared of what it might not be.

  “Why?” I whisper. “Why did you scare him off?”

  “Nina…”

  “Was—is—he dangerous?”

  “Nyet.”

  “Was he trying to hurt me?”

  “No.”

  “Married?”

  “No, Nina—”

  “So why would you—”

  “Because you are not his!” Kostya snarls.

  His words take my breath away, making me gasp as I tremble in the bed.

  “Then whose am I—”

  “Mine,” he growls savagely. “You are mine.”

  “I…” I tremble, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

  “That is how this works.”

  I smile through the blush. “You simply decreeing that I’m yours?”

  “Yes.”

  My smile grows wider. My pulse quickens. “Does this work on all of your women?”

  “I’ve been in prison for ten years, little one,” he grunts.

  Fuck, it’s hot when he calls me that.

  “No women to stalk in jail?”

  He chuckles, quietly. It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh.

  “No, there are not.”

  The conversation goes quiet for a few long seconds.

  “I’m sorry I shot you,” I finally say quietly.

  “You should not be sorry for that.”

  “Because you were trying to take me?”

  “Yes.” Again, the answer comes with zero hesitation.

  “Why?”

  Kostya takes a deep breath. “This is another question that you might not like the answer to.”

  “Try me.”

  “I’d rather not,” he growls.

  “Kostya—”

  “It is the past, and reasons have changed. We don’t…” he sighs. “We don’t need to discuss it.”

  “Well, I would like to discuss you trying to abduct me.” I bite my lip. “That is what you were doing that night, isn’t it?”

  He grunts. “Yes.”

  My mouth thins. “You could have hurt my family, you know,” I say coolly. “You did hurt some of my family, actually.”

  “The shooting was not me, Nina.”

  I frown. “What?”

  “The shooting. The guns on the tripods. That was not me. I was trying to take you that night,” he says bluntly. “But I was not shooting anyone.”

  I tremble with a cold fear. “Well… who was it, then?” My stomach suddenly knots. “Oh my God, was it the same people from tonight?”

  “Da,” he growls thickly.

  “And do you know who they are?” I whisper

  “I don’t. But I am hunting them.”

  I swallow. “Like you hunt me?”

  “Not like I hunt you, little one,” he hisses dangerously.

  “So you’re protecting me.”

  “Yes,” Kostya growls thickly. “Always.”

  “And you’ve been watching me.”

  “I have.”

  I blush. “Have you…” my blush grows warmer on my face, and a heat tingles across my skin, down over my chest, delving into my core. “Have you liked what you’ve seen?” I whisper.

  Kostya growls.

  “I can think of nothing I’ve ever liked more, actually,” he murmurs.

  I can feel my heart racing faster, and a heat pooling between my thighs. I squeeze my legs together, gasping quietly as I feel the forbidden arousal ignite inside of me.

  Kostya is a dangerous killer. He also might be completely unhinged, or maybe even playing me. But none of that is stopping the uncontrolled lust and desire that starts to surge inside of me, simply by talking to him. Simply from hearing his deep, masculine voice.

  “You knew I was watching,” he purrs.

  I blush, swallowing thickly. “I—”

  “You put on a show for me.”

  My blush throbs. Kostya makes a tsking sound with his teeth.

  “That was dangerous.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m dangerous.”

  I gasp as the throb of desire spikes in me.

  “Do you mean to hurt me?”

  “I am incapable of hurting you. Not ever,” he rasps.

  “Did you like me showing off?”

  Kostya growls thickly. “Careful, little one.”

  “Of what?”

  “You know of what,” he grunts.

  “Because you want me.”

  “You know that I want you.”

  “Is that why you didn’t take me that night?”

  “You shot me.”

  I blush. “Before that,” I whisper. “You hesitated. You saw me and you hesitated.”

  He says nothing.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I say thickly. I’m flirting with a danger I haven’t even begun to fully understand here. But I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. Because even just talking to him has my body tingling everywhere. It has a desire surging inside of my core, aching for him.

