Bratva Beast by B.B. Hamel
Fiona
The hitman wanted me to move in with him.
Which probably wasn’t the most insane thing that had happened to me recently, though it was definitely in the top three. I touched my lips over and over the next morning, thinking about him kissing me, about his hands on my body—and the way he was right, so frustratingly right, about how soaking wet I was the second he pinned me back.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I wanted him more than I wanted anyone.
But he knew about Connor. I never should’ve told him. Connor’s life hung in the balance, and if Mack did something stupid to jeopardize that, I didn’t know if I could live with myself. I’d already done a lot to make sure my brother didn’t end up with a bullet in his head, and I wouldn’t let some amoral Russian killer ruin all my hard work.
Though he had a point. If Mack was as connected as he seemed, he’d be an asset. The man would be muscle at the very least.
And I might like being around him.
Heck, okay, I’d love being around him, which was probably a reason to stay away.
The next afternoon, I hurried out to a small cafe called Shailene’s Spot deep in West Philly, in Doyle-controlled territory. I found Tully sitting in the back drinking coffee and reading Sports Illustrated, his messy copper-red hair shining in the slanted sunlight. I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.
He looked up, frowning. “Hey, cuz. What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop by. You still running lookout duty for Uncle Lorcan?” All the older men in the Doyle family were called Uncle, even when they weren’t blood relatives, though I was pretty sure I was distantly related to Lorcan somehow—he was a mid-level lieutenant running the drug sales around University City.
“Mostly but he’s got me on stash duty some days now too.” Tully said it with pride, which sent a stab in my gut—the stupid kid was happy to be used by the Doyle family as a grunt worker.
The whole family was built on the back of stray Irish kids from bad homes and no real future. Tully was one of them, but there were plenty more to replace him. Young guys that would do anything for a paycheck and were desperate for the prestige and the honor and the popularity of their older cousins and uncles.
I might’ve been related to him, but probably not, and it didn’t matter. Uncle Cormac, the head of the Doyle family, liked to pretend everyone was a relative.
“Good for you, moving up in the world.” I gave him a tight smile.
He shifted uncomfortably and put the magazine down. “What do you want, Fiona? You never just come in and say hi.” He scowled at me under his unruly mop of hair.
“Aw, don’t be that way.”
“Ferris told you already—”
“Fuck Ferris. I talked to my dad, and he told me to tell you that if you don’t give me this information then you’re going to answer to him.”
I felt bad, I really did. Tully visibly gulped like he was in some cartoon, and I couldn’t blame him. My father had a reputation in the Doyle family for harsh punishments and no patience for bullshit.
Which I knew all too well.
“Nobody told me—” he started, but I interrupted him.
“I’m telling you right now. Where’s the shipment coming in?”
He looked around like someone might help him, but I chose this spot for a reason—none of the other Doyle guys came here. This was my only chance to catch Tully alone, and yeah, it was messed up, I was bullying the youngest guy with the information I needed, but Connor’s life was on the line.
If Tully knew that, he’d tell me. I knew he’d tell me. Everyone loved Connor, especially Tully. They were the same age, came up together, hung out all the time, and he was wrecked when Connor was killed.
Supposedly killed, anyway.
“Fine, okay, but please, please, please, don’t get me in trouble.” Tully visibly deflated. “There’s an abandoned middle school in Mt. Airy. Truck drops off there.”
“Where, exactly?”
“You think they tell me that? It’s an abandoned middle school, that’s all I know. That’s all they told me, okay? Tell your dad that’s all I know. I really don’t need to get in trouble for this shit, Fiona.”
“I’ll tell him you did good.” I gave him my best smile and stood up. He glared at me and picked up his magazine. “Thanks, Tully. Seriously.”
“Whatever. Tell your dad I deserve a raise.”
I laughed and waved and left, practically skipping along.
An abandoned middle school in Mt. Airy. It wasn’t an address, but it would have to do—there couldn’t be that many abandoned middle schools in an affluent suburb. Renzo might not like that I didn’t have more, but that would have to be enough.
I smiled to myself as I stepped out into the sunshine and began to walk back toward home. I got what I needed, even if I took a little risk in using my dad to get it. That hadn’t been subtle, and if I was going to keep doing this spy thing, I’d have to get better at it.
Unless I didn’t have to.
I thought of Mack again. His offer. His hands on my arm. His lips on mine.
I pushed the memory away.
I couldn’t go there. God, not yet.
The problem was hope.
Mack gave me hope.
His offer was insane, of course. I couldn’t disappear—as soon as I did, my family would notice and come looking. Renzo would notice, and he’d definitely search me out, or maybe he’d assume I ran off, and kill Connor as revenge. The Lionettis were petty like that.
So disappearing wasn’t an option.
But working with Mack?
I touched my lips with my fingertips for the hundredth time and didn’t notice the guy come walking toward me into it was too late.
I half turned, frowning. He was way too close—
I saw a black jacket, black jeans, an ugly, swollen face.
