Hunted By The Bratva Beast: A Bratva Stalker/Captive Romance, Jagger Cole [good books to read for 12 year olds .txt] 📗

“And how close is this one?”

“‘Bout as near to certain as I can be.”

I nod. “Good.”

Erik’s been looking into the machine guns I took from the roof across from the party, from that night. Viktor’s men found most of the tripod-mounted turrets with the timers and remote-control attachments. But they didn’t find them all.

“It’s, uh, it’s gonna cost you, brother.”

“I don’t care what it costs. Tell me what you found.”

“It’s going to be double the last price.”

I scowl. “Fine.”

There’s silence on the phone. Finally, I roll my eyes.

“I’m sending it now, for Christ’s sake.”

Erik chuckles. “You won’t fault me for waiting to see it first.”

I pull up the transfer app on my phone and send the money. Then I bring it back to my ear.

“It’s through.”

“I see it,” Erik says after a small pause.

“Now tell me what you found before I come to you to find out,” I growl. “And you don’t want me coming there.”

He chuckles again. “Relax, my friend. Relax! Okay, so the guns came from a local arms crew here in the city. They’re small time, but they get decommissioned military shit from a guy down south to re-sell up here. That’s where these tripod mounts came from.”

I grit my teeth as I turn to scan the night. It’s a good night for a hunt.

“Text me the address.”

“Listen friend, I—”

“We’re not friends. Send it.”

I hang up. When I look back across the way, it’s just in time to see Nina turning off her bedside lamp as she snuggles into bed. I glance around, trying to spot anything that may be amiss. But when I’m satisfied of no immediate danger, I turn and start readying myself for the hunt.

I don’t knock. There’s no need for niceties with what I’m about to do.

The door creaks and then shatters in under the force of my heel. I smash in, snarling as I whirl to take the first of them. I’m a monster to my enemies. A beast. But to these men—men who may have hurt her, or killed her?

To them, I’m a savage.

My fists pound like hammers, smashing faces, knocking my attackers sideways across the room. My hand finds a throat, and I feel it crush beneath my grip. Screams fill the basement clubhouse, and still, I crush through them as if they’re ants under boiling water.

And then suddenly, it’s over. Around me, the illegal gun dealers lie dead or rolling in agony. I feel nothing for them. They chose this way of life, and so it goes. And besides that, they sold weapons to someone who may have used them to hurt or kill my Nina. I cannot leave that unpunished.

I turn to one of them who’s lying bloody on the floor, wincing in pain. I stride over to him, and he recoils. He shakes his head, holding his hands up pathetically.

“Wait! Wait! Hang on, man! Hang on! We can work something out, bro!”

“No, we can’t,” I growl.

He blinks. “Shit, you’re Russian?”

I glare down at him. “And?”

He grins. “Shit, man! Hey, same team!”

I frown. “What?”

He points at my tattoos. “You’re Bratva, yeah?”

I glare in silence. The man smiles weakly and turns to jab a finger at the wall behind him. I raise my eyes and groan when I see the Nazi swastika flag plastered up on the wall.

“Same team, bro! Russians and Third Reich, my Aryan brother!”

I lower my eyes to him, snarling. “You need to read a history book.”

One punch knocks him out cold. I turn and stride over to another of the wounded. This one flinches even harder than the first, trying to scramble away from me.

“Look, man, whatever you want, it’s yours, okay? I swear man, take whatever—”

“You sold this...” I hold up my phone, with a picture of one of the tripod guns on it. “I want to know who bought it.”

He frowns. “You don’t know him?”

“Would I be wasting my time here if I did?”

He shudders. “No, man, I just mean… he’s one of you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, Russian. Bratva, I think.”

My brows furrow. My jaw grinds. “Who.”

“I don’t know man, just a guy. A Russian guy just like you.”

“How did he pay.”

“Cash.” The guy grins weakly.

“What.”

“No, nothing, just…” he shrugs. “I mean he paid cash, but the secondary payment was, uh…” he chuckles.”

“I like to laugh too,” I snarl. “So why don’t you share the fucking joke.”

“No, it’s nothin’ man. He was just… he said we could all have that little snack of his after he got a taste.”

My face hardens. “What snack.”

“Dude, just this Russian chick he was after. Dark hair, glasses? Hot ass?”

My heart skips. I pull my phone up and swipe to a picture I’ve taken of Nina, on her way to work the other day. I turn the screen to him

“Her?”

Recognition blooms on his face. “Yeah!” He chuckles. “Yeah, that’s her. Your guy—”

“He’s not my guy.”

“Oh, uh, okay.”

“Do you know his name?”

The man shakes his head.

“Do you have any way to contact him? You or any of your fucking friends?”

He shakes his head. “No, man. In-person only. And he always wore a mask. He paid cash, too.”

That’s all I need to hear.

“Well, cash and that hot piece of—”

My gun flashes with a bang, and he goes limp. I turn, and in quick order, I snuff out any last survivors of his Nazi shit-stain friends.

Two minutes after I’ve broken it down, I’m back out the door and into the night, racing back to Nina.

6 Nina

Five Years Ago:

“It’s so weird that I never really see you around campus.”

Neil holds the door for me as we step out of the cafe. I’m nervous. I hate that I’m nervous. But this is my first date, ever. I guess I’m allowed to be nervous. If the American movies I’ve been watching are any indication, I’m supposed to be nervous.

Neil fits the part, too—the all-American blond-haired, blue-eyed sports jock. He’s a freshman at Northwestern University, where I’m also attending. That’s where he bumped into me, a couple days ago on