Bratva Prince (Bratva Series Book 2)

“What are you doing, Emily?! Tell him you love him! Tell him!!” I screamed at the TV as Emily Cooper let the door shut, not telling Gabriel—the man she loved— she had feelings for him.

I never considered myself a lazy person, but since being locked up here I’d found that if the situation called for it, I could be lazy. So lazy, in fact, that I’d managed to binge watch the first two seasons of Emily in Paris on Netflix.

I was just as confined here in this house as I was down in that torture chamber. At least here, I had a comfy bed and a flatscreen TV. That kind of made up for it.

After Aleksandr left last night, I’d fallen straight to sleep, emotionally and mentally drained. I hadn’t planned on fucking him, or spilling my entire life story to him, but Aleksandr had a way of pulling things out of you. And after his own declarations, it’s not like I could deny him answers. Not after he’d been so forthcoming. After he’d told me what happened to his mother.

His poor, poor mother.

I’d thought numerous times about what it would feel like, if the situation were reversed and it had been my mother who’d been raped and tortured.

I couldn’t stand it. Not even the thought of it.

I had no idea how Aleksandr was even walking around with all that guilt and anguish. Even though it wasn’t his fault.

It just showed what a strong man he was, to be able to put all that away and continue on.

I hoped, after talking with me, he understood that it really wasn’t his fault. That he shouldn’t blame himself. I wanted to relieve him of all the pain he was feeling, all that guilt he was carrying around. If I could, I would take it for him, so he didn’t have to live with it anymore.

Any thoughts of escape vanished with that one conversation. He’d not only shown me his vulnerability, but he’d made it crystal clear he planned to release me, that he wasn’t going to hurt me. By letting me call Juan and arranging a sit down, he’d proven that he was hoping to part amicably. That he didn’t want a war between the cartel and the Bratva.

Which was a good thing for us, because I didn’t think we could survive a war against them. They were too well organised. The number of men I’d seen patrolling this place alone showed me how outmanned we were.

I didn’t know what they’d ask for in exchange for my release. All I could hope for was that it was something we could give them.

I picked up the remote and pushed play on the next episode of Emily in Paris, much more invested in this show than I should be. I reached for the half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich somewhere on the bed next to me without taking my eyes off the screen, taking a bite out of it.

When the old woman who brought me food gave me this earlier, I almost couldn’t believe it. I mentioned once to Aleksandr that I love grilled cheese sandwiches and next thing I know, I have an entire plate heaped with them.

The man knew the way to a woman’s heart, that’s for sure.

I snuggled further into the bed, watching the TV while munching on my food when the door suddenly burst open. Aleksandr strode in, startling me. I fumbled for the remote, bouncing it from one hand to the other as I quickly tried to turn off the TV.

There was nothing wrong with watching rom-coms. I just didn’t want Aleksandr to know I’d wasted a solid twelve hours doing nothing but watching this show.

But he wasn’t looking at me. He was pacing up and down, anger prominent in every thump of his booted feet hitting the floor. He muttered to himself in Russian, waves of fury flowing from him, his muscles bunching, his hands clenching into tightly balled fists.

I frowned, pushing the blankets off and slowly getting to my feet. “Aleksandr?”

He didn’t acknowledge me, just marched from one end of the room to the other, lost in his own thoughts.

I approached him like I would a skittish animal in the wild. “Aleksandr?” I tried again.

“Glupyy, staryy ublyudok. Kak on posmel.” He continued to speak in Russian, making it difficult for me to understand him.

“What’s happened? What’s the matter?”

“He just thinks he can come in here and order us around. Who the fuck does he think he is?”

My frown deepened. “Who? Who are you talking about?”

“Moy dedushka.”

I took a step closer. “I’m gonna need you to switch it back to English, Big Guy. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

His eyes finally landed on me, full of fury. “My grandfather. He’s here, from Russia.”

“Okay?” Usually, a visit from your grandparents was a good thing, but the way Aleksandr said it made me think it was the opposite.

“You know he tried to sell my sister? Like a piece of meat at the market. He made a deal with another Russian family. Her hand in marriage for access to their supply routes.” He shook his head, his voice shaking with agitation. “We haven’t seen the man in years and yet, here he is, trying to tell us what to do.”

I tried to keep up with him. “I thought your sister was already married? To that Italian guy? Artis?”

“Arturo. She is. My father orchestrated it to keep her out of the Tarasovs’ hands. And my grandfather is pissed.” Aleksandr resumed his pacing. If he didn’t stop soon, he was going to wear a hole in the floor.

“Here, come sit down.” I took a seat on the edge of the bed and pointed to the ground in front of me.

