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

“Look, I know what you’re up to. And whatever, hey, that’s Chicago, right?”

“And what am I doing?”

“You’re carving out a chunk of it. Look man, I’m not hating on that. And if you need work down the line, you know where to find me. But not until the dust settles—”

“I’m not carving out shit.”

Erik sighs. “Listen, brother, I hear what I hear. A big Russian motherfucker with a bunch of Bratva ink taking over territory, recruiting guys for top dollar, taking down other crews? I know you’re not with Viktor Komarov’s crew because this is beneath him. And you’re not Volkov, because them and the Kashenko’s have a peace worked out for Chicago. So the way I figure, you’re a lone wolf building up your own empire or something.”

My teeth grind. But I say nothing.

“So look, brother. Good luck and all that shit. But I’m out until the shooting stops. Nothing personal.”

I hang up and glare into the night. My pulse thuds in my chest, and my senses tune.

Erik is both wrong and right. He’s right in that I am a lone wolf—a solo, apex predator out for a long hunt. But I’m building no empire. I’m not recruiting anyone, and I’m not after anyone’s territory or interests.

Which means there’s another. There’s another lone wolf in this city. But he’s made the mistake of coming after what is mine. He’s made the mistake of gunning for Nina.

And now, I’m going to hunt him. Whoever he is.

I slip back down to Nina’s room, and back through the window. I slip quietly to her bedside and lean over her. I close my eyes and inhale the scent of her hair, listening to her breathe deeply in her sleep. Before I can doubt myself, I pull the spare burner phone out of my pocket and slip it beneath her pillow. It’s not a move I was prepared to do yet. But circumstances have changed.

I lower my lips and gently kiss her forehead.

“You saved me once, my angel” I whisper quietly. “Now I’ll burn down Hell itself to save you.”

9 Nina

I wake with a gasp. My skin is tingling, and my hospital gown is sticking to me. My eyes dart around the room, acclimating to the darkness and the glow of hospital machines. For a second, I’d forgotten where I was. But it slowly comes back to me.

Then, the dream does too.

Instantly, I blush deeply as the details begin to replay through my head. I was dreaming of him again. Fever dreams. Illicit dreams. Dark, dirty, forbidden dreams. In dreamland, he was next to me, right here in this room. He was murmuring in my ear, kissing me, and then slowly waking me with his fingers.

I squirm beneath the sheets. My legs squeeze together as I remember his hand slipping between them in my dream—sliding higher and higher until he was cupping my pussy in his huge hand. I feel my face blush as I replay the part of him waking me with a finger sliding through my lips and then rubbing my clit.

In the dream, he ripped this hospital gown off of me and spread my legs wide. His mouth delved between my thighs until I was writhing in agony. And then, he took me—right here, right in this bed. I moan quietly as I remember the feel of his strong grip on my hips as he drove his thickness deep in my eager pussy.

I groan and shake the dream away, blushing. I take a shaking breath, trying to calm my nerves and stop my rampaging dirty thoughts. There’s still a throbbing heat in my core and a wetness between my legs. But I roll my eyes at myself.

Twenty-three years old, and dreaming about losing my virginity in hospital scrubs with the smell of antiseptics and an IV in my arm. And who says romance is dead?

I close my eyes to try and fall back asleep. But my heart is racing now. My mind is awake, too. I frown and turn to glance at the clock on the wall. It’s two in the morning. I sigh and turn again to try and sleep. But no matter how much I squeeze my eyes shut or tell my brain to shut up, it’s just not happening.

I roll over again, when suddenly, I freeze as my hand slips under the pillow. I slide my hand back out, holding a phone I don’t recognize. I frown, trying to place it in my mind or if it’s Fiona’s or something. But it looks brand new.

It also has no lock code yet. I thumb open the screen, and yeah, it’s brand new. My brow furrows as I open the contacts, but when I just see one number, my pulse quickens. I swallow thickly, and my tongue wets my lips as the realization hits me.

He was here. Not just in my dream, and in my fantasies. He was really here. Or else maybe he got a nurse to slip the phone under my pillow, but that seems insanely unlikely.

My skin tingles as I scan the shadows of the room, as if maybe I missed him the last time I looked. But of course, he’s not still here. Just the phone, with one number in it. I blush as I imagine him standing here, watching me sleep and dream of him. Watching me writhe in my dreams as he fucked me against this very bed.

My face burns as I hover my thumb over the number. But then I catch myself. What the fuck am I going to do, call him? I chew on my lip as I try and imagine what that conversation would even be. But then without being able to stop it, my finger moves back to the single number. I click the message icon, and the blank text screen pops up.

My heart races. My legs squeeze together. The remnants of