  “Nina—”

  “Did you like watching me, Kostya?” I whisper.

  “Yes,” he snarls.

  I whimper quietly. But he hears it. His groan rumbles into the phone, making me even hotter.

  “You’re wet for me, aren’t you?”

  I moan, closing my eyes.

  “Yes,” I admit.

  He groans.

  “Are you—”

  “I am always hard for you, Nina.”

  I sink into the bed, my pulse throbbing. My body writhes and aches for him. My thighs squeeze tightly, and my fingers trace the edge of the bed sheets, as if daring themselves to slip under.

  “Touch your little pussy for me, Nina,” Kostya hisses.

  I moan. “I—”

  “Touch yourself for me,” he growls.

  I don’t need to be told again. My hands push under the sheets, and I moan as they slide over my stomach. They slip beneath the waist of the hospital pants. When they slide wetly over my slick lips, I gasp into the phone.

  “Feel how wet you are for me,” he growls. “Feel how much your little pussy wants me. How much it aches for my fingers. For my tongue…”

  I moan.

  “For my cock to push inside and fill you. To claim you, like no man has claimed you.”

  I whimper as my fingers slip over my clit. I rub the little button faster, my hips rocking up from the bed as I moan for him.

  “I know no man has had you,” he grunts.

  I freeze, blushing deeply. “I—”

  “Don’t pretend with me, little one,” Kostya growls. “I know everything about you.” He groans. “Touch your pussy for me, Nina. Make yourself—”

  “I am,” I gasp into the phone. My eyes close, and my finger sinks into my slick heat. I moan and push my hips up, grinding my clit against my palm, pretending it’s him touching me.

  I can hear Kostya groaning deeply through the phone. I know I should stop this. I should hang up and throw the phone away. I should stay as far away from “The Beast” as I can. But we’re too far down the rabbit hole to stop now. And I’m too lost in the fantasy of him as both guardian angel and devil trying to possess every part of me to let go now.

  “Kostya…”

  “Make your little pussy come for me, Nina,” he snarls. “Make that greedy pussy nice and soaking wet for me, and then let me hear you come.”

  My breath catches, and my body stiffens. This is fucked up. This is so wrong. And this is so about to make me come harder than I’ve ever come before.

  “Come for me, Nina,” he growls. “Come for me.”

  My clit grinds into
my palm. My fingers rub against my g-spot. And suddenly, I’m drowning in my climax.

  “Kostya!”

  I cry out his name, shamefully, as I start to come. My eyes squeeze shut, and my mouth falls open. My body clenches and undulates, and I moan as I grind my pussy against my hand. I twist in the bedsheets, slipping onto my side as another orgasm hits me hard. My body clenches tight into a ball, squeezing and trapping my hand between my legs. I turn my head to scream into my pillow as one last climax explodes deep inside.

  The phone is trapped between my cheek and the pillow. I’m still moaning quietly into it as I come down from my high. Suddenly though, I start to blush furiously when I realize what I did.

  “I…” I blush deeply. “I’ve never… I mean that’s not something I do often,” I blurt awkwardly.

  “I know,” Kostya growls.

  “Actually, I’ve never done that.”

  He chuckles deeply, quietly. “I know that, Nina.”

  My pulse thuds. My skin tingles all over, and I suck my lip between my teeth.

  “Are you hunting me?” I blurt in a whisper. “I mean, are you still trying to take me?”

  “Do you want me to hunt you? To chase you? Capture you?”

  I tremble. “Maybe,” I whisper.

  “Then yes, little one,” Kostya groans. “I am.”

  10

  Kostya

  Moscow, Ten Years Ago:

  Color fills her window. In a world of cold tones of grey, the construction paper butterflies are like sunlight piercing the clouds. I don’t know where she’s gotten the supplies to make them—maybe her school. I don’t know how the cruel piece of human trash she lives with hasn’t destroyed them yet, either. Perhaps she’s good at hiding them when they’re not up in the window.