He obeyed (which just went to show how out of it he was). He sat down, leaning his back against the bed, legs bent and arms resting on his knees.

I gripped his shoulders, pushing my fingers into his skin, massaging his tense muscles.

Aleksandr groaned, his head rolling forward. “Fuck. That feels good.”

I smirked, running my hands down his back and up again, applying pressure here and there. “So, your grandfather is mad because he didn’t get to marry your sister off like he wanted to?”

I’ll admit, I had a hard time understanding the whole arranged marriage thing. The cartel didn’t operate that way. We married for love. At least, my parents did. It wasn’t used as some sort of bargaining chip or to form alliances. I’d noticed the mafia was big on it though.

“Mad would be an understatement.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” I asked, pushing my fingers deeper and deeper, relishing in the low moans falling from his lips.

“Yes. An angry Sergei Volkov is something to be very, very wary of.”

I moved my fingers to his hair, running my nails over his scalp. He groaned again, relaxing a tiny bit.

Some of the anger had faded but he was still tense, still boiling with frustration.

I realised a simple massage wouldn’t relieve him of all that anxiety and fury. Whatever was going on in that head of his was too much. He needed something more. A bigger distraction.

“Hey, can I take you somewhere?”

He looked over his shoulder, frowning at me. “Take me somewhere?”

“Yeah. Just this little place I’d go to any time I needed to work out some of my anger.”

He eyed me suspiciously, looking for some ulterior motive.

Honestly, I couldn’t even really blame him for that. I’d hesitate too if our roles were reversed. But I wasn’t trying to escape. I wasn’t using this as some sort of ploy to bolt the second he turned his back.

I genuinely thought this would help him.

“I promise, I won’t try anything. I won’t run. I won’t fight. I won’t cause a scene or draw attention. I just want to take you somewhere I think might help you deal with all that anger, like it did for me.” Because no matter how long I massaged him for, I knew it wouldn’t get rid of all that tension.

His piercing blue eyes ran over every inch of my face, studying me intently. After a few silent seconds he exhaled heavily, shaking his head in disbelief, like he almost couldn’t believe what he was about to do.

“Where do you want to go?”

I smiled brightly, jumping to my feet. “It’s a surprise. I need your phone first.” He didn’t hesitate, pulling it out of his pocket and handing it to me. I quickly searched up locations and then gave it back. “Come on, come on.” I grabbed his arm and tried to pull him up, with no luck. “Jesus, how much do you weigh?” I grunted in effort, leaning back, trying to use a combination of my body weight and gravity to move him. It still didn’t work.

Aleksandr chuckled softly, pushing himself to a stand. “Enough.” He steadied me when I stumbled, his big hand wrapping around my shoulder.

“You big lug.” I tried the door handle, but it was locked. “What the?”

Aleksandr brushed his chest against my back as he stood behind me. I shivered at his closeness. He reached around me and knocked on the door twice.

It opened, a burly looking man with dark hair standing in the hallway. I glanced over my shoulder, arching an eyebrow.

Aleksandr simply shrugged. “Can never be too careful around someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Devious. Sneaky. Vicious.”

I placed a hand on my heart. “Aw, that’s probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me before. You big softy.”

He rolled his eyes.

I turned back around. “Hiya.” I smiled, waving a hand at the man still blocking the doorway.

The man reached for his gun.

“It’s fine, Czar.” Aleksandr placed a hand on the small of my back, ushering me forward. “Let’s go.”

“Bye Czar.” I hoped I pronounced his name right. It was a tough one.

Czar glared at me before stepping to the side, allowing me to pass.

“Such a lovely bunch of people you’ve got working here. Truly lovely,” I commented, skipping ahead.

One of the doors to my left opened and a skinny kid wearing a backwards cap walked out, almost colliding with me. I’d never spoken to him but I’d seen him before, out training in the yard with Aleksandr in the mornings, and in that home-gym warehouse thingy.

“Whoa. Watch it, Short Stuff.”

His face was all banged up, like he’d just been in one hell of a fight recently, a spattering of bruises marring his light skin.

“Come on, let’s go.” Aleksandr tried to push me along, but I resisted.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Dayton,” the kid grumbled.

“I’m Drea.”

“Okay.” He gave me a confused look, like he wasn’t sure why I was talking to him or telling him my name.

I wasn’t sure either, to be honest. He just had this ‘lost puppy’ kind of vibe. Where I got that from, I had no idea. Maybe it was the eyes. They were just so…sad. Filled with pain and sorrow, like life had pushed him to the ground and kicked him in the balls.

“Hey, you wanna come with us?”

Dayton frowned. “What?”

