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

too, and I grin and wave back. Then I turn, and I slowly roll up the sleeve of my shirt. She frowns curiously until I roll it the rest of the way up and press my shoulder to the glass. Instantly, her face lights up.

I could have carved this one into my own arm with a rusty fork, and it would still be worth it for that smile—that flash of happiness and humanity in this hell.

I flex my shoulder, and the new blue and green butterfly tattoo ripples against the glass; like it’s flapping its wings. She clasps her hands together and positively glows. She beams at me, her whole face lighting up.

I flex again, and then point at her own paper butterflies. She gently peels the tape off of a pink one and holds it up. She makes its wings flap, and I watch her giggle. My heart swells. And I must not be used to it, because my face hurts from smiling.

Suddenly, she whirls away from the window. My brow furrows, and my eyes slide from her window to the one in the living room. I see him, and my jaw clenches. My fury rises as I stand, snarling. I glance back to her windows, and my heart hardens.

She’s yanking the butterflies down as fast as she can. He’s coming— I can tell from the fear on her face. My hands ball into fists and I slam them on the frame around my window. I feel helpless; caged.

He suddenly charges into her room behind her. I see her scream and try and shove the butterflies out of the window. But it’s not quick enough. He grabs her, throwing her onto the floor as colorful little paper butterflies drift down the outside of the grey building like confetti.

Something in me breaks. It’s not the first time I’ve seen this man hit her. I live in a world of violence, and angry, drunk fathers aren’t anything new in this neighborhood. But for some reason, this is my breaking point.

I whirl, fury and vengeance brimming up to my eyes. I storm out of my room and through the apartment to the front door. I have every intention of going over there to her building and killing that man.

But suddenly, the front door slams open. Dimitri frowns at me almost falling back from it.

“Are you ready?”

I shake my head. “Move, Dimitri. I need to go.”

“Yeah, to the job. Let’s go.”

I frown, and then I remember. Fuck. The job. We’re holding up a government post office, for money order slips that can be forged in order to basically print money. It’s the big one—the big score Fyodor has been training us for. And it’s our ticket out of this shithole.

And yet, the job is supposed to be next week. I remember that now. And yet I also don’t give a fuck about any of that right now. All I know is, a man is hurting my little angel in the apartment across the courtyard. And I’m going over there to kill him now.

“I can’t.”

Dimitri stares at me. “You what?”

“I can’t… I—” I glare at him. “Please move.”

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t!?” He snarls at me and suddenly charges into me. He grabs my shirt, spins me, and shoves me against the wall. I’m bigger than him, but I still somehow always defer to him. Like he really is my older brother—by blood, and not just the circumstance of Fyodor having picked us both to train as soldiers.

“You can’t!?”

“Dimitri,” I snarl. “The girl…”

He laughs coldly. “You’re deserting our plan for a fucking girl?!”

“It’s not like that,” I spit back. “It’s—she’s in trouble. She needs my help.”

“No, Kostya,” he hisses. “I need your help. Our father needs your help.”

“He isn’t—”

I recoil as the back of Dimitri’s hand slaps across my mouth.

“Yes, he is. Where is your father, Kostya? Your real father. Has he written you lately? Sent any birthday cards?” He sneers at me. “Does he even know you exist as more than a regret in your whore mother’s pussy the next morning?”

I snarl, fury boiling inside of me. But Dimitri holds me fast, pinning me to the wall.

“Fyodor is our father, Kostya. He is the only father either of us have known. He’s raised us. He has given us food, and a roof. He’s given us training, and a purpose, Kostya.” He glares at me. “And you want to erase all of that, and neglect him when he needs us, for a fucking girl?!”

“It is not like—”

“I don’t give a fuck what it is or is not!” Dimitri roars. He suddenly yanks his gun out and jabs the barrel against my jaw. I tense, glaring at him as he glares at me.

“We’re leaving now, Kostya. And we’re doing this job.”

“I thought it was next week.”

“Plans have changed. Get ready, we’re leaving.” He lowers the gun and turns away from me.

“We shouldn’t do it then.”

Dimitri whirls to glare at me. “What?”

“Fyodor is always saying, if the plan changes at the last minute, you walk away.”

“You’re starting to piss me off, Kostya. Get your shit, we’re doing this.”

“Dimitri—”

With a roar, he whirls on me again and levels the gun at my face. “Kostya,” he snarls. He’s shaking with anger. But he takes a breath and lowers the gun. His face falls slightly. “Kostya, please,” he says, his voice pleading. “We do this job, and our lives will change. No more living in this fucking hell. No more scraping by. We do this, and we become men. Think of it, my brother. Good food, good drink, all the pussy you could ever ask for? We will be oligarchs after this, Kostya.”

I frown.

“Please, brother,” he whispers. “Please. For me. I need this change. Please.”

I turn to glance back through the bedroom door, to the window. Across the courtyard, the butterflies are gone from her window.

“Do this job with me, Kostya. And afterwards, you do whatever you want. Anything. Go see the girl that ‘isn’t like