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

He’s right. This is what family does. My mind starts to forget about the beatings, and the abuse. The hurled insults and the demands. He’s right, after all. He gave me a second shot at life. He gave me food and shelter, and the skills to forge a path in this world.

“Da,” I choke. “Da, Fyodor. Okay.”

I smile and I go to hug him. But Fyodor quickly stands.

“Good, yes, good, Kostya. Now, run!”

I nod. “Will there be a service?”

Fyodor is glances back at me. “Huh?”

“A service. For Dimitri.”

He frowns. “For… ah, yes!” He beams. “Of course! Of course! Da, of course there will be. A big service. A beautiful one.” He frowns. “Now go, Kostya. Go!”

He shoves me out of the alley. And I just start running. At first, I have no idea where I’m going. I can’t think straight. But then all of a sudden, I have clarity. In a moment, I know exactly what I’m doing.

I’m not stupid. Fyodor said no time at all, but I know it will be much longer than that. I know when they catch me, I’m going away for a very, very long time—to a place that will be cold, and without beauty or kindness.

But I had my second shot at life. It wasn’t much better than my first, but at least I can do this one thing.

The sirens are closing in on me. The police helicopter swoops past me above. But when it comes back for a second pass, I know I’ve been spotted. But no matter. My apartment block is up ahead, and my mind is made up.

I run through the courtyard between the buildings. I don’t enter mine, though. I enter the one across from it. I don’t know the actual number, but I can guess the floor, and what side of the building it’s on. I knock on three wrong doors before finally, the right one opens.

The man reeks of cheap vodka and stale beer. He’s bleary-eyed and scowling when he yanks the door open. He also has a construction paper butterfly stuck to his shoe.

“Chto ty khocheshi’?” He slurs. What do you want?

My only answer is my fist, pounding into his mouth as hard as I can hit. I feel his teeth shatter and his jaw break. He goes stumbling back, and I follow. A haggard, pale looking woman comes rushing out of the kitchen. But when she sees what’s happening, she slinks right back.

The man is sobbing on the floor, gurgling something up at me through his shattering jaw. I grab him by the throat and slam him into the wall. I hit him in the ribs, then the other side, then back, then back again. I make sure I’m pulverizing every single one, making him hurt.

Like he’s hurt her.

I hear the floor creek behind me and I pause. I glance over my shoulder and see her standing wide-eyed in the doorway to her room.

“Otvernut’sya, angel,” I growl. Look away.

She nods, darting back into her room. I turn back to the man weeping under my grip. I can hear sirens outside. I can hear the chopper circling the building. I don’t have much time, but this won’t take long at all.

My hand tightens on his throat. I slam him back against the wall—again, and again, and again, until his eyes roll back. I squeeze as hard as I can, snarling into his face as I feel his throat crush beneath my grip. His body goes limp, and I drop it like sack of manure he was to the floor.

The apartment is silent. The woman is nowhere to be seen. But when I turn around, I see the girl peering with one eye from behind her doorway.

“You are free now, little one,” I growl quietly.

I turn, and I walk out of the apartment. I head down the hall, down the flights of stairs to the courtyard. I can hear the sirens and the screeching of car tires. I can see the flashing lights. They’re waiting for me.

I’m covered in blood. It was never going to be “no time at all” in prison for the crimes I committed today. But after this? I smile thinly. After this, there will be no prison. They’ll hang me for this.

But that’s okay. I pause in the lobby of the building. Outside, I can see the police cars skidding to stops, and police with guns crouching behind them. The grey, dirty courtyard is littered with beautiful, brightly colored butterflies.

It’s okay that this is the end. I brought a lot of hurt into this world. But I did one good thing. That’s what matters.

I push open the doors, and I step out into the blinding police search lights. They scream at me to put my hands up. I keep walking. They scream again, and I close my eyes as I reach back for my gun.

But then suddenly, I hear a soft voice scream “nyet!” I start to turn, but she gets to me first. Her small arms wrap tight around me, hugging me as she plants herself between me and the police.

“Nyet!” She screams, squeezing her eyes shut. “Nyet! On spas menya!!” He saved me.

They keep screaming at her to get away from me. But suddenly, they charge instead. My hands go up, I wince when they yank her away from me. Then they slam me to the ground and wrench my blood-soaked arms back to handcuff me.

I’m going to prison forever. But I’m not dead and full of police bullets. And as they lead her away, I smile.

I did one good thing. And that good thing just saved my life.

Present:

Inside the safe house, I can finally breath. I’ve been looking over my shoulder the whole way here. I took the long way, even though she’s wounded, because I had to. I doubled back, made false turns, and changed course ten different times before I finally slipped in. And now, we’re safe. At least