Bound and Bred by the Bratva (Bred By The BRATVA #12)

Chapter 1 Hailey

HAILEY

FIVE YEARS AGO

Twirling in my pink gown, I feel like a princess.

Thanks to my new stepfather’s immense wealth, Mom could spend as much money as she wanted on celebrating my sweet sixteen with a massive birthday party.

What teenage girl doesn’t want to wear a sparkly dress and a tiara for one evening? Especially a girl who never knew anything but poverty until her mother married a tattooed Russian named Dmitri?

My fairy godfather.

Six months ago, my life changed overnight.

Maybe money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy new friends, especially among the snobby girls at the new fancy private high school Dmitri insisted I attend.

I didn’t argue against the chance to attend a school so far out of reach I never dared to dream of it.

If happiness isn’t a sumptuous pink silk gown with crystals on the bodice and a six-inch-tall tiara, I don’t know what would be. I invited half the school.

Dmitri was the one who invited my hot, mysterious, dangerous new stepbrother. Rafail, his only son. Mom warned me not to get involved with him.

As if he’d let me. Every time I try to talk to him, Rafail swats me away like I’m an annoying fly.

“Who’s the gangster?” one of my new friends, Melanie, shouts over the DJ’s music.

She presses a clear plastic cup into my gloved hand.

Melanie’s frothy, low-cut purple gown shows at least three inches of cleavage.

I don’t like the way she’s eyeing Rafail.

I’m the only one who gets to ogle him like that.

Even if he gets annoyed every time I do it.

“My stepbrother,” I answer. Her eyes flare wide.

With tattoos peeking out of his unbuttoned collar and from his sleeves, Rafail certainly looks the part.

He leans sullenly against the wall, scowling at his father, Dmitri, who’s being handsy with Mom.

Rafail doesn’t seem to like her, or me, very much.

It’s a relief that he isn’t around a lot, since I can’t seem to stop poking the bear.

I’m intrigued by him. He doesn’t feel the same way about me.

He spends all his time working on “business” for his dad.

I drink from the cup Melanie handed me and choke on the harsh flavor. “Are you trying to poison me? What’s in this?”

“Vodka. I stole it from my dad’s liquor cabinet. Half the school is drunk tonight. Lightweights.” She scoffs. Melanie has a reputation to maintain, which is one reason why I wanted to be friends with her. I’ve never been one of the cool kids before.

Well, I’m no lightweight, even if this is my first time tasting alcohol. I take a huge sip, then another, swallowing half the drink in a few big gulps. Immediately, the room tilts.

“Go easy, Hailey, that was a strong pour,” Melanie cautions. Loud music from the DJ’s booth swallows up our conversation. Neither of us worry about being overheard by a passing adult.

“Liquid courage.” I wink. I feel bold and grown-up in my huge skirt, held up with hoops and petticoats like I’m some kind of southern belle.

I wish I could wear this every day. Even if it is inconvenient to pee.

I may be underage, but I want my first kiss to be from Rafail. Just to be able to say I did it.

His gaze cuts to me, and I freeze. I swear it’s like he can read my mind sometimes. He doesn’t live with us as part of the family, even though he’s Dmitri’s son. At 25, he has his own apartment, his own car…his own gun.

All things that seem like wild luxuries to me. Until two years ago, Mom and I were sleeping in her ancient Honda Civic more often than not. She cleaned houses. Hours of grueling manual labor still weren’t enough for us to afford an apartment of our own. Not here in expensive California.

Then she took a job cleaning up after an event in Las Vegas, and came back married to Dmitri, a man she had known for all of two days.

Overnight, our lives changed for the better.

I don’t ask questions. Having money has been such a damn relief.

Dmitri dotes on me. Calls me the daughter he never had in his thick Russian accent.

I loved him right away. Part of me craved a father who actually gave a damn, since I never knew my own biological father.

He bounced the minute Mom told him she was pregnant with me.

Tonight, I’m determined. I want Rafail to kiss me.

Totally forbidden. Completely taboo, honestly. I shouldn’t have a massive crush on the grumpy bad boy stepbrother I barely know. But I do. How epic would it be for him to be my first kiss?