Then he swung a baseball bat at my head.
I flinched and threw my arms up. That probably saved my life. The bat nailed me in the elbow and glanced off my ear. I gasped in pain and dropped to the ground. The guy was big, heavy around his gut with meaty shoulders and a thick double chin. He raised the bat again to smash it down on me, and I saw him crushing my skull right there on the sidewalk, murdering me in broad daylight, beating me to death for—for what? I had no clue, I didn’t understand what was happening, and a piercing pain ripped up my arm when I tried to move it, tried to raise my hands to defend myself—
Until another figure slammed into my attacker from the side.
There was a grunt and a struggle. I managed to sit up and gaped as Mack punched the fat man in the throat once, twice, and kicked him in the chest. He wrenched the baseball bat away and smashed it down into the guy’s skull.
It made a sickening thud and the big man let out a wheezing groan. Blood leaked from his nose and eyes.
I scrambled backwards, trying to get away. Mack turned to me, handsome and horrible. He smiled, head tilted, and I gasped in pain as I put weight on my elbow.
Mack walked to me and stooped over, offering a hand. He smiled, his head haloed in the sunlight.
“We should get out of here before the cops come,” he said softly, tilting his head. “Unless you feel like pressing charges? Although I doubt there’s much left of him.”
“No,” I whispered, and reached out.
He helped me up. I gasped and grabbed at my elbow as he hustled me down the block, through curious onlookers, and around the corner. He went fast, pulling me along, and I struggled to keep up.
My elbow felt broken and each step was agony.
We reached his car three blocks away. Mack helped me in then got behind the wheel. He started driving, seemingly taking turns at random, but slowly working away from the scene of the crime.
I stared at him for a long time without speaking.
“What the hell was that?” I finally asked.
He shrugged. “Morozov got tired of waiting and sent someone else.”
My mouth fell open. “You knew him?”
“Guy’s name was Boris. What a stupid name.”
“You killed him.”
“Eh, probably not. Definitely brain damaged though.” He snorted. “Stupid fucking idiot. What was he thinking, using a baseball bat? Maybe he thought it’d look more like a random act of violence, but wow, what a dumb move.”
I stared at him, not sure what to say. He killed one of his own guys—or brain damaged him, or whatever—all to save my life.
“Why would you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Attack one of your own guys.”
He smiled as if he finally understood. “Oh, that. I don’t have any loyalty to Boris. He’s an idiot.”
“But he’s in your family.”
“We work for the same man. That’s very different.” He glanced at me as he turned around a corner. “The Morozovs pretend that it’s like the Doyles, but nobody does the whole family thing like you people. I mean, seriously, pretending like everyone’s related? It’s honestly really weird, especially when you start marrying each other. What sicko came up with that idea?”
“Cormac.” I laughed, unable to help it. The laughter bubbled up involuntarily and I jostled my elbow. A fresh wave of pain sent nausea down my throat. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”
He slowed the car and pulled over in front of a fire hydrant. He didn’t kill the engine, but he turned to me, eyes hard and serious.
“They moved faster than I thought they would.”
“Have you just been following me around?”
“It’s what they paid me to do.” He waved that off. “If the Pakhan already sent another guy, that means he lost faith in me following through with this. German must’ve said something.”
“Who’s German?”
“Nobody, don’t worry about it.” He seemed to chew on something before nodding. “You can’t go home.”
“To hell with that.” I grabbed the door handle.
He reached across and got a fist full of my hair. I gasped as he yanked me back into the seat. My elbow screamed in pain.
“I don’t want to be rough with you, Fiona,” he said softly and his lips brushed against my neck. “But you’re being stupid, and I really don’t want to see you get killed.”
“I have to meet with Renzo,” I said through my teeth, trying to hold back tears. “I can’t just disappear. My family will worry. The Lionettis will kill my brother.”
He hesitated, watching me carefully as if he hadn’t thought of that, and for all I knew, he hadn’t.
“Then you don’t disappear all the way. You come stay with me, but you keep going to work, keep showing up to family shit, whatever you have to do. Keep going to your meetings with Renzo. As far as anyone knows, you’re still doing your own thing. But you live with me and I shadow you.”
“Like a bodyguard?” I snorted. The whole thing was ludicrous.
“Just like that. You want to live? This is your chance to survive and save your damn brother. I’m not going to sit around and beg. Sooner or later, I’ll become a target too.” He sounded sincere, almost like he was begging me, and I couldn’t meet his gaze.
I wanted to save Connor, and I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t know if I could trust him. This plan sounded too good to be true—he made it seem so easy. There were a thousand ways that it could go wrong.
But his lips, his tongue, his hands. God, his arms.
And that baseball bat slamming down into Boris’s head. The sick crunch, the blood.
“I’ll do it,” I whispered.
He released my hair and put the car in gear.
“Good choice,” he said, and pulled out into traffic again.
It was like being ferried across the river to Hell.
And for some reason, I felt only excitement coursing through me with every rough beat of my heart.
