Bratva Beast by B.B. Hamel
Mack
My desire for Fiona was a song stuck in my head. Again and again, she looped through my mind.
Her delicious, plump lips.
Her dark hair wrapped around my fist, the red tips poking out from between my fingers.
The way she arched her back. Her heaving breasts as she sucked in air.
Her pink cheeks. Her soaking pussy.
I wanted more so badly it drove me to distraction.
That night, we drove a few laps around that block. I watched the house as carefully as I could, noting the security cameras, the bars on the windows, and any routes around to the back of the house. There was an alley, and I bet there’d be more cameras watching it and more bars on the windows.
But the second floor didn’t look quite so protected.
The problem of how many men were hiding inside still tugged at me, but at least I had a good idea of the layout of the surrounding area. When we got home around two in the morning, Fiona excused herself to bed, barely able to stifle a yawn.
I couldn’t sleep though. I knocked back a vodka, then another, and paced around my living room.
My drab, empty living room, devoid of all personality because that was what Evgeni had taught me.
Control, Mack, always control yourself.His voice still rummaged through my brain. Sometimes I thought my own internal monologue sounded just like him.
My whole life was dedicated to the Morozov family, and finding myself thrown outside of it broke something fragile inside of my chest. It was like being kicked into a black pit with a rope just out of reach and nobody willing to push it down enough for me to climb back out.
I slipped out of the house quietly, making sure I didn’t wake her up. The streets were empty and dead this late and streetlights glowed a gentle orange. I skipped the car and walked, trying to work out some angry energy, but each step was like a pattern on my heart, pushing my thoughts to darker and darker places.
I wanted to make this shit up to Evgeni. As much as I hated the man, I craved his approval and acceptance more than anything else in this world. He was the only person that saw something in me back when I was younger. He took me in after killing my father and helped me get over what happened with my mother.
Then the training began.
He broke me down at first. Shattered me to pieces. I was just a kid and hardly understood what he was doing, but soon he began to build me back up, turned me into a killing machine, a cold and emotionless automaton.
It was brutal and terrible, and yet I relished every minute.
Because I was important. Evgeni gave me so much of his attention back then, spent hours with me each day, lavished praise on me when I got things right and broke my fingers when I got things wrong.
But he was fair, always fair.
Losing the Morozov family was like losing a piece of my body.
I found myself standing outside of a rundown barber shop. Metal grates were pulled over the windows, but the door wasn’t covered over yet. The inside was dim, though lights were still glowing over each station, illuminating the rundown and torn chairs and the hair-drenched scissors.
The door opened easily. They never locked it—never bothered. Nobody was stupid enough to go inside this late at night, especially without an invitation. I smelled alcohol and cleaning solution as I walked toward the back room, more light coming from the cracks. I hesitated only a moment before pulling it open.
Several men sat around a card table. Cigar smoke was thick in the air. The TV played a football game from earlier in the day and several bored-looking girls in very skimpy outfits sat on a couch nearby talking to each other quietly. One laughed nervously, shrill and awful.
The men didn’t notice me at first. Not until a low-level soldier named Viktor looked up. “Holy shit,” he said, shoving his chair back.
Instantly, all the men at the table were standing.
Several pulled out guns and aimed them at my face.
I ignored them. These men knew me, knew what I was capable of. Even unarmed and outgunned, most of them wouldn’t walk out of this place alive if it came to a fight, and they all knew it.
German stepped around to the front of the group and held his hands up. “Easy,” he said. “Lower your damn guns.”
“Boss, that bastard killed Peter.” Viktor spit the words, his eyes wild and wide with a mixture of fear and rage. “The Pakhan said—”
“Forget what the Pakhan said.” German turned to Viktor, strangely relaxed. “Lower the guns.” He waited a moment, but the men obeyed. The Pakhan was the spiritual leader of the Morozov Bratva, but German ran things on the ground, and his crew would be loyal to him. He looked back at me and tilted his head to the side. “What are you doing here, Mack?”
“Came to talk.”
He grunted. “Funny way of doing that. You’ve got my number.”
“This is important. Come up front with me.”
“Don’t do it,” Viktor said. “He killed Peter. He might—”
German shot him a look. “Shut your fucking mouth, Viktor. Say another thing and I’ll have Artyom slice off your cock.”
The chubby man with a patchy, ugly beard cackled. “Gladly, wouldn’t take long, cutting off that baby little thing.”
Viktor glared at him, but didn’t speak.
German sighed and gestured to me. “Lead the way.”