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to him.” I grab Melanie’s elbow and pull her along.

“I’m going to need more vodka for this,” she mutters. “Jesus, he’s hot. How do you deal with living with him?”

“I don’t. He lives in New York.” All the way across the country, in a city I’ve never visited and only know from watching TV. Melanie and I aren’t close. I don’t bother to explain that I hardly ever see him. She’s just a convenient excuse to talk to Rafail.

“What does he do?” Melanie asks.

Good question. “Works for his dad.”

“What does your stepfather do?”

“Construction.” God, Melanie, leave it alone. Questions aren’t welcome around here.

I realize the alcohol has hit me hard when I trip over the hem of my fluffy gown.

Dmitri takes an unexpected step back as I’m passing behind him.

His heel pins my skirt, pulling me off-balance in my new high-heeled shoes.

Having never worn them before, I’m thrown off-balance.

Momentum carries me forward while my skirt pulls taut. I pitch forward with a sharp yelp.

Right into Rafail’s arms.

I register his beat of hesitation right before he grabs me.

“You must learn not to throw yourself at men, printsesa.” He holds me propped upright while I get my feet under me. “Have some self-respect.”

My cheeks burn. There’s no point in denying it. I did come over to him with the express purpose of flirting with him. Still, that was a shitty thing to say. Even if it did sound sexy in his accented, formal English.

He calls out something in Russian. Dmitri turns, follows the line of my skirt to his heel, and casts me a sheepish grin before removing his foot from the hem of my dress.

“I wanted to introduce you to my friend Melissa,” I hiccup. “Melanie. Sorry.” I cast her an apologetic glance. The dark one she shoots me in return is scathing. Whoops.

Rafail’s nose crinkles slightly as if he smelled something bad.

I gaze at his face in fascination. All the boys at school still have baby fat and soft jawlines.

Even the guys on the swim team, who are as ripped as action heroes, have a childish look about them compared to Rafail.

His jaw is hard and unyielding, but his lips…

There are two reasons I want him to kiss me. Upper and lower.

Belatedly, I realize that he did not feel at all like a boy when I grabbed his arms to steady myself.

Now, I’m all flustered.

“Have you been drinking, printsesa?” he asks. His accent does exciting things to my insides.

“You must be smelling your own cologne.” I smile sweetly. Busted. I never can quite seem to keep a civil tongue in my head. Mom gets frustrated with my comebacks, but Rafail merely clicks his tongue sternly.

“I ought to turn you over my knee for lying.” One side of his perfectly sculpted mouth curls up in the barest hint of a smile. I’ve never seen him smile for real. “You aren’t old enough for that, little girl.”

“I’m too old, actually. I’m not a little kid.” I have only the vaguest idea of what he’s talking about. Spanking for sexual pleasure, I think. I’m mortified and offended that he threatened to spank me like a child in front of my friend from high school. I’m also…intrigued?

“Yes. I see how grown-up you are,” he says seriously. Somehow, it doesn’t sound like a compliment. The hint of amusement is gone.

“Mhm.” Very snappy comeback, Hailes. You can do better than that.

“It’s so great to meet Hailey’s stepbrother.

I’ve heard so much about you,” Melanie interrupts, lying through her teeth.

To me, she hisses, “You didn’t tell me he has an accent.

” She sidles closer, playing with a strand of her long hair.

Twirling it around her finger, down toward her exposed cleavage.

Damn. I didn’t know a teenager could flirt like that.

I’m torn between jealousy and self-consciousness. I feel like a kid playing dress-up in her mom’s fanciest clothes.

An overgrown cupcake.

The dress that made me feel so mature and sparkly a minute ago now seems gaudy and childishly naive.

I lift one hand to my deep-brown curls that hang halfway down my back.

The ends would touch the curve of my bottom if they weren’t pinned up in the back.

It took hours and gallons of hair product to force my unruly waves into submission.

Weird thought. I shouldn’t have drank Melanie’s vodka. I definitely shouldn’t have tried to talk to Rafail. I’m a mess. Reacting to him with butterflies in my stomach. All I wanted was a kiss. Not whatever these dark thoughts are.

