Chapter 1 #2
We were hooked. In the span of two months, we’d go on to steal six more cars and we sold them all for cash.
Simple. Quiet.
We landed in Miami at the end of that summer, filthy rich, with cash strapped all over our bodies, our hoodies and innocent teenage faces hiding all the evidence. We didn’t declare anything and no one asked.
Our fate was decided.
It was a no-brainer—we were phenomenal at stealing cars and getting away with it, and we obviously integrated the business model into Florida. We’d been thriving ever since, almost twenty years now.
And while we may have blown a few—many—brains out over the years, we’d never descended to such dire actions as kidnapping.
Moretti’s daughter thrashed in the backseat like a fish out of water, and I wondered why there was just one man holding her down.
“Zip tie her ankles,” I commanded and turned around just in time to see her kick up with renewed energy. Something bright yellow flashed right in the middle of her tanned legs. Her thong. I turned back around, quickly refocusing on the road.
Definitely a thong because her round ass cheeks were bare. But yellow? What a strange color choice for a tho—
What the fuck was I even dwelling on?!
“Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!”
I fumbled with my phone but managed to dial Andrei, hoping that he was already waiting at the house. “We’re on our way. You there?” I asked in Russian.
“Yeah.” He switched to English with a sigh. “I went to an ultrasound with Olga today, Sasha. I’m having a daughter. And we’re kidnapping someone else’s?” he chuckled, sounding both sad and resigned.
“Congrats! You always wanted a daughter! Your boys will love having a younger sister.” Andrei’s wife was pregnant with their third child, which was mind-blowing to me. They did nothing but fuck—to have three kids?
“How long will you be?”
“Maybe an hour.” I hung up the phone just as her ankles were zip tied, and the Moretti girl was finally subdued.
In an eerily silent car, we all traveled down the freeway while I let my mind wander to the incongruity in my life. Andrei was at an ultrasound with his wife in the afternoon, and in the evening, we were meeting up to explain to the young girl that we kidnapped her.
And what about Gianna and her bullshit threats? I’ll go to the cops! That psycho could do whatever she damn well pleased, but she had balls—to accuse me of abusing her, knowing full well I’d never—never touched her in a way she didn’t want.
Finally, my mind snapped back to the issue at hand: the young woman in the back of my car…
…wearing a yellow thong, apparently.
Truly, this was Moretti’s fault, I reassured myself. He was the one who decided to get to the bottom of this grand theft auto epidemic, as he called it.
He was the one who ignored our warning: we were the fucking Bratva so it was best he put it to rest.
And he was the one who put the nail in the coffin. He went public—announced his plan to the whole world. He sold himself to the press and placed himself in a position where he couldn’t back down or lose.
So we would make him lose. We’d take his daughter and use her as leverage until he resigned. Until he begged on his knees. Until he shut this shit down for good.
That was the best way to do it, anyway—take something tangible, real and dear, and then threaten. Busting kneecaps didn’t always produce the desired results, but taking his only daughter? He’d come around quick.
Fuck. I hoped I wasn’t wrong.
Moretti’s girl sniffled loudly in the backseat, reminding me that I wasn’t even sure of her name.
In fact, we had no fucking clue who she really was.
Moretti’s investigation picked up significant speed and we had no time to do any research on her.
What if she'd have a fucking heart attack from the stress?
A dead body on our hands would escalate this plan into the unknown.
“Donntoufme!” she demanded loudly.
This girl was immobilized, held down, and overpowered, and still barking out commands. Like father, like daughter.
Ugh. I prayed she wasn’t going to become a huge problem. I wanted her to sit quietly in a nice beach house and wait it out. I had zero energy to babysit her.
Actually, I had negative energy for that. I had negative energy for everything.
As promised to Andrei, an hour later, the entirety of which Moretti’s daughter spent writhing and driving her heels into the back of my seat, Maksim pulled up to the location.
But getting her out was another story. There were three—three men dragging her out while she kicked and screamed, her strength and determination reminiscent of a pissed-off cat.
