Bratva Prince (Bratva Series Book 2)

“Fucking fucker!” I pounded my fists against the inside of the trunk, burning with pure frustration. I knew no matter how hard I hit it, nothing would happen. I wasn’t fucking Wonder Woman. But it made me feel better, despite the pain that throbbed up my arms each time I struck it.

How the fuck did you manage to get yourself in this position again, Drea?

At least when Nero kidnapped me, I knew who that fucker was. He may have caught me off guard (which, let’s be honest, was the only way that shit stain would be able to lay a hand on me), but it was my fault. I underestimated the size of his cojones. A mistake I never planned to make again.

I would have escaped earlier, except Nero was a hell of a lot smarter than he looked. He kept me under 24/7 guard. Two inside the room with me, watching my every move and another two outside, ready to jump in at the slightest hint of trouble.

I was good, but I couldn’t take four guys out at once. So I sat. I waited, biding my time for the perfect chance to escape. That came in the form of a massive explosion rocking the entire house.

My guards had run off straight away, either to check on their boss or save their own asses.

Either way, it gave me the opportunity I needed, smashing the lamp on the bedside table and using the wire in the light bulb to pick the lock.

It was piss easy. Nero had spent a good couple hundred bucks on a quality metal chain, but used a cheap lock to secure it. One you could buy at any garden variety hardware store.

Amateur.

I thought I was finally home free, until the door opened and in strolled that hunk of premium prime rib.

Fuck. Just thinking about him made my lady bits get all tingly.

I’ve always had a size kink; I get turned on by a distinct difference in size to my partner. I wasn’t ashamed of it. I had a lot of kinks. But fuck me, that Russian blue-eyed fucker was so fucking big that for a second I forgot all about my escape. All I wanted to do was climb that out-of-this-world chiselled body and ride him until I passed out from orgasms.

He was Arnold Schwarzenegger big. I’m talking about his pre-movie days, back when he won Mr Olympia six years in a row.

He had the height (6’7, easy) the weight (enough muscles to rip through his fucking shirt like The Hulk) and a face carved from stone. His eyes were the most remarkable shade of blue I’d ever seen in my life, light and sparkling, like the sunshine reflecting off the ocean’s surface.

He was the entire goddamn package, and then he had to go and ruin it all by kidnapping me.

I had no idea who he was. His accent gave away his heritage, but that’s about all I could gauge from him. That, and the fact that his presence demanded obedience. It was in the way he held himself. The air surrounding him. He expected complete and total submission. And if you didn’t give it, he had the power to take it.

Case in point, me locked in this fucking trunk.

I beat against it one more time before slumping back, my breaths coming out short and quick.

Okay. Stop and think for a second. Weapons. Look for something to use as a weapon.

I couldn’t see a thing. It was pitch black and the air was stuffy, like there wasn’t enough of it. I felt around the small space for anything I could use to whack someone over the head with. A crowbar. A shovel. A jack. Fucking anything.

There was shit all, which only made my frustration at this whole situation soar higher.

For fuck’s sake. Would it have killed them to leave something in there? It was the cleanest trunk I’d ever fucking seen.

The car shook as the engine roared to life, the vibrations jostling me so much I had to grip the walls for stability. The car lurched forward, causing me to fly back, hitting the back of my head hard.

“Hey!” I yelled, rubbing the back of my head. “Watch it! You’ve got precious cargo back here!”

Whoever was driving responded by turning the music up so loud it drowned out my voice.

I narrowed my eyes. Asshole.

We drove for about an hour. Every time we stopped, I tensed, waiting in anticipation for the trunk to open. But then we’d be off again. I wanted to scream. This whole thing was filling me with nerves and adrenaline. I could barely sit still.

When we eventually came to a stop and the engine turned off, I knew we had reached our destination—wherever the fuck that was.

Thanks to my small stature, I was able to position myself so I was in a deep, low squat. It was by no means comfortable. I was hunched over to the point that I had to have my hands braced on the floor in front of me, but it was the best option I had.

I doubted I possessed the reach to kick my attacker when they eventually opened the trunk. My legs were just too short. I didn’t want to risk my one chance of escape on a plan that had the potential to fail. Whereas I knew I had the skill to leap up from a squatted position. I might have tiny legs, but they are powerful.