  It’s few and far between. But when they are up in her window, my entire week gets brighter. My whole month, maybe. This time, I sit by my own drab window smiling across the courtyard at hers. Today, I have a surprise for her.

  She comes to the window. She sees me, and she smiles like she frequently does. She waves, too, and I grin and wave back. Then I turn, and I slowly roll up the sleeve of my shirt. She frowns curiously until I roll it the rest of the way up and press my shoulder to the glass. Instantly, her face lights up.

  I could have carved this one into my own arm with a rusty fork, and it would still be worth it for that smile—that flash of happiness and humanity in this hell.

  I flex my shoulder, and the new blue and green butterfly tattoo ripples against the glass; like it’s flapping its wings. She clasps her hands together and positively glows. She beams at me, her whole face lighting up.

  I flex again, and then point at her own paper butterflies. She gently peels the tape off of a pink one and holds it up. She makes its wings flap, and I watch her giggle. My heart swells. And I must not be used to it, because my face hurts from smiling.

  Suddenly, she whirls away from the window. My brow furrows, and my eyes slide from her window to the one in the living room. I see him, and my jaw clenches. My fury rises as I stand, snarling. I glance back to her windows, and my heart hardens.

  She’s yanking the butterflies down as fast as she can. He’s coming— I can tell from the fear on her face. My hands ball into fists and I slam them on the frame around my window. I feel helpless; caged.

  He suddenly charges into her room behind her. I see her scream and try and shove the butterflies out of the window. But it’s not quick enough. He grabs her, throwing her onto the floor as colorful little paper butterflies drift down the outside of the grey building like confetti.

  Something in me breaks. It’s not the first time I’ve seen this man hit her. I live in a world of violence, and angry, drunk fathers aren’t anything new in this neighborhood. But for some reason, this is my breaking point.

  I whirl, fury and vengeance brimming up to my eyes. I storm out of my room and through the apartment to the front door. I have every intention of going over there to her building and killing that man.

  But suddenly, the front door slams open. Dimitri frowns at me almost falling back from it.

  “Are you ready?”

  I shake my head. “Move, Dimitri. I need to go.”

  “Yeah, to the job. Let’s go.”

  I frown, and then I remember. Fuck. The job. We’re holding up a government post office, for money order slips that can be forged in order to basically print money. It’s the big one—the big score Fyodor has been training us for. And it’s our ticket out of this shithole.

  And yet, the job is supposed to be next week. I remember that now. And yet I also don’t give a fuck about any of that right now. All I know is, a man is hurting my little angel in the apartment across the courtyard. And I’m going over there to kill him now.

  “I can’t.”

  Dimitri stares at me. “You what?”

  “I can’t… I—” I glare at him. “Please move.”

  “What the fuck do you mean you can’t!?” He snarls at me and suddenly charges into me. He grabs my shirt, spins me, and shoves me against the wall. I’m bigger than him, but I still somehow always defer to him. Like he really is my older brother—by blood, and not just the circumstance of Fyodor having picked us both to train as soldiers.

  “You can’t!?”

  “Dimitri,” I snarl. “The girl…”

  He laughs coldly. “You’re deserting our plan for a fucking girl?!”

  “It’s not like that,” I spit back. “It’s—she’s in trouble. She needs my help.”

  “No, Kostya,” he hisses. “I need your help. Our father needs your help.”

  “He isn’t—”

  I recoil as the back of Dimitri’s hand slaps across my mouth.

  “Yes, he is. Where is your father, Kostya? Your real father. Has he written you lately? Sent any birthday cards?” He sneers at me. “Does he even know you exist as more than a regret in your whore mother’s pussy the next morning?”

  I snarl, fury boiling inside of me. But Dimitri holds me fast, pinning me to the wall.

