Chapter 2
Valeri
Iget out of my car and lean against it, waiting for the girl to work up the courage to face me.
She’s obviously terrified, and that fear is the only thing keeping my temper in check.
I just bought this car last week, and I’m not thrilled about it already having a dent.
I watch her take a breath and then open her door.
The truck is way too fucking big for her, and it’s not anything I would’ve ever guessed she’d be driving if I’d just seen her walking around.
She looks like she’d need a little stepladder just to get into the damn thing.
“Oh my god,” she groans when she sees the small dent in the front bumper.
Her hand comes to her mouth and for one horrible second I fear she might actually pass out.
When she makes her way over to me, I notice she’s shaking, and that has warning bells ringing all through my head.
Upset, yes, that makes sense. Angry and pissed, I’d expect nothing less. But scared to death? That’s not normal.
My eyes run over her small frame and the long, dark hair that’s pulled into a high pony tail.
The clothes she’s wearing look like they came right off the rack of a discount store, and the huge glasses that are at this moment slipping down her nose are designed to make her invisible.
It’s almost working. Everything about her feels like it was done on purpose to make a man’s eyes run right over her without a second glance.
My curiosity is piqued, although it shouldn’t be.
Her voice shakes when she says, “Would you be willing to work something out with me without involving the police or insurance?”
I have to bite back a laugh, because I sure as fuck wasn’t planning on calling the cops. My brothers and I run the most powerful Bratva in this city, and the last thing I want is a cop nosing around, even if it is just to write this up and give her a ticket.
“Is this your truck?”
“It’s my dad’s,” she whispers, fidgeting with the sleeves of her shirt and worrying her bottom lip. I watch her tongue as it runs over the plump lip, and the fact that she’s not even trying to be sexy just makes it all the sexier.
“What exactly did you have in mind?” I ask her, wondering if she’s going to offer me sex. It wouldn’t be the first time, and I’ll be very disappointed if she does. She seems different, and I can’t help but like that about her. I’d hate to find out she’s just like so many other women I’ve met.
When her light brown eyes meet mine, there’s nothing in them but genuine fear and worry. “I can slowly pay you back over time. I’m really sorry. I can’t believe I hit you. The sun was in my eyes, and I’m tired, and it just happened so damn fast.”
She doesn’t look drunk or high, but I ask anyway. “Why are you so tired? Been out partying all night?”
“What? No. I just got off work.”
“Where do you work?”
“At the library.”
I lift a brow at her. “You work at the library at night?”
She sighs and looks even more uncomfortable when she says, “I’m one of the night janitors.”
If she thinks I’m going to laugh, she’s got another thing coming. I would never make someone feel bad about the kind of work they do. I know I hate it when people judge me for what I do. It may not be quite the same thing, but still.
I take out my phone and look at her. “What’s your name?”
“Evie Finch.”
I put her in my contacts along with her number when she gives it to me and then send her a quick text with nothing but the smiling emoji so she’ll have my number.
“Do you need me to get in touch with your dad about his truck?”
Her eyes widen and she takes a quick step closer before she thinks better of it and stops, hugging her arms tightly around her chest. “No, please don’t do that.”
I get that her dad won’t be too happy about this, but her reaction goes beyond that. She’s not just worried he’s going to be mad. All my gut instincts tell me he’s abusing her, and god does that piss me off.
Stepping around her, I take a look at the dent on the front bumper and snap a quick photo of it before sending it off to a mechanic who’s helped the Bratva out in the past, asking him how long it would take to fix this.
His response is immediate, and when I see that it’ll take less than an hour, I put my phone away and turn back to Evie.
“Follow me. I have a friend who can fix that for you.”
“But,” she starts to say, and then stops as her cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
“Don’t worry about the cost. He owes me a favor.” It’s sort of true. The first part is anyway. I’ll pay to fix the truck, but I’m not going to tell her that.
When she’s still standing there, debating what to do, I say, “Get in the truck, Evie, and follow me.” I smile and add, “Try not to hit me this time.”
Her mouth drops open before I give a soft laugh and get back in my car.
I wait until she’s ready before pulling out of the parking lot.
Keeping a close eye on her so I don’t lose her in traffic, I lead her to the garage on the other side of the city.
