Untamed (Bratva Kings #2)

Chapter 18

RODION

If that motherfucker shows his face, he’s a dead man walking. A fucking dead man.

I don’t even know what the fuck he did to her when she was younger, but I don’t need all the details. Any enemy of Ember’s is an enemy of mine.

I make a quick call to Rafail. When he answers, I hear the baby’s wail in the background and his wife Polina’s voice, trying to hush the baby.

“Rodion.” I can hear the underlying concern in his voice with one word. My brother’s a hard-ass, and sometimes I wonder if he’s fully human, but this is the man who gave up his entire life to raise our family.

He’d do anything for us.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, so far. Can you rearrange the flight details so we can fly out tonight?”

Without hesitation, he answers. “Of course. How soon?”

“The sooner the better.”

“Give me a minute. You need to pack?”

“Yeah, we are doing that now.”

“We,” he repeats but doesn’t pry. “Call me in thirty.”

I hang up the phone to see Ember staring at me. “You can just… call for an airplane. Like I’d call for an Uber.” I love when she bites her lip and twirls her hair, those bright green eyes watching me as if to see what will happen next.

I shrug. “Might not be a plane. ” I feel I need to clarify so she doesn’t get the wrong idea. “Might be a jet or helicopter or something.”

The subtle shift of her brows heavenward means that didn’t really help.

“So you have to get somewhere and pow. Here’s a plane. Dude, do you know what we call that in the book world?”

“Did you just call me dude ?” I wrinkle my nose at her, but she doesn’t respond. She steps closer to me and places both of her hands on my shoulders, standing up on her tiptoes.

“Competency porn,” she breathes out.

Not gonna lie; my voice is a little husky, and I kinda feel like a lovesick teen right now. “Did you say porn?”

Leaning in, she traces my lips with her index finger.

Well, fuck. Who knew that was hot?

I swallow, my hands framing her hips as our lips meet. The world falls away, just for a second, when we kiss. I wish I could deepen this, bend her over and kiss her until she’s panting and begging for me until she’s wet and needy, but I can’t.

We have to go.

“Competency porn,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I don’t even know what the fuck that means, but if it makes you happy, I’ll do it again. Now go. Pack your bags. And don’t forget your camera. They’ll be counting on it.”

“Which one ?” she moans, then under her breath, “Why do people always think I have one camera?”

“Ember,” I warn. When she starts tossing things into a bag and clearing out the shelf in her bathroom, I give the place another look around. “You need help?”

“Nope!” she says with a look of triumph. “I’m packed. Let’s go. Your place next?”

“I wish.”

I’ve been trying to get her there since the day I met her. Back to a place where we can linger in a king-sized bed, shower in a place that doesn’t look like the floor is going to cave in, and sleep where I know I’ve got top-notch security. She deserves better, and I aim to give it to her.

But today isn’t the day. I don’t have time.

“I’m fine. I’ll have what I need in New York. I live there.”

Our ride waits, idling at the curb. Rafail pulled through. I’ll be driving this one though.

I reach for her bags. All she needs is a head shake and a grunt before she lets me take them.

As I load her bags into the SUV’s trunk, I feel her gaze on me like a brand. I glance over my shoulder, and there she is, arms crossed, those sharp green eyes tracking my every move. She’s doing that thing again—biting her lip like she’s about to say something snarky, but she hasn’t decided if it’s worth the trouble.

“What?” I snap, slamming the trunk shut.

She raises an eyebrow, all mock innocence. “Nothing. Just marveling at how a guy like you goes from mafia muscle to luggage handler in under five minutes.”

I stalk toward her, ignoring the smartass smile tugging at her lips. I don’t stop until I’m towering over her, forcing her to tip her head back to meet my eyes. “You got a problem with that, kitten ?” My voice drops low, rough like gravel, just the way I know makes her squirm. I can’t wait to get her alone again.

Her smirk doesn’t waver. “Not at all. Watching you haul my stuff around like a pack mule? It’s kinda hot, actually.”

She thinks she’s cute. She’s not wrong, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let her win. My hand shoots out, gripping her chin—not hard, just enough to make her breath hitch. “Keep running that mouth, and I’ll show you hot.”

