Bratva Beast by B.B. Hamel
Mack
That night, I treated the girl like a princess. Then I treated her like a toy. And in the morning, I cooked her breakfast, made her coffee, and sat her down on the couch.
“We’ve got to talk about something.”
She nodded, breathing the smell of the coffee deep. I loved the way she did that, like she couldn’t help but savor it. “About what?”
“A lot of stuff. Mostly about this shipment.”
“I’ve been wondering what you were going to do about that.”
I paced around my living room, vibrating with uncontrolled energy. I felt like a little kid again bouncing off the walls and too manic to sit down for ten seconds. Evgeni beat that out of me over the years, but I could feel it sliding back.
The house felt small. Back when I lived alone, it didn’t matter how big it was—but now that I had Fiona staying with me, suddenly I was intensely aware of how shabby everything was. I had money, plenty of money, but I never cared about any of it, never wanted to spend a dime, never wanted to for attachment to things that might not be here one day.
All of this felt temporary to me.
My life was a question mark. It wasn’t the end of a sentence—it was the potential of more, the promise of an answer, but never the answer itself. Every day I woke up wondering if it would be my last free day on this Earth.
Last day alive. Last day out of prison.
So I never bothered filling up my house. I wanted it to be empty, like Evgeni taught me. Attachments were distractions.
Fiona was the biggest attachment yet, and the most delicious distraction I’d ever seen.
I was tumbling and I knew it, rolling down a hill and gaining momentum with each passing moment, and it was much too late to stop. I was an avalanche for her, poised to tumble down over the entire city, prepared to flatten it all if it meant another night with my arms wrapped around her body, my lips on her smooth skin, her incredible, sensual, breathy moans in my ear.
For the first time ever, I wanted paintings on my walls.
“Let’s get out of here. Let’s go sit down somewhere outside.”
She frowned at me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I shook out my hands, unable to find an outlet for all this damn energy. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding concerned, but she grabbed her sandals and slid them on, then wrapped her hair up into a bun. She had just enough time to dump her coffee into a to-go mug before I shot out of the house and stood out on the sidewalk, practically tearing the pavement up with impatience.
“Easy, Mack. What’s going on?”
“Come on.” I grabbed her wrist and marched off.
I didn’t know how I could explain all this to her. How for so long, I was a dead man, existing only for the pleasure of my Pakhan. Evgeni was my master, my puppeteer, and I was his little doll dancing on strings.
Now, I felt free, and it was overwhelming. The world was open to me—I had money, I had means, I had skills and abilities that few men possessed, and suddenly I could do anything at all and wanted everything.
The choice was overwhelming.
I took her to a small park next to an elementary school. It was barely more than half a block with a few big shade trees, a small paved path, and a few benches scattered around. In the back left corner, a small fountain bubbled, simple but hypnotic, and I grabbed a shade-strewn bench away from the families of children and the dogwalkers and the couples out on dates.
“You look like you’re about to explain,” she said when I sat her down.
I sat next to her and put a hand on her thigh. “I need you to understand that I’m not proud of what I’m about to tell you.”
Her cheeks turned pale. “What did you do? Is there another woman?”
My eyebrows shot up. “Another woman? I haven’t left your side in days.”
“I know, but—”
I let you a frustrated growl and grabbed her hands, clutching them tight between mine. “There will never be another woman, Fiona. Do you hear me? Don’t ever ask me that again.”
She nodded slightly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. If you don’t trust me yet, that’s my failing, not yours.” I sucked in a breath to try to steady myself and slowly let it out. “I need to talk to you about a plan I came up with.”
“What plan?”
“I wanted to steal the shipment and give it to Evgeni as a gift.”
She blinked a few times then pulled her hands away. “Are you serious?”
“That’s what I thought I wanted, at least. When he kicked me out of the family I thought my life was over, but I was so wrong. My life is only just beginning.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re my life, Fiona, and it’s so much better than anything I experienced up to this point. I’ve been a ghost for so long, but now it’s like I have a new body and a new existence, like I can do anything I want to do. You gave me that.”
She softened slightly and shook her head. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You did. Maybe you don’t realize it, but nobody’s ever looked at me the way you do. Nobody’s ever given a shit about the monster.”
“You’re not a monster.”
“But I am, Fiona, and you know it. How many more men do I need to kill before you understand that?”
She looked away, down at her hands, and nodded to herself. “Okay, maybe you are, but I don’t care. I think there’s something better inside of you.”
“That’s why I love you.”
She looked up sharply, eyes wide.
I held up a hand before she could speak.
“I don’t want you to say it back. Not yet, at least. I want to hear those words when you’re ready, but I need you to know how I feel. I need you to understand how much I’m willing to give up for you. From here on out, Fiona, you’re mine, all of you, every inch of you, until the day you don’t want me anymore. And even then, I’ll still yours.”
“Mack—”
“I’m not going to steal that shipment for Evgeni. I’m going to steal it for you.”
I let that sink in for a long moment. She blinked rapidly, as if fighting back tears. I leaned closer and pulled her against me, hugging her tight. I didn’t want to make her cry, didn’t want to get her all upset—but I wanted to say all this now before it was too late.
Each day I woke up alive was a miracle, and I couldn’t waste any more time.
“I’m not sure I want a big shipment of drugs, if I’m being honest with you.” She sniffled and looked up at me.
I grinned at her. “Funny girl.”
“I mean it. I’m not super into heroin or cocaine or whatever’s coming in.”
“Pills, most likely.”
“Oh, pills? Never mind then. Bring it on.”