My oldest brother, Vasily, runs the northern part, and my other brother, Volodya, runs the southern.
As the youngest, I get the middle, smaller section, but I’m more than happy with the arrangement.
My area may not be as big, but it’s the busiest and includes all of downtown.
I thought maybe I’d get homesick for Moscow when I first came here, but I’ve grown to love this city, and it already feels like home, especially with my older brothers now married and with kids.
No way in hell would I ever move away from my nephews.
Family is everything. At least it is for me.
I’m guessing Evie could do without hers.
When I hit the next red light, I watch her through my rearview mirror.
She’s holding up a hand, trying to block the morning sun from her eyes as much as possible, and nervously tapping the fingers of her other hand on the steering wheel.
I give her a little wave and then laugh at the very awkward return one she gives me.
Smooth is not a word I’d use to describe Evie.
I find it oddly refreshing. Once the light turns green, she follows me to Mac’s garage, parking the big truck in front of the open stall.
“Morning, Mr. Medvedev,” Mac shouts, waving at me with a hand that’s already stained with grease.
Jogging over to us, he wipes his hands on an already dirty rag and then throws it over his shoulder. Evie gets out of the truck while Mac squats down in front of it, studying the dent.
“Still think you can have it done within the hour?” I ask him.
He nods his blond head at me, running his fingers over the bumper. “Yeah, this will be easy to fix.” Looking over at my car, he raises a brow at me. “What about yours?”
“You can take a look at mine next if you’ve got the time today.”
“I always make time for the Medvedev brothers,” he says, and my eyes shoot to Evie, gauging her reaction, but either she’s the world’s best actress, or the name doesn’t mean anything to her.
Interesting. Very few people in this area aren’t aware of our Bratva, at the very least the Medvedev name gets mentioned because we own so many damn clubs—strip clubs, nightclubs, a few restaurants, and even a women’s shelter that Vasily’s wife runs.
Evie has evidently never heard of us, which makes me wonder even more about her.
The library she works at is right across the street from Inferno, one of our most popular clubs, and I wonder if it’s possible that she’s never even been inside.
She definitely looks the right age to be spending her weekends hitting the clubs, but if she were, then she’d know my last name.
“I’ll go ahead and get started then.” Mac stands back up and comes over, holding his hand out for the keys.
Evie drops them in his palm and then takes a step back, hugging her arms across her stomach and worrying that bottom lip again.
She pushes her glasses up her nose when they start to slip, a movement that seems as much from habit as from necessity, and then turns her eyes to mine, briefly meeting my gaze before looking away.
Mac drives the truck into the stall while I point across the street. “Want a cup of coffee while we wait?”
She looks over at the small café and fidgets with the end of her sleeves, pulling them lower so they cover half her hands. “Sure, I guess.” Then she looks at the truck and adds, “I need to get my wallet from the truck.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s on me.”
“You’ve already done too much,” she argues.
“It’s just a cup of coffee,” I remind her. “Overpriced, I’m sure, but still just a cup of coffee.”
She nods, pushes her glasses up again and then follows me across the street, looking back at the truck every few feet.
“Mac’s great,” I say, trying to reassure her. “When he’s done, you’ll never be able to tell there used to be a dent there.”
I open the door to the small café for Evie, noticing that my words don’t seem to have had an effect on her.
She still looks tense and worried. After we order two lattes and she turns down my offer for a blueberry muffin, we head to one of the small tables in the corner that gives us a clear view of Mac’s garage.
“So how old are you, Evie?” I ask once we’re seated.
That question alone makes her blush. She grabs her drink, pulling it closer and says, “Almost twenty-one.”
“Almost?”
“Yeah, later this month.”
I lift my latte in a cheer. “Well, happy early birthday then.”
Her mouth quirks up the tiniest bit. “Thanks, Mr. Medvedev.”
I laugh and say, “Call me Valeri.”
“Where are you from?” Her question seems to surprise her, like it came out before she could think better of it. She quickly says, “You don’t have to answer that. I was just curious about your accent.”
“I’m from Russia.”
“The library has a pretty big section devoted to Russian literature.”
“What’s your favorite?”