“We’re going somewhere that I think might help Big Guy over here deal with his anger issues,” I said, hiking a thumb over my shoulder at Aleksandr.

Scoffing, Dayton mumbled under his breath, “Don’t think that’s possible” at the same time Aleksandr grunted, “I don’t have anger issues.”

I patted Aleksandr on the chest in a soothing yet slightly condescending way. “It’s okay. We all have our flaws. I myself have a bit of a problem controlling my anger too.”

“No, really?” he drawled, rolling his eyes. “I never would have guessed.”

“Shush you.” I pushed him lightly and he chuckled.

Dayton’s eyes darted between the two of us, brows lowered in a frown.

“Anyway, you wanna come? It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“What kind of fun? My kind of fun or his kind of fun?” Dayton asked, eyes narrowing at Aleksandr with an accusatory glint.

“I’m not sure what the difference is between the two, but it’s the ‘smashing shit up’ kind.”

“Damn,” Dayton blew out. “That does sound fun. Alright, count me in.”

“Sweet!” I grabbed Aleksandr’s hand, dragging him along. “Let’s go.”

I swung the sledgehammer into the flatscreen TV, bits of glass and plastic raining down around me as I hollered out an Amazonian war cry.

Around me, Aleksandr and Dayton were immersed in the same kind of destruction, beating the shit out of electronics and smashing glass crockery and bottles.

The Rage Smash Room was a place specifically designed to help people vent their anger and frustrations by destroying an array of different items in a safe, controlled environment. For only $79, you got one hour and all the shit you could smash before the clock ran out. TVs, microwaves, printers. You name it, they had it.

It was the perfect outlet. The perfect way to release that pent-up energy, de-stress and have a shitload of fun.

My therapist was the one to suggest it to help with my anger issues. Instead of smashing car windscreens with a crowbar and getting arrested, I would smash broken TVs and appliances with a sledgehammer.

Much, much healthier.

The amount of money I’d spent in this place over the years was ridiculous. I’d come here every time I needed to work through my anger (pretty much once a week, if I was being honest with myself).

After my dad died, this place became like a second home to me. I was so angry. Angry at my dad. At myself. At the world. At just…everything really.

I had no reservation about the type of man my dad was. He’d killed people. Tortured them. Sold a shitload of drugs on the streets of Columbus. Drugs that were more than likely responsible for fucking up a lot of peoples’ lives.

He wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn’t necessarily a good man either.

No matter what he’d done though, he didn’t deserve to go out the way he did. Crippled. Lying in a bed, unable to move. Overwhelmed with pain.

I remember thinking how unfair it was for something like this to happen to him. However illogical it was, I’d been so angry at the cancer itself. Like it was a living, breathing being I could get mad at.

The Rage Smash Room was my safe haven. Maybe it could be Aleksandr’s too.

I adjusted the safety goggles on my face, watching Aleksandr drive his sledgehammer into the refrigerator, denting it inwards.

He had on the same protective gear I did; coveralls, gloves, boots and safety goggles.

Once all three of us had suited up, Aleksandr paid the owner $2,000 to disappear and let us have the place to ourselves for the hour. The owner was more than happy to oblige, snatching up the money and running out the door before Aleksandr had even finished talking.

Aleksandr pummelled the fridge over and over again, the muscles in his back and arms bulging, threatening to tear through his coveralls.

The sound was relentless.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

The door to the fridge crumbled under his strength, bending inwards, the hinges creaking.

At his side, Dayton was throwing glass plates at the wall like frisbees, whooping and cheering each time they shattered to pieces. Every now and then, he’d turn to Aleksandr and call out to him, giving him only a few seconds of preparation before lobbing one of the plates at him.

Aleksandr would swing his sledgehammer like a baseball bat, smashing it into the plate and sending pieces of glass hurtling into the air before going right back to whatever he was beating the shit out of.

Once he was all out of ammunition, Dayton turned to me, a huge beaming smile on his face.

The metal head of my sledgehammer clunked to the ground as I put it down. I lifted the goggles off my face, resting them on top of my head.

“Was I right, or was I right?”

Dayton laughed, slightly out of breath. “Yeah, you were right. I’ll give it to ya, you know how to have fun. I had no idea places like this even existed.”

“There’s a bunch all over. Just gotta know where to find ‘em.”

“Do they have a membership? Because I have a feeling I’m going to become a frequent customer.”

“Yeah, they do actually. Comes with a card with discounts and everything. We’ll get you signed up before we leave,” I winked.

Aleksandr moved onto the next appliance. And the next and the next. He worked his way around the room, smashing everything in sight until there was nothing left.

I looked at the clock high up on the wall. We still had twenty minutes to go.

