The Bratva’s Auctioned Bride (Milov Bratva Brides #13)

Chapter 1 - Diomid

My arm swings, the muscles of my shoulder and bicep rippling as my fist connects with the guy’s upper cheek, and I hear the loud, satisfying crack of bone. He grunts in shock and pain. Air pushes from my lungs at the same time, expelled by the force of my effort.

The guy drops like a sack of stones. His head clips against the pavement, and he yelps in pain again, rolling and clutching at his wounds. Blood gushes from the cut over his brow. Broken cheekbone and a deep gash over his brow—two shots in one. Nicely done, Diomid. I smile triumphantly.

Blood oozes over his eye, and he blinks as his vision blurs while he scampers backward, trying to escape the next blow he thinks is coming from me. But I’m done with him, and with his friends. They aren’t worth the effort I’ve already wasted on them. Although I won’t lie and say it wasn’t fun.

“Tell your owners to keep you on a shorter leash,” I snarl, standing up and wiping the back of my hand over my face.

I check to see if I’m bleeding, but I’m not.

These assholes punch like girls. I hate it when my rivals are too scared to face me themselves and they send their bitches to sort it out for them.

Hired guards who need way more training before they’re strong enough to step into this world.

My world. I hope this is a reminder for them.

Surveying the street, I snort in disapproval as my eyes trace over the groaning, pained movements of three men lying on the tarred road. My chin tilts up in defiance, and I grab the edges of my collared jacket and give it a sharp tug to straighten it.

“Fucking amateurs.”

No one replies; they all keep their heads down and stay on the ground. A good choice on their part.

Walking away, I spit onto the pavement, furious, worked up, agitated. My adrenaline is pumping after taking down three armed idiots. They actually thought they could jump me. The arrogance.

This is not how I wanted my night to start. I worked late. Got shit done. Thought I would grab a steak on the way home and, for a change, get an early night.

It’s not often I’m in the mood to just chill. But tonight I was.

Not anymore, though.

My blood is pumping through me like demon blood on fire.

My skin is burning, my jaw is clenched tight, and I need to do something to get rid of this angry, internal mess of emotions.

Something that doesn’t involve any more violence.

In the past, my usual response would be to look for another fight. And another. And another. Until I’ve fought myself into a calmer state, but apparently this pisses my family off, and they’ve begged me to slow down and keep a low profile—or at least try.

I can’t be so reckless and impulsive anymore, even if it is my default reaction.

It’s who I am.

My brothers want me to try and be someone or something else.

Guilt washes over me when I think about how many times I’ve put my family in a tight spot because I was impulsive. Yeah. Maybe I should try something else.

I didn’t start the fight this evening. But I guess I ended it pretty well.

I glance over my shoulder at the shadows of men behind me, finally staggering to their feet, leaning on whatever is closest to them. The sight makes me laugh.

“Morons,” I smirk.

I could do with a drink.

Definitely not in the mood for a steak anymore. If I can’t fight, I want to fuck.

It’s the best way to expend my energy. Make someone scream my name in pleasure.

When I brush my hand over the cuff of my jacket, I notice the tear on the sleeve.

Those fuckers. This jacket was tailor made and it’s one of my favorites.

Whatever. I shrug it off and toss it over the bricks of a low wall I’m walking past. Some homeless person is going to find it, and he won’t even know he’s wearing one of the most luxurious items in the city. He’ll look damn fine, though.

As I walk toward the busiest street in the city, I roll up the cuffs of my black shirt sleeves a few times, straightening each turn of the fabric so it sits flush against my taut forearms.

Flexing my fist, I test for pain, but those guys went down easily. I don’t even think I bruised a knuckle. The tendons on my forearm ripple beneath my skin, and nothing hurts.

Good.

I have a very high tolerance for pain, but that doesn’t mean it won’t annoy me if I have to deal with a pulled something or other for a week or two.

As I reach the club entrance, the bouncer turns to glance up and down the street and spots me immediately.

“Dio, my man,” he grins, slapping his hand into mine and shaking vigorously. “Good to see you, Brother.”

“Hey, Tiger, looks like a busy one tonight. Are they keeping you on your toes?” I gesture with a tilt of my head down the long line of people waiting to get into the club.

“Rif raff,” he chuckles beneath his breath. “Pretty little riff raff.” He turns his back to the line and winks at me. “Check the one in the pink. That dress is short enough to be a crop top, Brother,” he whispers.

Tiger is a filthy man. I reckon he’d fuck literally anything.

I have standards, but I still play along with his games every time I come here.

You keep a man like Tiger close. He’s loyal if you treat him with respect—and his connections and knowledge of every person in this city have come in handy more than once.

Everyone likes the man who welcomes you into the most popular club in the city.

“She’s a firecracker. Why haven’t you let her in yet?” I ask.

“I get to look at ‘em while they’re out here. So I want to keep this one standing a little longer. But you should go in. You’re going to like tonight’s selection.” He raises his brows as he unclips the red rope across the entrance and bows his head in respect.

There are many eyes on me from the impatient people standing in line. I wink at the girl in the pink; she’s not my type at all, but hey, what can I say? I like to flirt.

As I walk past Tiger, I slap money into his hand. “Good seeing you again, Brother,” I say, then head into the club.

Music vibrates right into my skin as I step into the Red Room.

A dark, glowing red aura soaks over me. Smoke machines stream a steady fog across the dance floor, and bodies churn and thrum in front of the ceiling-high speakers playing music so loud that it drowns out my thoughts, which is exactly what I want.