“Da, blyat!” Maksim cursed in Russian when she landed her heels into his chest. I turned around to hide my chuckle, but then…what the fuck was I laughing at? This crazy chick would be on our watch from now on.
With difficulty, two men carried her into the house and plopped her into a chair in the living room. Andrei watched silently as Maksim zip tied her hands to the back of the chair while she thrashed from side to side.
The bag was ripped off her head and there she was in the bright lights of the house. Her long hair was all disheveled, she breathed as if she’d just run a marathon, and her black makeup was smudged, dried tears streaking down her cheeks.
Maksim and his crew left, closing the door behind them and leaving us three together, locked in a game no one wanted to play.
The gold dress blinded me with its shimmer, riding up high on her smooth legs. She clenched her thighs and leaned forward, trying to catch my gaze. Even with a fucking gag in her mouth, zip tied to a chair, she wouldn’t quit.
“I’m going to remove this. Don’t shout, there’s no one around.” I issued a warning right before stepping forward and untying the gag on the back of her head. But as soon as the cloth was out of her mouth, the loudest, shrillest, most piercing scream filled up the entire fucking house.
It bounced off the walls, shaking my eardrums. I almost shoved the material back in her mouth, but she stopped abruptly, her tear-filled eyes staring up at me with defiance.
The silence that followed was almost as unsettling as her scream.
“You done?”
“You liked it? I can go for a long time,” she spat back, but it was obvious; this was all a facade. All the signs were there: pupils blown wide, shaking knees, her shoulders pulled up as if to shield herself. She was terrified.
Good.
“You always bait strange men you don’t know?”
Her bottom lip fell open and I could tell she was calculating what to respond. Instead, Andrei interrupted, “What’s your name?”
She didn’t move, just stared up at me, ignoring his question.
Half a minute of silence passed and everything blurred in my vision except her.
The girl had green eyes, deep pink lips, and long dark brown hair.
Clearly high on adrenaline or maybe filled with liquid courage, the resistance in her gaze kicked all my anxiety into high gear.
“What. Is. Your. Name?” I leaned down to her eye level, the smell of her perfume hitting me like a frying pan in the face. Jasmine? Iris? I had no fucking idea, but it was flowery and powerful.
“J-Jade,” she finally whispered, blinking fast, her chin quivering. Oh, that’s right—it was Jade, not Julie.
“You have a last name, Jade? Or is it like Madonna? Just Jade?”
It was like magic. Jade sat up, the fear in her eyes slowly dissipating, pure rage filling her up instead. Her cheeks reddened and she cleared her throat. “It’s Jade Moretti, asshole.”
Seething, she held my gaze, oscillating somewhere between anger and panic, awakening a deep desire in me: I wanted to make her livid. Fuck her and the whole Moretti name!
“Does your daddy know you’re in Miami, Jade?” I posed another question, my stare lingering on the way her plump bottom lip fell open again in surprise.
“Yes.” Her eyebrows came together in confusion. “He knows.”
Instead of lighting up at the mention of her father, all that fight and fire drained from her, and green-eyed Jade trembled in the chair, barely able to take a breath.
And then she gasped, her eyes widening and her shimmery chest heaving.
She tried to breathe in, but instead she squeaked, dropping her head.
“She’s hyperventilating. Give her something to breathe into.” Andrei’s sage advice sounded from behind me. I did the only thing I could think of: I clasped my hand over her mouth and nose, sliding my fingers into her soft hair and holding her head, letting her restore the balance in her lungs.
“Shh, shh. Just relax. We’re not going to hurt you.”
Her gaze found mine and tears streamed into her hairline, and I thought this was it—she’d calm down now.
But I was so fucking wrong.
Sharp pain exploded between my thumb and index finger right as that incorrect thought slipped out of my mind.
I looked down at my hand to see her incisors piercing my skin, the look in her eyes unhinged and daring.
She fucking bit me.