Bratva Beast’s Plain Jane

Chapter One

“Shit, fuck, this is not good. Why did you do this, Jane? This is not clever of you. This is insane.” Jane Adams grunted as she started to pull the man toward her car. He let out a groan, and she growled. “Come on, I don’t know if there are going to be any more people looking for you.”

So, in the past thirty minutes, her life had gone from shit to fucking worse. All she had done was sit in her beat-up car as she attempted to deal with her boss’s ultimatum: she had to sleep with him or find another job.

“No offense, sweetheart, but not many people are going to be jumping for joy offering you a job. You’re not exactly easy on the eyes.”

His words, although cruel, didn’t hurt her. Not anymore. Growing up being a plain Jane, she was used to it. Men would look at her for a moment, but the instant a hot woman walked into the room, she was well and truly forgotten. Some might think it was cruel of them. She no longer cared.

Actually, she thought it was ironic seeing as she was also named “Jane” by the church where she had been dropped off when she was just a few days old. At least, that was what she assumed.

From the church, she was sent to foster care, and for the first eighteen years of her life, she got used to being overlooked.

The parents that came to adopt kids were not looking for plain but extraordinary.

She had gone from good foster homes to the worst kind, so tonight hadn’t exactly been a surprise to her—sitting in her car after losing her job, because she wasn’t about to fuck her boss to keep it.

She had been punching out her steering wheel, when up ahead, a gunfight had broken out.

A car had been rammed, and then a couple of guys had gotten out, both dressed in suits. Armed with guns, they pointed them toward the man in the upturned car. One of the two was shot down.

Something in her gut told her to act. Maybe it was the boss pushing her into a corner, or the potential for the underdog, or she was just pissed off.

Pressing on her accelerator, she literally ran the shooter down.

To any other person, this might have been terrifying; however, this wasn’t the first time she had seen death.

She pushed that to the back of her mind.

The guy in the car had managed to wriggle his way out, and she was pulling him into her car. His face was covered in blood. She refused to look at any of his tattoos or try to recognize him.

“Come on,” she said, growling, as she finally was able to drag his ass into the passenger seat of her car.

This was a big mistake. She had no idea who she had just killed.

She had no way of knowing if someone else was on their way to rescue him or provide backup.

She didn’t even know if the man now in her car was worth saving.

Either way, they were questions that did not need answering.

Not now, not ever. All she had to do was get him to safety, then get rid of him and hope for the best.

She pulled out onto the street, spinning her wheels, and then quickly made her way across the city to get to her shitty apartment. Well, it was shitty, but not the worst, so that was an improvement. Thankfully, the landlord of the building had just recently fixed the elevator.

The guy next to her groaned, but she ignored him and focused on driving, while also keeping an eye on everything around her to make sure they were not being followed. Her heart pounded and she felt sick to her stomach.

It was late, close to two in the morning, so most of the streets were empty. She passed a few seedy-looking people—some pimps doing deals, prostitutes selling their wares, drug deals. The usual kind of shit that happened in bad neighborhoods after dark.

Arriving at her apartment, she parked the car, got out, and started to help the man toward the building. Every now and then, she nearly dropped him, because he weighed a lot more than her. She nearly fell to the ground a few times.

By some miracle, she was able to get him inside the building, into the elevator, and then into her apartment. She was sweating by the time they got there, and she was also feeling a little sick. This was not good.

She was able to get him into her small kitchen and dining area. Now, she saw the blood on his face clearly, but there also appeared to be two potential gunshot wounds.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She looked at him and immediately looked away. “I’m no one. We’re not going to share names. We’re not going to know anything about each other. I don’t want to know what went down tonight. Tell me if you want me to just drop you off at the hospital.”

“No hospital,” he said.

She went to her first aid kit. It was something she always made sure she had on hand.

She had no choice but to care for her own wounds over the years.

Being mixed with a lot of bad people, she had learned to take care of herself.