  “Fyodor is our father, Kostya. He is the only father either of us have known. He’s raised us. He has given us food, and a roof. He’s given us training, and a purpose, Kostya.” He glares at me. “And you want to erase all of that, and neglect him when he needs us, for a fucking girl?!”

  “It is not like—”

  “I don’t give a fuck what it is or is not!” Dimitri roars. He suddenly yanks his gun out and jabs the barrel against my jaw. I tense, glaring at him as he glares at me.

  “We’re leaving now, Kostya. And we’re doing this job.”

  “I thought it was next week.”

  “Plans have changed. Get ready, we’re leaving.” He lowers the gun and turns away from me.

  “We shouldn’t do it then.”

  Dimitri whirls to glare at me. “What?”

  “Fyodor is always saying, if the plan changes at the last minute, you walk away.”

  “You’re starting to piss me off, Kostya. Get your shit, we’re doing this.”

  “Dimitri—”

  With a roar, he whirls on me again and levels the gun at my face. “Kostya,” he snarls. He’s shaking with anger. But he takes a breath and lowers the gun. His face falls slightly. “Kostya, please,” he says, his voice pleading. “We do this job, and our lives will change. No more living in this fucking hell. No more scraping by. We do this, and we become men. Think of it, my brother. Good food, good drink, all the pussy you could ever ask for? We will be oligarchs after this, Kostya.”

  I frown.

  “Please, brother,” he whispers. “Please. For me. I need this change. Please.”

  I turn to glance back through the bedroom door, to the window. Across the courtyard, the butterflies are gone from her window.

  “Do this job with me, Kostya. And afterwards, you do whatever you want. Anything. Go see the girl that ‘isn’t like that.’ But I need you. Fyodor needs you. This is what family does, Kostya.”

&
nbsp; I turn to him. And slowly, though my heart breaks, I nod.

  Present:

  The scent of her engulfs me. When I step into her apartment, it’s like I’m burying my face in her long, dark hair. The door closes silently behind me, and I breathe Nina in.

  She’s not home, of course. She’s still at the hospital, being cared for. But the only reason I’ve left her there is that the men her brother has watching her are actually some of his best. Plus, he’s got some of his paid-for cops patrolling the hall too. To add to it, I’ve wired the ledges outside her windows with mortars, should anyone but me try and slip in that way.

  And she’s going to be okay. That’s really the biggest reason I was okay leaving her there. I slipped into her doctor’s office while he was with a patient to read her chart. She’ll be fine. No lasting damage, no concussion. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still seeing red that someone out there wants to harm her.

  I walk silently through Nina’s apartment to the windows, in darkness. I came through the front door in case her windows are being watched. And there’s a good chance they are. I was watching them. Others might be, too.

  I slowly close the blinds before moving to a lamp for some light. I turn, surveying her bedroom. I can’t help but grow harder being in here.

  I’ve watched her undress in here. I watched her touch herself in the darkness, through night-visions lenses. And after last night? Listening to her come for me on the phone? I groan. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine how sweet her little cunt must taste. How she’d moan for me as my tongue slid through her lips.

  I move to her bed. My hand touches her pillow, my fingers tracing where she lays at night. I want to bury my face in her pillow and inhale her scent. But I remind myself that isn’t why I’m here.

  The reason for my visit isn’t to creep through her apartment. I’m here to do a sweep—to see if anyone else has been monitoring her. My mind flashes back to Erik mentioning the “other Russian with the Bratva ink.”

  There are two wolves prowling these nights. It’s my job now to find and destroy the other one before he does the same to me. Or more importantly, to her.

  I pull a piece of hardware out of my jacket pocket. The bug-sweeper will detect any listening devices or hidden cameras in here. Slowly, I sweep it over her walls, her light fixtures, her plumbing hardware, appliances, the clothes in her closets—everything. I go drawer-by-drawer through her clothes bureau. But still, I find nothing.