I chuckled and thumbed her lower lip. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Jokes are my defense mechanism.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself from me.”
“I’m afraid that I do.” She spoke so quietly, I had to move in closer to hear. “When I’m with you, Mack, I feel like I’m a different person. Someone that isn’t so damaged.”
“I feel the same way.”
“How did we get like this?” She smiled ruefully and shook her head. “A pair of broken idiots.”
I hesitated, touched her cheek. “I want to tell you something about myself. Will you listen?”
“Yes, please. I want to know everything about you.”
I looked over at the fountain. I loved that fountain, not because it was anything special, but because it was one of the few things I still had from her.
My mother.
“When I was a little boy, I used to come to this park all the time.” I smiled at the memory. “It’s a lot nicer now. Back then, it was basically a bunch of bushes and some overgrown weed patches. But that fountain’s always been there as long as I can remember.”
“That’s sort of sweet.”
“I’d come with my mother.” I could still remember the smell of her: laundry detergent, frying oil, wildflowers. I could almost hear her laugh. But her face still escaped me, just a backlit outline in my memory.
“She died when I was ten. That was before Evgeni murdered my father and took me into his home. I don’t remember a lot about her, but I remember sitting on a bench like this one near that fountain over there and laughing while she sang songs, or tossed down bread for pigeons, or whatever the hell we used to do. I remember her voice and her laugh and the way she smelled and the feeling of her hair against my neck and face as she tucked me in at night and kissed me.” I squeezed my eyes closed and tried not to let the memory overwhelm me.
It’d been a long time since I talked about my mother.
“She’d never been well. I guess looking back on it, she always struggled with mental health issues. Depression, maybe some other things, it’s hard for me to say and my father’s too dead to give me any perspective. Most of the people that remember her from back then won’t say anything negative, so I’ve had to piece it together myself.
“But I remember the day she passed better than most. It was a Sunday and my dad left early to sit in a bar and watch the Eagles play. She had music on the stereo all morning and walked around the kitchen singing something, I don’t remember what, maybe Frank Sinatra, but I thought she was so perfect, but also very annoying. All I wanted to do was watch cartoons.”
Fiona smiled. “You were a little kid.”
“Yeah, I was, and I had no clue. She went upstairs at some point. Kissed me on the cheek, told me to be good. Made me promise. I thought that was weird: she made me promise that I’d be good, no matter what. Then she went upstairs and I sat in front of the TV for a while, I don’t know how long, but it was a long time before I got hungry and went looking for her. I crept upstairs and found their bedroom door was closed, so I opened it and went inside.
“She tied a belt to the ceiling fan and fastened the other end around her throat. I found her hanging there in her house dress and all I remember is thinking, maybe she’s okay, maybe she’s okay. I tried to get her down, but she was so heavy and I was just little. I panicked and tried calling my dad, but this was before cell phones, and eventually I went and got a neighbor. Everything’s fuzzy after that.”
I stopped talking. That was my deepest shame, my most horrible memory, and I hadn’t shared it with another living soul since I told Evgeni once when I was a teenager.
He knew already, of course. Everyone knew. Poor Mack walked in on his dead crazy mother, found her hanging like a lamp. I knew what they said, and for the longest time, I thought they were right.
That I was crazy and broken, too.
It made learning how to kill easier. I could justify it to myself. How could I be held responsible for anything if I was crazy, like my mother?
But she wasn’t crazy. She was a depressed housewife deep in debt and terrified every day, and the stress finally overwhelmed her.
“I’m so sorry, Mack.” Fiona moved closer and put both her hands on my thighs. “God, that’s so horrible.”
“It feels better to say it out loud. Do you know you’re only the second person I’ve ever told that story to?”
“Thank you for telling me. I wish I could do something to help.”
“Listening’s good enough.” I leaned forward and kissed her gently. “Now you know all my secrets. At least, you know all the secrets that matter. If you still want this, if you still want to do this with me—”
She leaned forward and kissed me fiercely. I reveled in the way her tongue broke past my teeth and stroked along my own, and I felt myself stir at her touch.
Even after that horrible story, she could still drive me wild with desire.
I broke the kiss off and stroked my fingers along her jaw.
“I want this,” she said. “I definitely want this.”
“All right then. I won’t blame you if you needed to walk away. There’s always an out.”
“Not for me. I don’t think there’s an out anymore. I’m all in.”
I smiled and leaned my forehead against hers. She closed her eyes and a purr escaped her throat. I tilted my chin up and kissed her, then pulled back and stood.
All that wild, nervous energy drained out, like that story was a plug keeping me contained and it was finally ripped free.
I reached out a hand. “Come on. We’ve got one more stop to make.”
She let me help her up. “Where are we going?”
“The gun range.”
I turned to walk away. She didn’t follow.
“The gun range? Excuse me?”
“You need to learn a few things.”
“Learn a few things?” She sounded slightly hysterical. It was cute.
“Like how to shoot a gun. You know, the point of a gun range.”
“Mack, I’m not learning how to shoot.”
“You’re going to need to know for this next part.” I said it softly and tried not to let her see the fear I felt stabbing through my heart.
Her eyes widened. “Why would I need to know how to shoot? What do you have planned?”
“I need you to trust me. Can you trust me, little princess?”
Another long moment. Part of me wanted her to run away.
Because if she listened, I might get her killed.
Not on purpose, but I knew what she needed and there was only one way to achieve it, only one thing we could to do to save her brother and walk away with this shipment of drugs.
It’d be dangerous, but she could handle it.
I knew she could.
“All right, I trust you.”
We walked back to my place, finished our breakfast, then got into my truck and headed out.