She also filled a bowl with warm water and found a fresh cloth.

She didn’t have a lot, but what she did have was always clean.

Over the years she had learned how to take care of wounds.

Nothing like a gunshot wound, but she was willing to give it a go.

“I need to take off your shirt,” she said. “You’re bleeding and I need to know if we need to call someone, or if I can just clean it up.”

She looked at him, and he had thick, dark blonde hair, as well as piercing blue eyes. She imagined a lot of women would be nothing more than a puddle right about now.

She waited for his response, and his answer was to try to take off the shirt as well.

“I’ve got it,” she said. “I can help you.”

She peeled off his shirt, being careful as she did so. There was a wound at his shoulder and another near his side. One look at the front and back, and both wounds looked like they had been through and through.

“You must be one lucky guy,” she said.

She got to work cleaning the wounds, and she happened to have a bottle of vodka, which she used as best she could to sterilize the area. He let out a growl, but he didn’t scream once.

After the alcohol, there was a moment when he passed out.

Jane used this moment to take his cell phone, use his thumb to activate his cell, and look for anyone she might be able to call.

She noticed a couple of men that must have been called multiple times.

She pressed the button for someone named Nikolai, but she didn’t want to remember his name.

Also listed were Makar and Igor, names she refused to log into her brain.

“Alexey?” a gruff voice asked.

“Look, I don’t want to ask a lot of questions and I’m certainly not about to answer any. I’ve got your boy, Alexey, here. He’s in bad shape. If I give you the address, will you come and collect him?”

There was silence and she saw that Alexey, whose name she didn’t really want to know, was starting to stir. This was not good. She was not looking for trouble. She was not interested in knowing this man or anything associated with him.

“I don’t have a lot of fucking time. He was attacked, I helped him, but now I need you to come and get him because there is only so much I can do, and you’re starting to piss me off,” she said.

She told him the address and hung up. She put the man’s cell phone back in his pocket and got to work cleaning him up.

She dressed his wounds as best she could, but he was going to need stitches, and she told him she didn’t have them.

She was in the process of cleaning the mess away when there was a knock on her door.

Alexey tensed up and she told herself to stop thinking about his name and just remember him as the nearly dead guy.

Gritting her teeth, she made her way to the door, and she had no choice but to open it a little. There was a single chain, but Jane knew that would not stop anyone from getting inside. It was an illusion.

“Talk,” she said.

“I’m here for Alexey,” he said.

He sounded like the voice over the phone.

“I don’t want to know names,” she said.

Opening the door, she turned to see that the nearly dead guy had come into the hall. She watched as the two men went to his side, and she was not going to think of him as Alexey.

The two men turned to her, and she shook her head. “Leave,” she said.

They looked at each other, and the man in their arms was already passing out. She had done what she needed to do. This was over for her.

****

One Week Later

Alexey Baranov glanced down at the file he had been given on Jane Adams. There was not a lot to go on. A list of her recent employment, a record of her education. No family. No one even knew the day she was born, so the day she was found was registered as her birth date.

She was suspected, along with a few other kids, of killing one of the foster parents. Nothing came of it, because the evidence against the foster parent was too much for them to justify punishing the kids.

Jane Adams was nothing to look at. She was a nobody. Not even pretty. No one would notice her in a room. Yet, Alexey couldn’t get her out of his mind, because when he had been ambushed by the Morello mafia, he had nearly died.

Jane killed Frank Morello. Alexey watched her do it.

She ran him down with her car, and admittedly, the bastard had it coming.

He was not a good man. Frank had been one of the worst pieces of shit to ever roam this earth.

The only problem was, Frank was Vincent Morello’s son.

Jane had killed the heir to the Morello mafia.

Alexey knew it was only a matter of time before they figured that shit out.

He’d spoken to Nikolai. She had used his cell phone while he was passed out to call his friend and get him out of her apartment.