“You are the one who gave Hailey vodka?” Rafail’s amber eyes follow her hand and linger on the swell of her breasts. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I’m suddenly self-conscious about my own comparatively covered-up chest. Innocent and demure in comparison.

“Maybe,” she says coyly.

He strikes like a snake, grabbing her by the throat. Both of us gasp. Her eyes bulge. He says nothing. Just holds her there for a long minute.

“Stop it, you’re scaring her,” I plead. Who—what—is my stepbrother? He’s scaring me, too.

“Do not corrupt my stepsister,” he says, giving Melanie a little squeeze before relaxing his grip around her throat. “She is family now. Only we are allowed to defile her.”

She squeaks and all but runs away, leaving me alone with my stepbrother. Despite my racing pulse, I stand my ground.

“That was shitty, Rafail. You don’t get to ‘defile’ me either, you weird pervert.” God, what a possessive grump he is. Who talks that way? About their stepsister?

“A mistranslation on my part. English is not my native language.” He shrugs. True. I know he was born in Russia and that Dmitri brought him to the U.S. when he was a kid. Old enough to still have an accent despite the fancy boarding school he went to.

“That’s not exactly an apology,” I grumble, eyeing Melanie. She’s run to her clique of friends and is clearly telling them what he just did. There goes my social life.

“I am not apologizing.” His gaze catches mine. I can’t look away. “I meant it.”

“Smile, children! It’s picture time.” Mom beams. She navigates the treacherous sea of pink skirt to take me by the shoulders and move me into place next to my stepbrother.

The sudden proximity sends a full-body shiver coursing through me.

A photographer with a big camera and an even bigger lens gestures for us to get closer together.

We already took group photos before the party.

I guess he wants some candid shots, too.

I grit my teeth and wobble a couple of inches closer to my obnoxious stepbrother I barely know.

He splays one hand around my waist. My body can’t figure out how to react to his touch.

Hot and tingly. Is he a threat? Do I like this?

I don’t know which way is up. Ten minutes ago I was fantasizing about him giving me my first kiss. Now, I’m fantasizing about killing him.

I still want him to kiss me, though.

Being this close to Rafail is so confusing that I barely notice my mom leaning into the frame. She keeps a smile on her lips, but there’s an edge to her tone when she says, “Do I smell alcohol?”

I shake my head, beaming for the photographer.

She’ll murder me dead if she figures out I’ve been drinking.

Rafail’s grip on my waist tightens fractionally.

A warning. He brings his other hand to my chin, fanning his long, blunt, tattooed fingers lightly along my jaw.

He turns my head up to his. My smile falters. I hardly register the camera’s flash.

“That is me you detect, Mahchykhah. I apologize. I will remove myself from your celebration.” Mahchykhah is what he calls Mom. Dmitri said it means stepmother in Russian.

Perplexed, I gape up at him, my sharp tongue silenced for once. He lied to protect me. Again, that not-quite smile tugs at his lips. I stare at his mouth as it lowers to mine. His warm breath fans my face. Not a trace of booze on his breath. He stops short of kissing me.

“Enjoy your birthday, printsesa. Do not lose my gift.”

He squeezes my waist and releases me. The last time I see him that night is him ducking out a side door, his broad shoulders, dark suit, and black hair unmistakable. Disappearing like a ghost through a wall.

Taking off the dress that night, I find an odd-looking USB-looking thing tucked into the waistband of my dress where he touched me. I turn it over and over, wondering what it means. It doesn’t fit into the slot on my old laptop. Why did he give me a piece of old, broken technology, anyway?

Three months after my sixteenth birthday party, the comfortable life we had with Dmitri comes crashing down. FBI agents stampede through the big house we moved into less than a year ago, breaking things and tearing apart furniture, while my mother and I sob.

Turns out Dmitri never ran a construction company in Vegas.

He was in the Russian mafia—and so was Rafail.

My stepbrother disappeared before he could be caught.

So did we, into Witness Protection. The family I briefly cherished was shattered beyond repair.