Bratva Beast by B.B. Hamel

1

Mack

Iwas supposed to kill the bartender, but I wanted to sleep with her first.

It’d be a shame, letting a woman like that die. She deserved a little taste of pleasure before the end.

Normally, I was strict with myself, and rarely followed through on whatever bullshit came into my head—there were rules, procedures, steps, that sort of thing.

Obsessively following the guidelines kept me alive and out of jail. Sooner or later, any half-cocked wanna-be hitman ended up with his throat slit or thrown into the back of a police cruiser, and I didn’t plan on going out either way.

I was in this for the long haul.

But this girl, she was a problem. Dark hair, almost black, tipped with red, bangs cut straight across. It should’ve been too twee—but it worked on her. Pale skin, big, dark green eyes, ridiculously full lips, and a figure barely hidden by her drab black clothes. She seemed bored and angry, and I liked women that were bored and angry.

She looked like she’d rather kick me in the teeth than kiss me.

That sort of shit turned me on.

What can I say, I’m a little messed up.

On a normal night, on a normal hit, I would’ve watched her for a while, figured out her habits, then killed her quickly and efficiently.

No suffering, no witnesses, no mistakes.

Instead, I just kept staring at her from across the bar, and even caught her eye once or twice. She smiled uncertainly and I smiled back.

God damn, I was going to kill her, but for once I might not enjoy it.

Fiona Doyle didn’t deserve to die but then again, it wasn’t my place to decide. She was the daughter of Grady Doyle, second-in-command of the Doyle Crime Family.

The girl was pure-blood criminal, jaded and trouble.

My type of woman.

I hung around for a while, sipped a few drinks, chatted with some drunk local guy that spent half his life in the steelworker’s union before chopping off a finger and going on disability. His wife left him on account of him getting fat and cheating on her all the time, and his kids wouldn’t speak to him on account of him beating the shit out of them for half their lives, which he said he regretted. I said he probably deserved to lose them. He said he didn’t disagree. His name was Jim, and if anyone in that bar should’ve gotten a bullet to the head, it was probably him.

As it happened, I wasn’t there for asshole Jim.

The place was hazy and stank like whiskey and stale beer. The floors were vinyl and sticky, and the bar was slashed across with scuffs and dings. Half the bottles were covered in dust.

I didn’t know what a girl like Fiona was doing working in a dive like this. She belonged somewhere better.

Not that it mattered. I had to kill her.

Hours passed and the regulars finished their drinks at last call. I left a healthy tip for Fiona—not that she’d use it, since she was going to die soon, but it was polite—and she smiled uncertainly when I dropped it down in front of her.

Two hundred dollars for two drinks. I didn’t know why I drew attention to myself like that. Maybe I wanted to impress her.

Outside, the night was chilly, an unseasonably cool breeze coming up off the river. I waited nearby in the shadow of a couple of parked cars, leaning up against the front bumper of a beat-up Ford truck, until the bar emptied completely. The manager locked up while Fiona walked off alone, taking big fuck-off strides.

City girl, through and through.

I followed her. I knew where she was going, of course—I did my homework, after all. She cut down South Street then found her way to Passyunk and to a quiet little basement after-hours joint that was just on the right side of legal. She shouldered her big, black bag and headed inside, the sound of laughter and soft music spilling out the door.

For a second, I hesitated at the top of the steps. I could turn back and call it a night—I’d come far enough already. I could spend a few more evenings watching her before finally pulling the trigger, make sure everything was perfect.

Or I could head down there and make a mistake.

I was a controlled man. I kept myself on the straight and narrow, and in this case, the straight and narrow was the path that kept me killing as long as I wanted.

But this girl made me feel something, and that was new.

I craved something new.

Turned out, after years of blowing out brains, of begging victims, of last gasping breaths, I was actually kind of bored.

Gore only titillated for so long.

I wanted more.

So I went downstairs.