I’m here to let loose. To burn energy.

And to find someone to fuck.

The carnal world of raw desire has always been an escape for me. A way to get out of my head, to let go of the shit I deal with living in the world I live in. It’s my disconnection. Short-lived, but enjoyable.

Sure, as soon as the fucking is over, the real world snaps back into place, but for those moments, I’m free of it. And it’s what I need right now.

I push my way through the crowds, past some good-looking girls, but none of them have actually caught my eye just yet.

Leaning against the bar, I nod toward the barkeep. He knows what I want. He waves and smiles, then grabs a glass to pour me a vodka soda with a splash of lime.

A tight little fox brushes against me, her auburn hair looking redder in the lights.

She looks like way more drama than she’s worth.

She glances at me with long lashes and lust in her smile.

Slut, I muse in my thoughts. She wants it so bad, she might let me bend her over the bar counter in front of everyone.

Girls like her see the suit and the shirt, and they know exactly what brand it is.

They see the Breguet watch shining on my wrist and recognize my attitude. My arrogance. My confidence.

Gold diggers. They think they’re in control, seducing you, luring you. I’m not interested in being played by some little gold digger who has seven other sugar daddies. Wrinkled, dried-up old men who can only get girls like this. Desperate girls with no morals.

Gold diggers aren’t my type. They play the long game.

They want your number afterward. They want to meet up again and have you take them to dinners and parties on your yacht.

It sounds like way too much work. Fuck that.

I want a sexy little kitten who plays hard to get.

A challenge. Someone who I’m in control of.

And someone whose ego isn’t bigger than mine.

I smile back at her, but it’s just because I can’t help being charming. It’s not because I’m interested. My eyes return to the crowds, in search of my little vixen for the night. The girl next to me notices my disinterest and pulls a sour face. I ignore her.

I’m fussy. I get to be fussy because I’m fucking gorgeous. I don’t even have to pretend I’m not. With a smirk, I push my hand through my pitch black hair, long enough to fall into my eyes, thick enough to be a wild mess when I wake up in the morning.

My cold blue eyes, grey in certain light, scan the beautiful faces around me.

Maybe tonight might be a bust. Maybe I should take the fox to the bathroom, make her scream my name, and then go home.

Sighing, I pick up my drink and nod in thanks at the barman.

I’ll have a drink or two, and if nothing …

Who is that? I’ve never seen her before. Someone like that I would fucking remember.

My body spikes with interest. My heart is beating a little faster, and my jaw is twitching.

I feel like a hunter, locking onto his prey. My interest has been piqued.

She’s absolutely stunning. And she doesn’t look like she belongs here, which makes me like her even more.

She’s got long brown hair, like light caramel honey, cascading down her back.

She’s wearing a tight white dress that accentuates every little detail of her perfect figure.

Full breasts, narrow waist, and hips to grab onto when I fuck her from behind.

I bet that tight little ass would jiggle if I slapped it hard enough.

My cock stirs, and I laugh at myself.

Calm down, Dio. She’s just a girl. In a club full of girls. She might not even be the best option here tonight. Wait it out. Let’s see what happens. You aren’t in a rush.

But she’s not the same as the rest. This one is different.

Leaning back, I take my time watching her as I sip my vodka. I can’t tear my eyes off her.

She’s young, but there is an elegance about her that makes her seem older. She’s graceful. And compared to her friend, she’s a little nervous, a little hesitant about this place. This sweet little kitten keeps looking around, a shy smile on her perfect lips.

Despite her looking so out of place, one thing is clear. She’s excited to be here.

She might be shy or nervous, but she’s not scared. She’s here to enjoy herself.

Her tall, blonde friend hands her a shot of something, and she bites her lip before throwing it back, then scrunches her nose as the alcohol burns her throat—before she’s grinning and demanding another.

After a second shot, she lets her friend drag her onto the dance floor, where she doesn’t waste any time at all letting loose.

Her tight, curvy little body moves like a goddess. Feminine, graceful energy flows from her as she swirls her hips and raises her slender arms above her head, smiling, her eyes half closed.

I wonder what she would do if I sat her on my cock and told her to dance for me.

My cock stirs, and I’m grinning again.

Her friend steps between her and me, blocking my line of sight of her, and I growl in annoyance, but in the same moment, I realize I recognize the girl she’s with. I know the tall blonde friend. Mila Lebedev. Someone friendly with my family.

A man steps behind Mila, leaning over to kiss her cheek. She grins and wraps her arms around her neck to hug him.

Narrowing my eyes, I watch her introduce some guys to my girl.

I know the guys, too. Brothers. Small players in the Bratva world.

They are part of one of the families we’re friendly with.

Easy-going Bratva guys who tend to stay out of trouble at least most of the time.

Good people. Unlike me. I rather enjoy getting into trouble.

Mila and her friend say hi to the guys, but they are more interested in dancing together than worrying about what they’re up to.

Standing back, I watch, enjoying the show the girls are putting on in their innocence.

And I’m relaxed until I see one of the small-time brothers moving in on my girl.

Not a fucking chance, I think to myself as I push off the bar and walk through the crowd toward the dance floor to intercept his weak attempt at charming her.

He won’t stand a chance against me.

She’s mine tonight. I’ll fucking break that guy’s nose if he thinks he’s changing my plans.

He can have the other one, Mila.

The angel is mine.

I can’t wait to hear the beautiful, sweet little cries of her pleasure when I fuck her tonight.