Leg day was my favourite day of the week, and I never skimped on it.

I stayed quiet, deathly still, taking small, controlled breaths as my mind ran over all the possible scenarios. I had to throw everything I had at these fuckers. I had to escape.

I knew I was safe with Nero (to a point). He had to keep me alive to keep the cartel in line. He couldn’t hurt me.

But these guys? Yeah, there was no doubt in my mind they’d hurt me or kill me the second they got what they wanted.

Muffled voices reached my ears. The crunching of footsteps on gravel surrounded me.

Fuck. How many of them were out there?

It didn’t matter. It was do or die, kill or be killed. I had to fight, regardless of how many of them were out there waiting for me.

Restlessness filled my bones. I clenched my fists on the floor repeatedly, waiting, tension tightening my body.

The voices outside got louder. Closer. A beep rang out and I shifted slightly in preparation. A sliver of light cut through the darkness as the trunk slowly began to open.

In a move that would have made my PT proud, I shoved the trunk wide open and leapt up in a powerful jump, wrapping myself around the guy who stood at the back of the car.

I managed to catch a brief glimpse of him. Tall. Slim build. Dark hair. Brown eyes. But that’s all I saw before I gauged that motherfucker’s eyes out, ramming my thumbs deep into his pretty eyes.

He screamed, thrashing wildly from side to side, trying to dislodge me. I clung to him, refusing to let go. He lost his footing and tumbled backwards. I held on and rode him all the way down, his back smashing into the ground hard. At the very last second, I managed to unwrap my legs from around his waist so my knees took the brunt of the fall.

I’m not going to lie, it fucking hurt. A lot. But I gritted my teeth and ignored the pain.

My head snapped up, my eyes flicking around quickly, taking in my surroundings. A beautiful Victorian-style house lay in front of me, its dark sconces illuminating the exterior in the darkness. Structural damage was evident, one side of the house undergoing massive repairs, but that didn’t take away from its beauty.

It was one of the most hauntingly stunning pieces of realty I’d ever seen. A true piece of architectural history.

As much as a part of me was dying to see if the inside was just as spectacular as the outside, I knew I had to run in the opposite direction. Despite its alluring beauty, whatever lay in that house was deadly for me. I had to get as far away from it as possible.

My hands were wet and sticky with blood, the soft squishy sensation of his eyeballs throbbing against my thumbs making me shiver. He was still screaming, thrashing beneath me like a bucking bull.

I ripped my thumbs out of his eye sockets with a sickening squelch and got to my feet, giving him one last kick to the side just because I bloody well felt like it.

Guards appeared from the house, their guns drawn and aiming my way. I backed up a few steps and spun on the balls of my feet, preparing to make a run for it when I ran smack into a wall of immovable muscle.

“Ow! What the fuck?!” I grunted, falling back and landing hard on my ass.

Standing over me was the handsome Russian giant.

He arched an eyebrow. “Where are you running off to, malyshka?”

Shivers ran down my spine. Fuck, that deep rumbly voice. I had no idea what he just called me. Russian wasn’t a language I was fluent in, but who the fuck cared when he sounded like that?

Not me.

I glared up at him, getting to my feet. Brushing my hands against my legs, I ran my eyes over the wide-open space surrounding me. Off in the distance I glimpsed tall iron fencing (likely encompassing the entire property), and what looked like a guard house stationed at the main gate.

I looked at the fine specimen before me. This dude was big, but was he quick? Surely all those hard, toned muscles ought to slow him down, right?

Could I make a run for it?

As if sensing my thoughts, Big Guy narrowed his eyes suspiciously. His muscles strained against his dark, long-sleeved shirt as he put two fingers in his mouth and blew a loud, ear-piercing whistle.

Vicious barking ripped through the air. Half a dozen dogs came barrelling around from both sides of the house, their paws kicking up dirt and gravel as they raced towards me.

They were Rottweilers. Big, beefy dogs. Strong, muscular. They surrounded me on all sides, barking and growling like savage beasts, their sharp canines snapping in the air.

Alright, making a run for it is out of the question.

The noise was deafening. The rabid snarling. The screams of the guy flailing on the ground behind me. It was a constant irritating racket that was slowly driving me mad.

Big Guy barked out a harsh command in Russian. “Sidet!”

