Bratva Prince (Bratva Series Book 2)

Someone was getting fucked. And I mean well and truly fucked. Moans of pleasure echoed out of the vent high up on the wall, feminine squeals reverberating around my small prison.

Whoever it was, was having the time of their fucking life, screaming ‘keep going’ and ‘don’t stop’ over and over again.

She sounded like a damn pig being gutted in my opinion, but hey, that could just be my jealousy talking. She was having a way better time than I was. I wish I was getting railed right now, instead of being stuck in this fucking place.

I was shackled to a chair in the middle of a plain, nondescript room, my hands cuffed behind me. Roberto, Angel, Julian and Liam were all in the same boat as me, crammed into this tiny space like fucking sardines.

Dry blood coated the walls and floors, a smell of death permeating the air. This was obviously a torture room of some sort and keeping us in here was meant to scare us. Intimidate us.

It didn’t work, at least not for me. I had a place just like this back home, and mine was ten times more menacing.

But the men? Yeah, they were freaked the fuck out.

Angel thrashed for what had to be the hundredth time in the span of the last hour, trying to get free. The others had long since given up.

“We have to get out of here,” he barked, straining against his restraints. “They’re gonna kill us. Oh, dios. They’re gonna fucking kill us.” He kept chanting it like some stupid mantra, his voice shaking.

“Shut up, Angel,” Roberto snapped, his brows creased in an angry frown.

Out of the four of them, Roberto had the highest rank as Lieutenant. The rest were all Falcons, the eyes and ears for the cartel, one of the lowest ranks within the organisation. But Angel didn’t give a shit about decorum right now. He was letting his fear consume him, clouding his judgement.

“You shut up. This is your fault. All your fault. If you didn’t lower your guard around Nero, he never would have been able to—”

“Suficiente,” Enough, I hissed in Spanish, cutting in. “Pelear entre nosotros no va a hacer ningún bien. Y hablar en español. Por lo que sabemos, podrían estar escuchando.” Fighting amongst ourselves isn’t going to do any good. And speak in Spanish. For all we know, they could be listening.

Angel very wisely shut his mouth. He could get away with back chatting to Roberto. If we made it out of this alive, the most he’d get is a beatdown. But talking back to me? He’d have his head cut from his fucking shoulders.

I glanced around the room again. High up in the far-right hand corner of the room was a sleek, modern camera. The flashing red light showed it was recording our every move. There were no windows and only one door.

It was smart to assume there were guards stationed outside. There were five of us, so unless they posted a guard for each of us, we had the numbers. But they were more than likely armed and we were at a serious disadvantage, what with us being cuffed and all.

Plans formed in my head. Some good, that had a slight chance of working, and some bad. Horrible.

“¿Que hacemos ahora?” What do we do now? Roberto asked.

“Esperamos, averiguar exactamente lo que quieren de nosotros. Qué cartas temenos.” We wait, find out exactly what they want from us. What cards we hold. I turned my body slightly to look Roberto in the eyes. “Cuéntame todo lo que pasó, justo hasta tu captura.” Tell me everything that happened, right up until your capture.

From the moment Nero kidnapped me, I was kept completely isolated from the crew. I had no clue what transpired in the last few months. I needed Roberto to catch me up.

After he was done, I had the overwhelming urge to bash his fucking face in.

“¿Estás bromeando?” Are you fucking kidding me? I hissed angrily. ‘¿En qué mundo pensaste que era una buena idea ayudar a secuestrar a la hija del jefe de la mafia rusa? ¿En qué demonios estabas pensando? ”In what world did you think it was a good idea to help kidnap the daughter of the boss of the Russian mafia? What the hell were you thinking?

Roberto swallowed nervously. “Nerón no nos dio opción. Nos dijo que si no ayudábamos, te mataría. Juan dijo que teníamos que hacer lo que quisiera. Nero didn’t give us a choice. He told us if we didn’t help, he’d kill you. Juan said to do whatever he wanted.

I cursed. Fucking Juan. I don’t think he realised that by giving the order that not only had he kept Nero at bay, but he’d made enemies of not only the Cosa Nostra, but the Bratva too.

He’d well and truly fucked us.

When Nero first approached the cartel for an alliance, we denied him. Getting involved in squabble between mafia families wasn’t our thing, and he had nothing to offer that could sway our decision.

We operated primarily in Columbus, which was roughly halfway between Chicago and New York. That put us smack dab in the middle of the feud between the Outfit and the Cosa Nostra.

Over the years, we’d had very little to do with either of them. We imported our drugs straight from Mexico and were very careful about only selling within our territory, never venturing close to either side of the border between us and them. We had no interest in interacting with them.

We should have kept it that way. Agreeing to meet with Nero to begin with had been a grave mistake, one with dire consequences we’d be paying for for years.

‘No es como si realmente la fuéramos a violar.” It’s not like we were actually going to rape her, Julian tried to justify. “Estábamos allí principalmente por intimidación. Solo sus hombres estaban en esa mierda de lotería.” We were mainly there for intimidation. It was only his men in on that lottery shit.

“¿Lo saben? Do the know that?” I asked.

“Javier intentó decírselo. No lo escucharon.” Javier tried to tell them. They wouldn’t listen.

Yeah, I couldn’t really blame them on that one. If I thought someone was trying to rape someone I loved, I wouldn’t give them a chance to explain themselves either.

“Argh, this is such a clusterfuck,” I groaned, my head rolling back on my shoulders. How the fuck were we going to convince them we didn’t want any part in this?

You could always tell them the truth. Who you are.

I shut that voice down straight away. That was a stupid fucking idea. Nero found out who I was (though I’ve still got no idea how) and that fucker kidnapped me to use me against the cartel.

Who’s to say the Bratva won’t do the exact same thing if they find out?

No. I’d rather die than be used like that again, as some sort of stupid bargaining chip.

“Muy bien, escuchen, cuando regresen, todos mantengan la boca cerrada, ¿me oyen? Yo hablaré todo. Hasta entonces, por difícil que sea, trata de descansar un poco.” Alright, listen, when they come back you all keep your mouths shut, you hear me? I’ll do all the talking. Until then, as hard as it might be, try and get some rest.

“Rest?” Liam snorted. “Who can get any rest with all that fucking noise?”

He had a point. The sex noises coming from above were beyond obscene. It was like a damn porno was going on. Whoever the chick was, she was going all out to make sure her partner knew she was enjoying it.

“Just try.” I closed my eyes, trying to take my own advice. It was hard. She was screeching like a dying cat, and I wanted to drive a fucking spike through my ear.

“Why don’t we just tell them who you are—”

“Cállate, Roberto.” Be quiet, Roberto.

“I’m just—”

“No voy a decírtelo de nuevo. Le han dado sus órdenes.” I’m not going to tell you again. You’ve been given your orders.

Roberto clamped his mouth shut and nodded stiffly.

The sex sounds upstairs reached a crescendo, and then died off in an instant. Relief filled me. Hopefully I could finally get some fucking sleep.