Bratva Beast by B.B. Hamel
Fiona
After that night at Evgeni’s house, it was like a darkness oozed out from Mack’s core and wrapped itself around his body.
He was quiet in the morning and angry in the afternoon. I didn’t say much, only went to my afternoon shift at the bar and poured drinks for the alcoholics. The whole time I kept thinking, why would he do that for me? Why would he give up so much for a girl he barely knew?
And every time I wondered, I thought of that first night, his fingers on my soaking pussy and the orgasm that rocked through my body.
I didn’t understand it. None of this made sense. I wasn’t worth giving up so much, and yet Mack threw himself recklessly forward like there was no other option but to keep me safe.
And I kept letting him, because I was afraid Connor had no other options.
I was a selfish monster. I knew it, and couldn’t stop myself.
There were too many nights where I failed to do the right thing. Too many evenings spent huddled in my childhood closet behind hanging shirts and pants, breathing in the smell of thrift stores and old shoes, trying not to listen to Connor’s crying in the other room, or the sound of leather on flesh, or my father’s angry admonishments slurred by alcohol.
Too many nights.
Now I felt like I had a chance to do something. Mack was that chance, his skills and his knowledge. If anyone in this damn broken city could bring my little brother back to me, it was Mack.
Except it wasn’t that simple. If only I were using him, then all this would make sense.
Something real happened every time Mack came close. Whenever his fingers trailed down my skin, or when he grabbed my arm, or when he stared at me with that intense and earth-shaking glare, I felt a jab of sharp desire run through my core.
I felt the soaking arousal pool between my knees. It was embarrassing, but I couldn’t help wanting him.
Mack met me in the alley after my shift. He led me to his truck but didn’t pull out right away. “I think it’s time we started checking out that safe house Juan told us about.”
I chewed on my lip, a sudden surge of fear in my chest. This was what I wanted—but now that he was making moves, I was terrified we’d do something wrong and get Connor hurt by accident.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to move too fast, you know?”
He didn’t look at me, only stared straight ahead as he pulled into traffic. “I’m sure. The longer we wait, the more likely it is they’ll move him.” His jaw flexed and I could feel the anger and darkness rolling off him like fog from a steamy river.
I looked out the window and forced myself to calm down. Otherwise, I’d bounce around the car, jittery and nervous. I shook out my hands and squeezed them into fists over and over while closing my eyes.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice uncertain.
I glanced over at him and nodded, trying to flash a smile. “Just something I do when I’m on edge.”
He squeezed a fist in the air. “Like a stress ball.”
“But without the ball.” I made fists, flexing my forearms and biceps. For some reason, the effort vented a lot of my nervous energy and I felt myself calming down. A panic attack hovered on the edge of my awareness, but I had to stem it off.
Mack was right. Sooner or later, we had to try to rescue Connor, and that meant checking out the place where he was being held.
Assuming he was still there at all.
“You don’t have to worry, we’ll be fine.” His preternatural calm helped somewhat. His voice was smooth like velvet over silk. “I don’t plan on getting too close.”
“It’s just that I don’t want to screw this up. I feel like I’ve got too much riding on this.”
“He’s your brother. I get it.”
“Do you have siblings?”
A short grunt. “No, no siblings. I have family, but no blood relatives left.”
“Whatever happened to your mom?”
His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. “She died when I was around ten years old.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said softly. I knew what that felt like, growing up without a mother. “I lost mine when my brother was born. I honestly don’t remember her anymore.”
“I remember mine.” He stared straight ahead, eyes narrowed as he wove his way through traffic, heading north. “She had this nice laugh, you know what I mean? And whenever I smell this specific fabric softener, I always think of her. She used it when she was alive.”
“That’s nice though, isn’t it? I wish I had memories of my mom.” She was only a ghost in our household. My father had pictures of her, but not many, and he used to keep them hidden in his room.
We learned quickly not to ask about mom if we didn’t want to make my father even more angry than he already was.
“Parts are nice. But the way we lost her wasn’t.”