The place was called Six in the Morning though everyone just called it Six. The floor was concrete covered with all sorts of old, faded rugs. The walls were hung with thrift store paintings, and the tables and chairs were all mismatched. It had a serious hipster vibe, although I knew the owner wasn’t putting on a front—he genuinely couldn’t afford decent stuff, so he filled his bar with whatever was on hand. The staff looked tired but up-beat, and the drinks were plentiful and cheap.

The room was crowded with men and women in restaurant gear: plain dark clothes and simple uniforms.

I lost sight of Fiona and got a drink. The bartender was a grizzled vet of the late-night scene named Shaggs. He had a thick beard and a wild shock of graying hair and tattoos up his neck and down to the tips of his fingers.

“Mack,” he grunted when he spotted me. “What in the fuck are you doing here?”

“Drinking, Shaggs. Get me something brown and decent.”

“Coming right up.” He poured a whiskey into a glass. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. You still working for the Morozovs?”

“Never heard of them.”

He rolled his eyes. He wasn’t a part of the crime world—he was just a bartender working the late shift—but lots of mafia types came through here since it was one of the few establishments still serving after two in the morning.

“I should probably warn you then, there are a couple boys from the Doyle family over toward the back. Just in case there might be a problem.”

I nodded a thanks. “No problems tonight, but I appreciate the concern.” I left him a decent tip and scanned the room until I spotted them.

Two young men, pale as snow with dark red hair. They were both early twenties, both wore simple polo shirts and jeans, both looked like they belonged on a Harvard rowing team and not members of a highly violent and very illegal Irish mafia.

And they were both Fiona’s cousins. One was named Ferris and the other was Tully—I had no clue which was which. I was pretty sure they were brothers, but it was hard to keep them all straight.

Fiona sat between them and the three were engaged in a lively conversation. Whatever was being said, Fiona didn’t seem to like it. I sat back and observed for a while, not trying to hide myself, but eventually lost interest and turned to watch Shaggs do his thing. The old man could work a bar like nobody’s business, and I smiled a little bit, reminded of my younger days when I came to Six all the time.

Back before Evgeni gave me a gun and a seat at the table.

I was a good kid before I got all that blood on my hands.

“Hey, you were in my bar.”

I stiffened and slowly turned.

Fiona stood next to me, frowning with a strange, surprised look on her face. The cousins were nowhere to be seen.

Probably shouldn’t have left her those hundreds.

“Guess I was,” I said, leaning back to look at her. She didn’t seem to mind, although her eyes narrowed sharper.

“What’s your name?”

“Mack. And you?”

“Fiona.” She leaned up against the bar. I admired her long neck and small, round ears peering out from beneath her thick hair. “It’s been a very long night, Mack.”

“Tell me about it.”

She glanced at me and shook her head. “How about you buy me a drink and maybe I’ll tell you the whole story.”

I laughed softly and flagged down Shaggs. “Whatever the girl wants.” The old bartender raised his eyebrows at her.

“Shot of Jameson,” she said, drumming her fingers on the bar. “I have to head home.”

Shaggs shrugged and poured the shot. I put some cash down and Shaggs scooped it up with a leery grin. I gave him a sharp look and he scampered off.

Fiona tossed the shot back like it was fresh mountain water.

“Fuck,” she said, and I swear I was half hard. The girl was beautiful, long and thin with a full chest and wide hips, and lips that looked like they’d never stop. I liked that she cursed, liked that she did shots, and liked that she extracted a quick drink from me and looked like she was about to run.

Lots of trouble. My kind of woman.

I went to stand, as if I were putting my wallet back into my pocket, and bumped into her. “Sorry,” I muttered and sat back down. “How’d that drink go? Make you feel like talking?”

She put the glass down. “No, I don’t think so. Sorry to ditch out but I have to be up early.” She tilted her head and gave me another genuine smile. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe you will and I’ll buy you another drink. Something that’ll last a little longer next time.”

She laughed softly and left.

I watched her go then put her phone down on the bar in front of me.

She might’ve been angry, world-weary, jaded, and suspicious as all hell, but it still wasn’t hard to pick her pocket.

I finished my drink and sat back to wait. It was another hour before the phone rang with a call from an unknown number. I answered and held it up to my ear.