I hesitated, didn’t want to turn my back on those guys, but did it anyway as a sign of good faith. I stepped back into the dim barber shop and German followed behind me. He walked over and sat down heavily on one of the chairs, swiveling slightly in my direction as I paced around the waiting room like a tiger.
He lifted a cigar to his lips. The cherry glowed bright and cast his face in orange sparks.
“Bold move, showing up here after what happened.”
“Evgeni never should’ve sent Peter,” I said angrily. “He knew I’d protect the girl.”
“I’m not sure he realized how far you were willing to go yet.”
“I thought I had more time.” I stopped pacing and faced him. “I was going to come up with some other way, but Peter appeared out of nowhere. I had no other choice.”
“I’m sure you had plenty of choices, but it could’ve felt that way in the moment.”
“I want back in the family.” The words bit like acid, but I said them anyway. “I can’t stand this shit.”
German nodded slowly. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
“Evgeni never should’ve cast me out. I know I shouldn’t have killed Peter, but after everything I’ve done—”
“Not just killed Peter,” German interrupted. “Killed Boris. Betrayed the family. Protected a mark. You’re supposed to strangle that Doyle bitch, and instead, you’re fucking her.”
I opened my mouth to deny it then shut my jaw tight.
“That’s what I thought,” German said almost sadly. “You’ve been a good soldier to the Morozov family for a long time. Better soldier than I ever was. But you fucked up, Mack. You can’t come back from that.”
“I need to.” I stepped forward and curled my fingers into fists.
I squeezed them tight, just like Fiona showed me.
It helped, though not much.
“What do you want me to say? I’m not the Pakhan. I don’t have that kind of authority, and even if I did, I wouldn’t want you back, not after this.”
“I have an offer.”
He tilted his head and a curious glint entered his eye. Typical German, he could forgive anything if there was profit in it. “Go ahead. If you’re about to give me the girl’s head, that’d be a good start.”
I squeezed my hands even tighter.
Killing Fiona would go a long way. I could shoot her in her sleep, make it quick and painless. The Pakhan might see how big of a sacrifice that was for me and let me back into the fold without much struggle. All I had to do was give her up, finish the job, and I could go back to the way things were.
But I’d never do that.
Not after tasting her lips. Not after feeling her sharp, warm breath on my neck. Her groans, her gasping moans. The way her breasts shook with each heaving breath.
Her eyes in the dark as I pinned her wrists above her head.
The fear and the arousal.
“I’ll take care of this Lionetti problem. I’ll rescue her little brother or I’ll kill him myself and make sure they don’t have anything over Fiona anymore. That’d solve the Pakhan’s problem.”
German grunted and puffed on his cigar. The sweet, sharp smell filled the shop, mingling with the acrid odor of ammonia. “That might help.”
“Then I’ll intercept the Doyle drug shipment and present it to Evgeni as a sign of my loyalty.”
German leaned forward, eyes sparkling.
The bastard couldn’t help himself. He loved a profit too much.
“I’ve heard it’s a big one. Pure, uncut heroin.”
“I don’t give a shit what’s coming.”
“You should. That sort of shipment’s going to have muscle behind it. You’re good, Mack, but you’re not that good.”
“I’ll find a way.” I stepped forward, hands still squeezing. Somehow, it helped keep me from bashing German’s face into an ugly pulp. “Do we have a deal?”
He raised his cigar in the air, trailing lazy smoke up to the ceiling. “I don’t have authority to make that call, but I’ll bring it to Evgeni.”
I nodded once sharply. “The shipment’s coming in less than a week. Tell him I’ll make this happen if he brings me back into the crew.”
“I can’t promise he’ll go for this. He’s angry. Hell, I think he’s hurt.”
I looked away. “Evgeni doesn’t do hurt.”
“I think you’re wrong about that. From what I understand, you’re like a son to him.”
I smiled wickedly. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about any of this. Go tell him what I said. You know where to find me.” With that, I left the shop and strode out into the night.
I kept walking for a while until my hands slowly unclenched. I found myself alone on a quiet block beneath large shade trees in a nice part of town. I looked up through the branches toward the moon and took long, deep breaths, steadying myself.
I was a killer. I was trained to murder for a living.
I didn’t know the first thing about stealing a shipment.
But there were lots of guys in this city that would be willing to help for a price, and I happened to have a lot of cash lying around.
The Pakhan wasn’t a stupid man. He liked Peter, but he wouldn’t throw away a chance at a serious profit just to keep me outside of the circle.
They’d bring me back, and all I had to do was burn the city to the ground to make it happen.