Her pupils dilate, and her breath stutters, but then she snaps back, leaning into my touch with a wicked grin. “Promises, promises.”

This woman. She’s going to kill me.

Ember stares out the window, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt, but I don’t miss the way her thighs press together when my hand brushes against hers on the console.

I let the silence stretch. I know her. She won’t stay quiet for long.

“So…” Her voice breaks the stillness, light and teasing. “Competency porn. Big fan of the genre?”

I smirk, keeping my eyes on the road. “You said the word porn, little queen. Didn’t hear anything else after that.”

She laughs, soft and throaty, and I swear it goes straight to my cock. “Of course you didn’t.”

Before I can fire back, she turns to me, her tone shifting. “Seriously, though. What’s the deal with this gala? You’re acting like it’s some big mafia Oscars or something.”

“It’s not about the gala,” I say, my voice cooling. “It’s about who’s going to be there. My family. My enemies. The people who think they own me.”

Her eyes narrow, and I can tell she’s turning that over in her head, dissecting every word. “And what happens when they find out about me?”

I glance at her, my jaw tightening. “You let me worry about that.”

“That’s not an answer,” she snaps, her voice tight with frustration.

“It’s the only one you’re getting.” My voice is steel now, sharper than I mean it to be. “I’m not going to let them hurt you.”

She doesn’t flinch, but I see her fingers tighten around the hem of her shirt. “You think you can just decide that? You can’t control everything, Rodion.”

“Watch me.”

I whip the car to the side of the road, throwing it into park so fast the tires screech. The silence that follows is deafening. Her head snaps toward me, her eyes wide, but I’m already leaning over the console, caging her in with one hand braced on the door and the other gripping her thigh.

“Let me make something clear,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous. “I don’t give a fuck what it takes. I’ll burn down the whole Bratva if it means keeping you safe. And as for you—” My fingers tighten just slightly on her thigh, drawing a gasp from her lips. “You’re mine, Ember. You’ve been mine since the moment I saw you. So go ahead. Fight me. Push back. Tell me you don’t need me. But don’t think for one goddamn second I’ll let you go.”

Her breath comes fast now, her chest rising and falling as she stares at me like she’s torn between slapping me and pulling me closer. “You’re insane,” she whispers, but there’s no heat in it. Just something raw, something needy.

I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear. “You like it.”

She shoves me back—not hard, but enough to show me she’s still in this fight. Her smirk is back, razor-sharp. “Drive the damn car, Bratva boy.”

I grip her hard to remind her she’ll pay for that.

As we drive, she seems like she’s holding something back, but it’s a short trip, and I don’t want to pry.

“Wait,” Ember says, giving me a curious look. “This isn’t the way to the airport.”

“Who said we’re going to an airport?”

“Ummm…”

“Not interested in commercial airports. We need privacy, speed, and discretion.”

Ember blinks. I hint at the deer-in-the-headlights look she gets when I remind her that I’m not one of the book boyfriends but a real made man.

“…and maybe not the discerning eyes of TSA?”

“Exactly.”

“So we’re going…”

“To a small private airstrip nearby. It’s a place that caters to private jets and helicopters.”

“Oh, wow. Okay. And this is safe?” As soon as she asks the question, she snorts and shakes her head. “What the hell am I talking about? Of course it is. This is Rodion , after all.”

My brother would laugh his ass off at that. I’m the most reckless one in our family, but when it comes to her safety? I’m not fucking around.

The SUV rumbles to a halt just inside the gates of the airstrip. The gravel under the tires crunches loud enough to echo in the quiet, open expanse. Dim lights buzz from overhead fixtures, casting long, skeletal shadows across the cracked asphalt. The air smells faintly of jet fuel and oil.

“Wow,” Ember says softly, peering around. She takes it all in—the squat hangars with peeling paint, the hulking shadows of private jets sitting idle under pools of light, the Bratva muscle standing near the jet waiting for us. They’re dressed casually—hoodies and jeans—but for the telltale bulge of firearms at their waists. One of them flicks a cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath a boot as he nods at me.

“Safe enough for you?” I ask, cocking a brow as I pull her bags from the trunk.

She hesitates, glancing at the Bratva guards. “Let me guess. TSA’s not invited to this party?”