“Hello?”

“It’s you.” Fiona’s voice. She sounded surprised. “You found my phone.”

“You must’ve dropped it on your way out. It was on the floor under my stool.”

“Shit. Look, I know it’s late, but you’re not still out, are you? I really need that phone.”

“Got a hot date tomorrow?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Boyfriend calling in the morning?”

“No boyfriend. That was very subtle, by the way.”

“Thank you. I’m still out if you want me to bring it over.”

She hesitated. “No, I’ll meet you somewhere. Seventh and South Street.”

Smart girl. Even late at night, South Street was lit up bright and lots of people would be around, and it wasn’t too far from her apartment.

“See you there. I’m leaving right now.”

I hung up the phone, shoved it in my pocket, and stood up.

Shaggs caught my eye. “Keep your nose clean.”

“Always do.” I waved then hit the street and got walking.

I made it before her. I stood outside of a cash checking joint with metal grates over the windows. A small gaggle of drunk girls in heels stomped by laughing too loudly followed by a slightly larger gaggle of drunk guys smoking cigarettes. I stretched my neck then stepped forward and spotted Fiona hurrying toward me.

She wore jeans and a sweatshirt. Which was a shame, really. I was hoping for pajamas.

She smiled uncertainly and stopped a few feet away as I stepped back into the shadows around the check cashing shop. She came nearer, into the darkness.

“Thanks for meeting me. I really appreciate it. I don’t know what I’d do without that stupid phone.” She held out her hand.

I raised the phone. “Screen’s cracked to hell, you know. You should take better care of your things.”

Her face darkened. “Can you just give it back to me?”

I held it out. She reached to grab it.

I caught her wrist faster than she could react and pulled her into me.

She sucked in a breath, but didn’t have time to scream as I turned her and pinned her up against the metal grate over the door. I pushed my body into hers and she tried to struggle, but I was twice her size and kept her pinned down.

Her eyes blazed with fear and anger as I stared back at her.

“I’m not the type of man to think you owe me something for buying you a drink and bringing you a phone,” I whispered softly, too close for that to be anything but threatening.

Her breath came fast but she did a good job sounding calm. “Then let me go and leave me alone.”

“I think you do owe me for something else, though.”

Her jaw clenched. “Let me go. There are cameras all over here.”

I let out a soft laugh. “They don’t actually record anything. I know the owner of this place.” Which was true. He paid protection money to the Morozov family. I tilted my head, looking down at her. “You know, you don’t really look Irish at all. Not like your cousins. What were you three talking about back in Six?”

Her eyes went wide.

Fiona wasn’t a player. Sure, her father was deep in the family and a dangerous man, but she wasn’t in the game. I knew everyone involved in Philadelphia’s underworld, every killer, gangbanger, thief, and dealer, and she wasn’t any of those things. As far as I could tell, she was just a girl that had a rough upbringing and wanted to stay as far from crime as she possibly could given her circumstances.

Which was another reason I didn’t want to kill her.

She kept out of trouble and that should count for something.

“Who the fuck are you?” she whispered, afraid now.

“My name’s Mack.” I tilted my head. “And I work for people that want you dead.”

She struggled hard. I had to hand it to her, she was pretty strong, but I kept her in place. She didn’t scream, only stared at me with wild eyes, breath coming in faster, ragged and desperate.

I leaned closer, getting into her personal space.

“What were you talking about with your cousins?”

“Nothing.”

“Why would someone want you dead?”

“I don’t know.”

I shook my head. “Not good enough. Give me a reason not to kill you.”

She stared at me, lips parted, jaw working—

No words came out.

Instead, she threw herself forward and kissed me.

I have to admit, I’ve been through a lot. I’ve done things most men wouldn’t be proud of. I’ve seen things, heard things, tasted things. Broken bodies and screams of pain; rusty metal and splattered blood. I’ve seen big men beg and sob as I pressed my gun against their head.

But I’ve never been kissed before.

I should’ve stopped it. She was only doing it to save herself. It was fear, pure fear, but it was smart.