She was not stupid. She didn’t ask any questions, she gave facts, and in return wanted no information or reward.

This plain Jane had saved his life.

Alexey could have any woman. A click of his fingers and beautiful women could be lining up to service his cock and fuck him for the rest of the day, to wipe his mind of all the bullshit.

He didn’t do it. He didn’t snap his fingers, nor call a woman to come and please him.

Plain Jane wouldn’t get out of his mind.

“You look like someone has just come and shit on you,” Nikolai said, walking into the room.

There were three men he trusted. Nikolai was one, Makar another, along with Igor. They had his back right from the start.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, closing the file he had on Jane.

Seeing her would not help his battle.

“I wondered if you saw this?” Nikolai asked, as he held up a computer key fob.

“Saw what?” Alexey was not in the mood to play word games. He just wanted to be left alone so he could deal with whatever fucked-up shit was going on in his head.

Clearly, he wasn’t dealing with the attack. It hadn’t been planned. It was the first time in a long time Alexey had let his guard down, and if it hadn’t been for Jane, he’d be dead right now. This was all that kept ringing in his head. He hadn’t even noticed the car following him.

“Have a look,” Nikolai said.

Alexey wanted to tell him to fuck off, but instead he took the key and slipped it into his computer.

He only had to wait a few seconds for his computer to read it, then open a window containing a single video.

He double-clicked the video and waited a moment for it to load, running a hand down his face.

The footage was dark, but he knew exactly what he was seeing.

It was the street where he was attacked.

He had just come from a business meeting.

There was a guy who had intel on Morello’s whereabouts, and he was willing to sell it for protection—someone named Carlos Moranto or some shit like that.

Before he’d even left the alleyway, his car was rammed, not once but twice, and somehow managed to get flipped onto its roof.

Two of his men fired bullets, taking out at least three of their attackers, but it wasn’t enough.

He crossed his fingers over his heart, sending a little prayer for the two men that lost their lives.

Alexey watched himself as he crawled out from the car. He watched as he got shot, and then his last guard, Bruno, attempted to save him. One of the bullets that hit Bruno and killed him went through the other man as well. That was how close it had come.

Alexey had looked into the eyes of Frank Morello, and he’d known he was going to die. It was playing out a lot faster in front of him.

He’d not been afraid. Even now as he watched it. To him, he had lost. He let his guard down, and Frank took full advantage. His men didn’t stand a chance against the ambush.

And then, just as Frank was about to fire his weapon, he never got a chance as the old beat-up car came hurtling down the street. Not a single hesitation as Frank fell, and seconds later Jane came out. It had all been hazy on that night, but she had responded.

That was not what was troubling Alexey as he watched this security footage from one of the street cameras. It was clear as day who had killed Frank Morello. It was not him, nor some innocent bystander. Alexey saw the license plate.

He turned off the video and pulled the key from his computer. “How did you get this?” he asked.

“Our cop gave this to me.”

“Fuck,” Alexey said.

“What?” Nikolai said. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost? I thought you would like to see this shit. By some fucking miracle, you’re alive and breathing, and that girl saved your life. I have a feeling Frank wasn’t exactly acting on orders.”

“That’s the point,” Alexey said. “We got a copy of this. Do you think we’re the only ones that got a copy? Vincent is out for war. If Vincent gets a copy of this, do you think he is just going to let it slide?”

“Oh, shit,” Nikolai said.

“Tell me you put some men on her for her safety.”

“No, man, you didn’t order it. You told us to leave her the fuck alone.”

He didn’t want to be tempted, so he cut off all connections.

“If we have this, it’s only a matter of time before someone alerts Vincent. We need to go and we need to go right now.” Alexey had never considered himself a savior. There was no room in his life to save anyone.

He fought.

He tortured.

He killed.

There was no room to help someone.

Jane had helped him, and if his gut feeling was right, it was now time for him to return the favor.