“Not interested in their kind of scrutiny,” I say, my voice firm. “This isn’t a layover in Newark.”

She presses her lips together like she’s holding back a laugh. “And… no metal detectors, either?”

I grunt, shifting her bag over my shoulder. “That’s your takeaway from all this?”

“Well, yeah.” She waves a hand toward the guards and the jet. “It’s all very Mission Impossible .”

I pause, watching her as she scans the scene. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t balk. Just processes it like she’s ticking items off some mental checklist. The way she takes this world in stride—like it’s just another inconvenient plot twist in one of her romance novels—does something to me. I’ve seen men twice her size pale at the sight of my Bratva family. But her? She looks like she’s filing it under pragmatic life decisions and moving on.

I take a step closer, lowering my voice. “You okay?”

She snorts, running a hand through her hair. “Am I okay? Rodion, we’re about to get on a private jet because you have mafia guys hanging around like it’s your personal valet service. This is bananas.”

Her words say one thing, but her tone says another. Beneath her exasperation, there’s something else. Something raw. Her shoulders relax as she looks at me like she’s decided to let herself trust this. Trust me .

“You’re safe with me,” I say. It comes out rougher than I intended, but the truth of it leaves no room for softness. I nod toward the jet. “Now come on. The sooner we’re in the air, the sooner we’re out of reach.”

The inside of the jet is utilitarian. The leather seats are dark, sturdy, and worn just enough to feel comfortable. The overhead lights glow dimly, and the hum of the engines is steady, almost reassuring. Ember takes the seat across from me, glancing out the small window as one of my men secures the luggage and closes the hatch.

She’s quiet for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her camera bag. Then she looks at me, her eyes sharp. “You keep saying that. ‘You’re safe with me.’ But Rodion… we barely know each other.”

Her words hit harder than I expected. Because she’s right. We don’t know each other in the ways most people would call normal. I don’t know her favorite color or the name of her favorite grade school teacher. But I know her. In the ways that matter.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I pin her with my gaze. “I know enough.”

She raises a skeptical brow. “Oh, really? Like what?”

“I know how you take your coffee,” I say, my voice low. “Which, let’s be honest, is fucking crucial. I know you dream about a life bigger than the one you’ve settled for. I know you’re stronger than anyone gives you credit for. And I know I’ve watched every single one of your videos on repeat because I can’t fucking get enough of you. And in your videos, you’re self-deprecating but funny and witty, and I suspect part of the reason you spend more time in your book fantasy world than real life is because you fear getting close to people.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. For once, she’s caught off guard. Good. I’m not done.

“I’ve seen the way you look at the camera like it’s the only thing in the world that understands you. Like you’ve built this perfect little escape, but you’re still waiting for someone to come in and shatter it. Someone who can handle the real you. Not the version you think people want.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, she looks so exposed that I almost regret saying it. Almost.

“Touché, sir,” she finally says in that adorable mutter. “But you don’t?—"

“Don’t know the real you?” I shake my head. “I know more about you than I probably should. And if that scares you, Ember, good. Because it scares the shit out of me too.”

I lean back and smirk. “Now let’s hear what you know about me.” This ought to be good.

“Ahh, my turn.” The emerald glow of her eyes melts me a little. “You’re hot as fuck, and it’s definitely gone to your head.”

I grunt at her but don’t interrupt. I’ll remember that one next time she’s over my lap.

“Not that I blame you, with all those followers offering you their virginity and whatnot, but still.” Her lips twitch. “You’re confident. Strong. Able to take command. Fearless, even, the way I’d imagine a soldier would be. You’re protective and intense. You come alive when you have someone to look over, a battle to win, a villain to fight. Which, if you think about it…” Her voice trails off, and she grows a little shy. “Is kind of ironic, yet charming.”

I lean back in my seat and steeple my hands. Listening.

“Yet even though you’re dangerous, you’re somehow… familiar. Someone who’s really more like my book boyfriends than they are, and on the one hand, I feel like I know you… but on the other, I feel like I’ve just scratched the surface.” She leans in. “You come across as bold and fearless, but a part of you wants to prove yourself to… someone. Maybe your brothers. Maybe me.” She shrugs. “Maybe yourself.”

A part of me wishes I could pull the mask back down.