It made me hesitate.

It made me kiss her back.

Maybe she didn’t expect that. But I dropped her phone, let it clatter to the ground, and pinned her wrists at either side of her head as I felt her body react to mine. Her lips parted, her tongue moved along my tongue, her teeth opened and, fuck, she tasted like licorice and freshly sanded wood. I practically growled into that kiss until I released one wrist and moved my hand down her body.

She didn’t stop me.

I unbuttoned the front of her jeans and she moaned with shock when I pushed my fingers down the front of her panties.

I didn’t know what I expected.

She was smooth, shaved. That got me half hard.

Then I felt her soaking wet pussy, and I stiffened like a ballistic missile.

Fuck, she was wet.

Absolutely soaking wet.

I slid my fingers down along her slit and pushed them inside, making her gasp in pleasure. I bit her lower lip then pulled my fingers back out and began to roll them around her clit.

She moved her hips in a steady rhythm like she wanted to grind herself into an orgasm.

We kept kissing. I lost all control of the situation. I released her other hand and she grabbed my hair. I half expected her to attack, but she didn’t. If she did, I would’ve been fucked—there was no way I could fight back.

Instead, her hips rolled, and she moaned into my mouth as I continued to work her pussy faster, teasing her, grabbing her hair with my other hand and pulling. I kissed her neck and whispered in her ear.

“Do you know what you’re doing right now?”

“No,” she moaned. “God, I didn’t think this through.”

“You want to get off for me, princess?” I slid my fingers deep inside of her, making her head tilt back. “You’d rather come right here in the street than die, wouldn’t you?”

“Keep going.”

I kissed her again and teased her clit faster in harder circles. She moved her hips and I matched her rhythm, and soon she stopped kissing me as moans escaped, soft and low, like she was trying not to be too loud, her hips moving faster and faster along my fingers, over and over again, until she gasped, shoulders shaking, back arching. I kissed her as she came, and her tongue slid into my mouth, and she kept moaning through it until finally, she let out a long breath and I pulled back.

I licked my fingers clean as she buttoned up her fly. Her cheeks were flushed, her perfect lips hanging open.

I stepped back and she bent over to grab her phone.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked, clutching it to her chest.

“I work for the Morozov family,” I said, watching her carefully, heart juddering wildly, so loud I could barely hear myself speak.

That was the hottest thing I’d ever experienced and my cock felt like it might tear right through my pants.

“They sent you to—” She hesitated, biting her lip. “Kill me?”

“I don’t know why, but someone wants you dead.”

“Are you going to do it?”

I hesitated.

I’d never failed to finish off my target before.

That was part of my rules, part of how I survived—I made myself indispensable to my superiors.

I never screwed up.

But I’d also never kissed a victim and gotten her off before.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then let me leave.”

I stepped aside.

She walked past me, tentatively. “It’s my mother,” she said suddenly.

“Your mother?”

“That’s why I don’t look Irish. She was Italian. I’ve got her hair and skin and stuff.” She chewed on her lip again. “You really were sent to kill me?”

“I don’t know what you did, but you should leave this city. Get the hell out and don’t look back.”

Her jaw clamped down suddenly. It was like she went from a scared animal to a furious beast instantly.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“If you don’t want to get yourself killed—”

“I said I’m not leaving.” She glared at me then shoved her phone into the pouch of her sweatshirt. “Thanks for not killing me, but please just leave me alone.”

And with that, Fiona Doyle turned and marched away.

I watched her go, an enormous grin spreading across my face.

In all my years, that was without a doubt the most insane thing I’d ever done.

She should be dead. Many men and women had been in her position over the years, and all of them were gone, their bodies sunk to the bottom of the Delaware.

Except for her.

All because of that kiss.

I should’ve shoved a knife between her ribs and ripped open her heart.

Instead, I let her get away.

But the way she refused to leave the city—that was interesting.

There was something more going on, something she didn’t want me to know about.

And of course, I couldn’t help but extract all her little secrets, and maybe, just maybe, get another taste of those lips and that incredible slick pussy.