Hunted By The Bratva Beast: A Bratva Stalker/Captive Romance by Jagger Cole (books to read in your 20s .txt) 📕

the campus green, and asked me out for coffee.

“Oh, my classes are mostly in the three-hundred block,” I smile as he falls into step next to me.

“The three-hundred block? Those are like, junior level class, aren’t they?”

“They are.”

He frowns. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“And they’re letting you take some junior level classes?”

“They, uh…” I shrug. “Actually, all of my classes are junior level classes. I’m a junior.”

Neil looks surprised. “At eighteen?”

“Da—” I frown, angry that I’ve lapsed into Russian. “Yes.”

A year and change ago, when Viktor brought me to Chicago, he enrolled me in the best, most academically achieving private high school money can buy. I was bored within a week. Moscow might have been hell. My home life might have been a horror. But school was always my safe place. Learning was always my escape. And apparently, I escaped a lot.

Within a week, they moved me from eleventh to twelfth grade. A few weeks after that, Viktor saw how bored and uninspired I was, and pulled me out. I took the private school version of the GED, he pulled some strings, and I started at Northwestern, as a Sophomore. Neil and I are the same age, but we’re two grades apart.

“Damn, you must be some kind of genius,” he laughs.

I smile. “I don’t know about that. I just learn quick, I guess.”

“Yeah for sure.” He turns to grin at me. “Hey, no pressure, but do you want to go to this party? I’m pledging Omega Kappa, and they’re throwing this rager tonight. Wanna swing by?”

I hesitate. I’ve never been to a party—not a real one, at least. And I’ve never even drank before. The broken part of me hesitates. New, uncontrollable situations have a way of triggering me sometimes. But, the therapist Viktor’s had me seeing says I should be trying new things; “pushing my comfort zone.”

When I think of it that way, I almost laugh at myself. Why would I be nervous? I survived a hell none of my classmates can even fathom. A frat party is nothing I can’t handle.

“I mean, totally no pressure. If you’re not feeling—”

“Sure!”

Neil grins. “Right on.”

Fifteen minutes later, I am very much in a new situation. I’m surrounded by college kids, packed into the first floor of the stunning home that houses the fraternity. I have a beer—my first beer—in my hand. Music thuds through my core.

I can feel the panic rising in me. But I try and push it back down. I try and breathe, and to let myself experience this newness. I know I’m safe here. I know there’s no demon coming to hurt me. But still, as the party rages around me, I start to feel more and more claustrophobic.

My breathing quickens. My pulse thuds louder than the music in my ears. I whirl, swallowing back my panic. But suddenly, Neil is right in front of me.

“Hey,” he frowns and puts a hand on my arm. “You okay, Nina?”

I nod. But I think my face says the opposite. He brow furrows as his grip tightens on me.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

I let him pull me through the crowd, then up a staircase. I’m still shaking as little when he leads me down a hall, and then into a room. The door shuts behind us, and I let myself exhale.

“You okay?”

I nod. “Yes, I just…” I frown. Embarrassment burns my cheeks. “Sorry,” I mumble.

“Don’t be. I get claustrophobic too.”

I smile at him as he sits on the edge of a bed. It’s only then that I realize we’re in a bedroom. But this is just Neil—nice Neil from the campus quad who just bought me a latte an hour ago. I’m safe, I tell myself. I’m not in hell anymore.

“So, how long have you been in America then, genius?”

I grin. “Almost a year and a half.”

Neil nods. “Wow, your English is amazing.”

“Thanks.”

“I love that accent, by the way.”

I blush. “Thank you. I’m trying to get rid of it. It makes me stick out.”

Neil grins. “Nah, don’t. It’s sexy.”

I blush deeper.

“So, why’d you guys move?”

“Guys?”

“You and your parents?”

I shake my head. “I’m just here with my older brother. He’s lived here for a while.”

“Oh yeah? Cool. What does he do?”

He’s one of the biggest, most dangerous Russian mobsters in your country.

“He’s in shipping,” I say evenly.

“Cool.” Neil looks at me as the room gets silent. “Hey, say something else to me in that sexy accent.”

I frown. “Um, like what?”

He grins. “I dunno. Something hot.”

“The sun,” I toss out with a smirk.

Neil rolls his eyes. “Oh c’mon, you know what I mean.”

“I—” I frown. “I don’t think I can.”

“Why not?”

I shrug. “I just don’t want to?”

He laughs. “Aww, c’mon, Nina.” He stands and walks towards me. I tense, but then I tell myself to relax. It’s just Neil. It’s just the young, nice guy who bought me a latte.

“Can you say something dirty in Russian?”

I frown. “Why?”

“Cause.”

I smile uncomfortably. “Uh, okay, how about…” I think back to some of the horrible stuff Bogdan used to say, or things I’d hear the men who hung out at the corner liquor store say to women who walked by.

“Svoloch’” I spit.

Neil smirks and raises a brow. “What does that mean?”

I frown and wrack my brain for the word. “Bastard.”

He rolls his eyes. “No, I meant something real dirty.”

“Uh…” I bite my lip. “Hooy morzhovy!” I cackle.

Neil gives me a questioning look.

“It means, loosely, walrus penis,” I giggle.

He sighs, his brows knitting as he steps even closer to me. Much closer.

“No, Nina,” he grins. “I meant something dirty. Like, sexual.”

I swallow. “Oh.”

He grins at me. “How do you say ‘do you want to fuck?’”

“Neil…”

“C’mon, Nina.”

“I don’t know.”

He laughs. “Dude, you speak Russian. How about ‘take your panties off?’”

I stiffen. “I think maybe no more language lessons, okay?” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood. Neil doesn’t.

“C’mon, say it.”

“I think we should go get another beer, yes?”

He shakes his head. “I think we should stay up here.”

I turn to leave. But suddenly, his hand takes