“Why don’t you go grab something to eat?” I tugged the gloves off my hands, chucking them to the floor amongst the rubble.

There was a small café attached to the building for people to get food after they’d finished releasing their inner demons. ‘Cause you know, bashing the shit out of stuff really worked up an appetite.

Dayton pulled his goggles down to rest around his neck. He glanced at Aleksandr uncertainly, who was back to pummelling the fridge again even though there was barely anything left of it but a crumpled metal heap.

“It’s alright. I’ve got him.”

Dayton still hesitated. “What if he gets pissed that I left?”

I shrugged, unconcerned. “If he gets pissed, he gets pissed. It’s no big deal.”

“You’re not—” his eyes flicked to Aleksandr and back and he lowered his voice, “—scared of him?”

I don’t know why he all of a sudden decided to whisper. Aleksandr wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to us. He was completely focused on the task in front of him, decimating one item at a time.

He was a man of pure focus, and right now all that focus was on hitting shit as hard as he could.

“No, Dayton,” I chuckled, shaking my head lightly. “I’m not scared of him.”

Don’t get me wrong, Aleksandr was a scary dude. It was a combination of his size, the harsh lines of his face and that dangerous, ruthless aura he exuded that made people back away from him on the streets.

But I wasn’t scared of him. I saw past all that shit, all the walls he put up, and saw him for what he was. A loyal, protective (albeit violent) man who would do anything for those he loved.

Dayton studied me closely. “Jesus Christ. You’re just as crazy as he is, aren’t you?”

I smiled widely. “No, I’m crazier.”

He unzipped his coveralls and stepped out of them. After removing the rest of his gear and placing it in a pile, he made his way to the exit door. He placed his hand on the doorknob, glancing over his shoulder at me. “Are you the 100 girl?”

I frowned. “The what?”

“He said someone told him to watch The 100. I was just wondering if it was you.”

A light feeling spread out over my chest. “Did he watch it?”

“Almost the whole first season.”

Down, girl. Don’t go getting all swoony.

When I’d told him to watch it, I didn’t think he’d actually do it. A tiny sense of accomplishment fluttered through me.

I’d managed to get Aleksandr Volkov to do something. Who would have thought such a thing would be possible?

“So? Is it you?” Dayton asked, staring at me.

“Maybe,” I winked. “Go on.”

He looked between Aleksandr and I one more time before turning around and leaving, shutting the door behind him.

I took off the rest of my gear as Aleksandr finally put down his sledgehammer. His chest rose and fell with hard, deep breaths, sweat dripping down his forehead like he’d just run a 10k marathon. He took off his safety goggles, tossing them over his shoulder. He wiped the sweat away with the back of his hand while he lowered the zip of his coveralls with the other, stepping out of them.

He looked at me, lips tilted up in an honest-to-God smile.

My breath hitched. Aleksandr was gorgeous. No doubt about it. He had that sexy, smouldering thing going on. It totally worked for him.

But when he smiled? A real, light, carefree smile like that? It made my heart stop.

“Feel better?” I asked, happiness creeping into my soul. Seeing him happy made me happy. His smile was contagious.

“Much,” he exhaled, eyes closing briefly. “Is this place somewhere you’d come often?”

“Often…all the time…same thing, really,” I shrugged. “It helped me get through some pretty tough moments in my life.”

He nodded in understanding. “Your dads’ death.”

“Was definitely one of them, yes.”

His head tilted to the side. “What are the others?”

I huffed out a laugh, looking up at the clock. “We don’t have nearly enough time left in this room to start that conversation. Besides, it’s your turn to talk, and don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

He rolled his eyes and headed for the table and chairs over in the far corner of the room. The numerous signs posted around it made it clear it wasn’t a part of the furniture to be smashed. It was merely a place for people to sit down and take a breather if they needed it.

“I thought all of this—” he waved a hand through the air as he took a seat, “—was so I didn’t have to talk about it.”

“No, this was to help take the edge off, like weed. You still gotta talk about it.” I sat down beside him and nudged his shoulder with mine. “Come on. Out with it.”

He released a heavy breath. “My grandfather promised my sister’s hand in marriage to another Russian family.”

“Right,” I nodded. “But she’s already married and he’s pissed about it.”

“Yeah. He still wants to honour the arrangement though.”

“How does he plan to do that? Force her to get a divorce?”

Aleksandr snorted. “He’d rather kill her husband. Would be easier. But no. The official agreement was for the Tarasovs to marry into the Pakhan’s family. Turns out, he doesn’t need Illayana to do that.”

“I’m confused,” I said, frowning. “You have another sister?”

“No. But the Tarasovs have a daughter, and according to my grandfather, he has three perfectly healthy, unattached grandsons.”