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

mine. It’s not aggressive or violent, but he uses the grip to turn me and pull me into him. He leans close, his mouth lowering to mine.

But after Bogdan? After a life spent in the ghettos of Moscow? What happens next is pure instinct. It doesn’t hurt that Viktor’s been teaching me kickboxing and Krav Maga.

I grab Neil’s wrist, twist away, wrench it forward, and slam down with my elbow. I can feel the bone snapping, and Neil screams in agony as I lunge away from him.

“You fucking bitch!” he roars. “What the fuck, Nina!?! That’s my fucking pitching arm you psycho!!!”

I rush out of the room, down the stairs, and through the party. Outside, my breath leaves my body in a rush. I gasp, staggering across the street back to campus.

I might be in a new life, in a new place, with every opportunity to almost anything I want with my life. But I know I’m still broken. I know I’m forever broken.

My past almost killed me. Now, I’m just scar tissue and crossed wires.

Present:

“Hey girl, you ready?”

I roll my eyes at Deborah’s grin as I step out of my office.

“It’s just a dinner thing, Deb.”

“Uh, just a dinner thing?” My assistant sighs. “You mean the only ‘dinner thing’ I’ve seen you go on in the two years I’ve worked for you?”

I roll my eyes again. “Deb, I go on dates, okay?”

“Oh? When? Because last time I checked, at least half my job is knowing your entire schedule. So when exactly are you going on all of these dates?”

I blush, furrowing my brow. “I’ve just been very busy, that’s all. But I go out.”

“Uh-huh,” she says dryly.

She’s been pushing this “date” with Pierce, a friend of hers’ older brother, for almost two months now. I’ve managed to dodge it over and over. But finally, she managed to get past my defenses. Or maybe I just said yes so she’d stop asking me about it. I mean screw it. It’s one lame dinner date. I can make small talk and smile for an hour and half and then be on my way, right?

“Well, I guess I’d better get going. Wouldn’t want to keep Pierce waiting, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

She frowns. “Oh please, he’s a perfect gentleman—”

“I meant from you.”

She grins. “Touché.” Her brows knit. “Wait, you don’t really have time to run home first, you know.”

“I know. I’m just going straight to the restaurant.”

Deb makes a face. “Like that?”

“Well, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She laughs. “No! I just mean… I mean were you planning on changing?”

“I was not, but I feel like you’re about to tell me why I should.”

She rolls her eyes. “Girl, you’re hot. You know you’re hot. And you rock that boardroom pencil skirt and blouse combo like a boss.”

I frown. “And?”

“And you’re going to Chez Patise for a thousand-dollar dinner, not the negotiating table with the trucking company.”

My eyes roll this time. “Deb—”

“Now, I know this is outside the job description, and you can totally thank me later…”

I laugh. “Uh oh.”

She strolls over to a side room and waltzes back out carrying a black Dior garment bag on a hanger.

“Deb…”

“Just try it on, okay?” She unzips the bag, revealing a stunning looking little black dress.”

“Deb, I’m not going to the Grammy Awards.”

“No, but you’re sabotaging this before it even starts. Nina, Pierre is hot, tall, rich but not as rich as you, a name partner at his firm, and a sweet guy. He’s perfect.”

“So you date him!”

She groans. “I wish.”

“No, seriously!” I laugh. “Put the dress on and go out on this thing for me. Please.”

She laughs as she pushes the bag into my hand. “Go get dressed, nut job. Oh, and…” she furrows her brow as she looks at me. “How married are we to these glasses?”

“How married are you to your eyeballs? Because I’m blind as a bat without these.”

“You’ve never thought about contacts? Lasik?”

“At seven pm on a Thursday, Deb?”

She laughs. “Fine, keep the glasses. You can rock that sexy nerd look.”

“Oh boy, exactly what I was going for,” I grumble. But I let her usher me back to my office, and begrudgingly, I change into the dress. When I look up in the mirror though, I can’t help but grin. Okay, I do looks pretty hot. But my face falls.

All dressed up, but it’s all wrong. I don’t want the sweet, clean-cut, square-jawed, name-partner-at-his-firm Ken doll.

I want the beast.

“So I look at him and just say ‘now that’s how you execute a back-hand return!’” Pierre roars with laughter as he finishes his story. Which is great, actually, because it let’s me know it’s time to laugh.

“Oh, wow, that’s hilarious!” I smile but quickly hide it with a sip of wine. I have no idea how to play racquetball, nor do I have any inclination to understand it. Pierre is apparently very good at it, though. Or so he’s told me. Repeatedly.

“I know, right?” He chuckles. “I’m telling you, Sanderson never saw it coming. The look on his face was priceless.”

“Oh, I can only imagine,” I smile politely.

“Yeah, and crazy story; Sanderson’s grandfather is none other than Diego Sanderson.”

“Oh… yeah?” It seems like that should mean something to me. Or maybe it would if I knew fuck all about racquetball.

“Yeah! The man literally invented the back-hand return! And then his own grandson gets schooled by it!”

“Wow! Fascinating!”

We’ve been sitting down for fifteen minutes, and this is already one of the most excruciating dinners of my life. It’s not that Pierre isn’t a nice guy—he is. And he’s charming, and handsome, and very sweet. But this is just not happening.

He’s a top litigator for a well-to-do law firm. I run logistics for one of the most infamously brutal and powerful criminal organizations in the country. Pierre grew up with boarding school, European vacations, and a trust fund. I barely survived my childhood.

But it’s bigger than that, too. It’s not just that our jobs