“Did she get sick? My mom died giving birth to Connor.”
“Not sick. She killed herself.”
I sucked in a breath. My hands went to my mouth involuntarily. “I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head. “It’s fine. I don’t like talking about her much.” He glanced at me, his eyes narrowed half in sorrow and half in rage. “I’m sorry about your mom too. She must’ve been a good person if she was anything like you are.”
I tried to smile, but couldn’t manage it. Instead, I put my hand on his thigh for comfort and squeezed it then pulled back into myself.
The only place I felt safe. Deep inside, hiding away from the world and all its pain.
He didn’t talk for the rest of the drive. We rolled up Broad Street, through Temple University and all the young college kids with their backpacks and their smiles, the streets swarming with them, pretty girls in sundresses and guys with skateboards and cutoff jeans, then up into the rougher neighborhoods where the houses looked like they were bombed in a war and forgotten.
We slowed then stopped on a relatively intact block. Several construction workers in jeans and bright yellow hard hats worked on a pothole nearby. The smell of fresh asphalt drifted in through the windows.
“The house is up there.” He squinted ahead then nodded. “It’s the one with the blue door. Bars on the windows.”
I followed his gaze and spotted it. The house looked like all the others: red brick front, tall windows, black bars. The door looked new though, the paint fresh, in contrast with its surroundings.
“That door looks new.”
“I’m guessing they have security. There, up toward the top. See that little black square?”
I frowned, squinting, then spotted it. A small black rectangle sat at the very top of the building, near the roofline. “Security camera?”
“Definitely. I’d bet there are a few more out there too.” He sighed and pulled back out, driving slowly to get around the guys working in the street. “I’d bet anything your brother’s in there.”
“Are you sure?” My heart pattered rapidly.
“Most safe houses don’t have that kind of security. Only the ones with important people inside have cameras.” He sped up when we were straight across from the building then went around the block again.
“Can you get inside?”
“Not without watching the place for a while.” He parked a block over and killed the engine. “That’ll be dangerous though. If they’ve got cameras on the outside, they likely have men watching the street as well. We’d stand out right away if we stuck around.”
“Then what can we do?” I felt my initial excitement start to wane, replaced with the panic again. I had to squeeze my fists harder to keep from screaming in frustration.
We were so close. Connor was in that building, probably hidden down in the basement tied to some chair, hungry and in pain. I could almost hear his voice, his infectious laugh and his big, goofy smile.
He never should’ve joined the family like this. He wanted it more than anything in the world, grew up idolizing all the Doyle cousins and uncles, but Connor didn’t have that killer inside of him like everyone else did. He was a soft kid, always got beaten up by his peers, even though he worked hard and was universally liked. He wasn’t tough, wasn’t dangerous, and that made him a bad fit for the family.
Cormac didn’t care and neither did Father. As soon as Connor said he was ready, they threw him into action.
It didn’t take long for that to go wrong.
I still hated them for it. I hated them for taking my little brother and turning him into a gangster.
I hated them for all of this.
If it weren’t for Connor, I would’ve left a long time ago.
“I could go in there right now,” Mack said softly, so quietly I barely heard him. “I could kick down that door. Kill whoever’s guarding your brother. Pull him out.”
I stared at him, mouth hanging open. “Are you serious?”
“I don’t know how many they have inside. It could go wrong.” His grip on the wheel tightened and he looked at me with flames in his gaze. I melted under those eyes and thought back to the first night we met—his fingers pistoning between my legs, my arousal dripping down his wrist, the orgasm that wiped my mind from my brain.
“You can’t just… kick your way inside. It’s too dangerous.”
“Why the fuck not?” His voice was a strangled growl. I flinched back away from him. “All the shit we’ve been through, Fiona, why not just kick down that door and end it all? Maybe I get killed in the process and maybe not, but aren’t you ready to be done?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head—and it was true. I wasn’t ready to be done. “I don’t want you to get killed for this, Mack.”