All the dogs sat down, their barking cutting off in an instant. He had complete and total control over the dominant animals. They didn’t move a muscle without his say so.

He locked eyes with me, a taunting challenge in his eyes. “You can either come willingly, like a good little girl, or I can throw you over my shoulder and drag you, kicking and screaming. The choice is yours.”

“What do you want with me?” I hissed in frustration, my eyes darting left to right, looking for a way out.

I was surrounded on all sides by either dogs or armed guards. Movement in my peripheral vision made me stiffen. A tall, lean man with long dark hair that was up in a man bun was pulling people from a black van, each of them cuffed with zip ties. I recognised him from when that barbarian dumped me in the trunk. He had similar features to the mammoth standing before me.

Were they related somehow?

“I told you before, I want to know who you are,” Big Guy said, drawing my attention back to him.

“And I told you before, I’m nobody. Nothing. Just a high-class hooker in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I thought you preferred the term ‘escort’?” he asked, one brow hiking up.

“Whatever,” I scowled. “The point is, I’m not who you think I am.”

“I don’t know who you are. That’s the problem.”

“Well, who are you, huh? What’s your name? I’m the one who’s been kidnapped here. If anyone deserves fucking answers, it’s me.”

He stared at me for a long moment, as if debating whether or not to answer my question. I honestly didn’t think he would, which was why I was surprised to hear him grunt, “Aleksandr Volkov.”

I tensed, nervous energy filling my body. Volkov? As in the Bratva Volkovs? Shit. I knew who they were. Anyone involved in the world of organised crime knew who the Volkovs were. There were plenty of rumours floating around on the streets about them. About their brutality, their mercilessness. They were tough sons of bitches. Vicious. Strong. Fearless. Not to mention the fact that they had the best guns.

My dad warned me about them before he died. Told me to steer clear of them at all costs. That they weren’t to be fucked with.

And now I was in the lion’s den.

“Your turn,” Aleksandr inclined his head towards me. “Your name?”

“Mary Smith.” It was the first name I could think of that wasn’t my own. He knew it was fake though. He gave me a ‘Do I look stupid to you?’ look and I just smiled. He was never getting my real name, my real identity. Especially now that I knew who he was. If he found out who I was, I was as good as dead.

“Kabluk!” Aleksandr thundered. The six Rottweilers bolted to him, standing tall at his side. He took a step towards me and the dogs followed, mirroring each of his steps.

Unease gripped my chest. I backed up, keeping my distance. It was a menacing sight. This big, hulking figure, surrounded by his vicious beasts. Like Hades and his guard dog, Cerberus.

I loved Greek Mythology. Anything to do with the Gods—Zeus, Poseidon, Apollo— I was all for. That shit fascinated me. Especially Hades. I couldn’t tell you how many Hades and Persephone-inspired books I’d read. It bordered on obsessive. And right now, the way Aleksandr was stalking towards me with his dogs at his side, reminded me of the countless images I’d seen of Hades and Cerberus.

“Belka, Boris, Igor, stado!” Three of the dogs peeled off and ran at me, nipping at my heels.

They forced me in a completely different direction, herding me around the side of the house. Aleksandr and the other three dogs stayed close, tracking me across the yard.

“What’s this? I thought you were gonna toss me over your shoulder, caveman style?” I asked, walking backwards, forever conscious of the dangerous predators circling me, keeping me from running off.

The tiniest smirk graced his lips. It was so minute I questioned whether or not I actually saw it. “Is that what you want, malyshka? You want me to throw you over my shoulder?”

Yes.

“No,” I scoffed like the idea was utterly ridiculous, when really it made my whole body fucking tingle. “You kidnapped me. Why the fuck would I want that?”

He gave a small shrug. “Some women are into that kind of thing.” There was a certain tone in his voice. One that said he had personal experience with women like that.

I was suddenly envious of all the women who’d been lucky enough to be trapped beneath that mammoth of a man. You could just tell by looking at him that he knew his way around a woman’s body. That he was the type to leave a woman completely and utterly satisfied. It was always the cool, calm, collected ones that were complete savages in bed.

“Yeah? Well, not me,” I said, shuffling my feet to the side.

I was lying through my teeth. The idea of being hunted by him, chased and thrown over his shoulder and dragged to his bed, turned me on more than it should have.