“Maybe that’s all I’m worth.” He leaned toward me, pinning me back against the door. Nobody was around, the block was eerily quiet. The sun began to dip behind the buildings, and the shadows stretched long and low. “Lately, all I’ve done is kill. And why not? It’s what they made me.”
“Mack,” I said softly. His face twisted in anguish and rage, and I reached out to him suddenly, not sure what I was thinking. I touched his cheek softly, felt the stubble under my fingers—and the tension in his jaw. “That’s not true. You saved my life.”
“Killed Peter. Got thrown out of the family. What the hell is the point of all this? I try to do one good thing for once in my life and it all turns to shit.” He grabbed my wrist and pushed it back against the window. I sucked in a breath, surprised.
“I’m not going to let you throw your life away because you’re upset.”
“Who says I’m upset?” He stared at me, came closer. His lips brushed against mine and his grip on my wrist tightened. “I’m angry, princess. I want to rip all those Lionetti fucks into pieces and give you everything you want. I’m sick of waiting around.”
I let out a strangled groan as he kissed my neck, then nibbled on my ear. He came closer to my lips, and my heart raced. I tried pushing him back with my other hand, but he only grabbed that and pinned it up next to the other one. I was alone in this car with a monster, at his mercy, and the tingling between my legs traveled up my spine, making my breath come in hitching gasps.
“No, not yet. I don’t want you to go in there, not yet.”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t.”
“Because.” I bite my lip hard, nearly hard enough to draw blood. “I still need you.”
He kissed me then, lips pressing rough as his tongue darted past my teeth. I struggled once then leaned into that kiss, his taste flooding my mouth, all grass and musk and fresh soil. I moaned, unable to help it, feeling exposed and dominated all at once, his lips working at mine. He bit me gently once, then kissed me again, then bit me harder and I groaned, arching my back.
He pressed my wrist harder above my head and kept my body smothered with his own. He was practically in my seat, halfway across the car, his weight like the pressure of the deep ocean breaking me down.
I wanted that kiss more than I realized. I wanted it badly, wanted his fingers between my legs, his tongue and lips. I was dripping for him, god, it was so embarrassing, I was terrified that he’d reach down between my legs and find me absolutely soaked.
He’d know how badly I want him. How pathetic I was, how needy.
He’d know what I really meant to say.
I didn’t want him to go in there, because I still wanted him.
It wasn’t just his help. It was him.
The kiss stretched on, his teeth, his tongue, everything about him. I savored it like the first drink of water after a long night out, like spring’s first flowers. He was the only good thing in my life, the only bright spot in years and years of misery, and I didn’t know what he saw in me, why he’d want me like this, why he’d help me.
I wasn’t worth helping.
I was the enemy. The Doyle family and the Morozov family weren’t at war, but they were rivals. Keeping me around despite his Pakhan’s orders, killing his own friends to save my life, it was all too much.
It was overwhelming, it was dizzying, like his touch, like his words.
Finally, the kiss broke off. I gasped for air and arched my back then struggled against his grip. His eyes roamed down to my chest, the bastard.
He liked what he saw.
“Let me go,” I said, breathing fast. He still stared at my breasts, rising and falling.
But he released my wrists.
I pushed against his chest and he returned to his own seat. I curled up and looked away, trying to get myself under control. I didn’t want him to see how pink my cheeks were, how much I was blushing.
How badly I wanted more.
“Last chance, princess. I’ll go kill for you, all you have to do is ask.”
“No, not now.” I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze.
Because if I did, I think I’d throw myself across his car, straddle him, and grind my soaking, swollen clit down against his lap until I came.
“All right then.” He put the car in gear. “We’ll come back tonight and take a look around. Does that work for you?”
“Whatever you think is right.”
He laughed softly and pulled out into traffic.
My lips were raw and painful where he bit me and I ran my tongue along their length.
I tasted a little bit of blood and savored the sensation. A chill ran down my spine and I rubbed my wrists.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I was alone in the car with a wild animal, and I was the only person in this world holding his leash.