One of the dogs barked, snapping its teeth an inch from my ankle, and I cursed, jumping back.

“Hmm,” Aleksandr ran his eyes up and down my body in a slow, sensual caress, his tongue running across his lips. “Pity.”

He and the dogs steered me towards a large industrial-style warehouse a little way from the house, herding me like I was a flock of sheep. Any time I stepped too far in another direction, the dogs would snarl and bark, biting the air in warning.

Behind Aleksandr, Man Bun stepped into view, another man equally big and imposing as him at his side, helping usher a row of prisoners towards us.

When I locked eyes with one of the prisoners, my whole body stiffened. I tried to hide the flare of recognition from my eyes, but it was too late. Aleksandr caught it. His narrowed gaze studied me suspiciously before he glanced over his shoulder, somehow managing to keep me in his line of sight at the same time.

“Lukyan!” he barked, his voice ringing in the air. “Bring them over here.”

The long-haired guy—Lucas, or whatever the fuck he called him—came right over.

I locked down my emotions, blanketing my face.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out Aleksandr was incredibly astute. He seemed to have a real knack for assessing situations and reading between the lines. For seeing what others didn’t want him to see. I couldn’t give him anything to go off. I couldn’t let him figure out I knew each and every one of the prisoners personally.

With a rough hand, Aleksandr grabbed Javier by the back of the neck, making him wince. He dragged Javier so he was facing me, his back to Aleksandr’s chest.

“Do you two know each other?” he asked softly, his eyes locked on mine.

“Never seen her before,” Javier answered a little too quickly.

Aleksandr shoved Javier to the ground and put a heavy boot to the side of his face, smashing his cheek into the tiny stones that made up the pathway.

Javier grimaced, a painful grunt falling from his mouth.

“Care to try that again?” Aleksandr asked, grinding Javier’s face deeper into the gravel.

“I don’t know her, man! Argh, Jesus, stop! I swear, I don’t fucking know her!”

“I don’t believe you,” Aleksandr growled. He removed his boot and pulled out a hella impressive Beretta, holding the barrel right against Javier’s temple. “Tell me the truth or you die, right here, right now.”

Javier swallowed. “I already told you the truth. I don’t—”

Aleksandr pulled the trigger. A loud bang cut through the air, ringing in my ears. Blood spattered across Aleksandr’s face, staining his skin bright red.

Anger thundered through me, as violent as a torrential thunderstorm. I clenched my fists to refrain from raking my claws down that ruggedly handsome face. On the inside, I was fuming. Boiling with rage. But on the outside, I was cool as a cucumber, acting as if what just happened didn’t affect me in the slightest.

Aleksandr straightened, running a hand through his hair. He stepped over Javier’s lifeless body and grabbed another prisoner—Roberto—dragging him before me.

“How about you?” Aleksandr thrust his gun against the base of Roberto’s skull. “What do you have to say?”

Roberto locked eyes with me. A silent message passed between us. “Don’t know her,” he grunted out, his voice heavy with a thick Spanish accent.

Aleksandr shook his head, lines of frustration marring his face. He cocked his gun.

Roberto closed his eyes, resigned to his fate. He didn’t try to move. Didn’t try to fight what was coming. He knew there wouldn’t be any point.

Anger and despair coiled around my heart. I felt trapped. Trapped between wanting to save him and keeping my real identity a secret. In the end, I knew what I had to do. I knew there was only one option. I couldn’t risk them finding out who I was. They would use me the same way Nero did. But I could offer Roberto reassurance.

“Tu familia será cuidada.” Your family will be cared for, I whispered in Spanish for Roberto’s ears. Of course, I knew Aleksandr could hear me. He was right there. But I highly doubted the big oaf spoke Spanish.

Roberto’s eyes opened, glistening with unshed tears. He already knew his chances of getting out of this situation alive were slim to none. It was the price you paid for living this kind of life. But his loyalty to the cartel would be repaid ten times over.

Aleksandr watched me closely. His gaze flicked between Roberto and I, a calculating look in his eyes. Whatever he saw, whatever conclusion he’d come to, made him switch tactics.

He charged towards me, his grip still tight on Roberto’s nape as he forced him to scuffle along.

I didn’t balk. I didn’t retreat as he ate up my personal space, standing nose to nose with me, and placed the barrel of his gun under my chin, threatening me instead.