Chapter 29
Bronya Ivanov slithers through the crowd like a serpent. The strobe lights cast her dark purple hair a startling shade of violet as she makes her way towards me. Leather pants like a second skin painted on her legs, a matching corset curving up her narrow waist to her tits, the tops of them bulging. Her high ponytail swishes across her lower spine as she slinks through the edge of the dancers.
Without dropping my gaze, she steps between my parted feet and elegantly folds herself into my lap. I grit my teeth as her arm drapes around my neck, long nailed fingertips of her other hand coming to the base of my throat, stroking down my skin.
“Hello, Blaze,” she greets, her black painted lips brushing my ear.
“Bronya,” I cock my head, stroking my hand over her knee, “You’re late.”
“Mm,” she hums in agreement. Her blue eyes flicking to Cole at my side, a teasing smile playing on her mouth as she addresses him, “Miss me?”
“Of course we did,” he sucks on his teeth as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You missed our drop off last week.” His amber eyes roll down the length of her before darting back up, “I’m not impressed.”
She laughs, her mouth tipping up at one corner, “You think I ever do anything to impress someone.”
“No,” I reply, her eyes coming back to mine, my hand dropping over her one at my throat. “But you not showing up at that meeting was like spitting in my face.”
She walks her fingers up the base of my skull, threading into my hair, “Good thing we’re such great friends then, huh, boys?”
I grip her hand over my heart until I can feel the bones grinding, “I only give my friends one shot.” She rolls her eyes, ice blue, nothing like the beautiful sapphire of my girl’s. It makes me curl my lip, “You want the pieces or not?”
She doesn’t react to the crushing grip of my hand, but she yanks my head back with her fist in my hair, slanting her lips over mine to whisper, “Well, that depends.”
“On?” Cole grits out, pissed off at this ridiculous display we put on.
“On if you’re going to summon me again like a fucking dog,” she spits.
Bronya is a nineteen-year-old Bratva princess. Coveted, protected, spoiled, but she came to me six months ago, a cash buyer, and bought a shit tonne of my guns.
It’s my turn to laugh then, her eyes dropping to my Adam’s apple as it bobs in my throat, “That’s not how this goes, sweetheart, and you know it.”
She drops her gaze, and I know what she’s going to try before she even does it, give me those big sad eyes, a pouty lip and some make believe story, and apparently, so does Cole.
“Pack that shit in, you’re no fucking damsel,” he scolds. “Do you want the product or not?”
“Yes,” she says flippantly, “but I also want some of thos-”
I cut her off with another laugh, releasing her hand that she pretends doesn’t hurt as she tucks it into herself, “You always want, want, want.”
“And I always pay.”
“Mmm,” Cole hums, and I know he’d love to wrap his hands around this bitch’s throat and squeeze.
“You know,” she sighs, leaning back against the arm I’ve got hooked around her back, my hand on the arm of the chair, “I’ve heard a few things.”
“We don’t care,” I tell her honestly, lounging back.
She smiles, “You see, that’s what I like about you boys,” flicking her ponytail over her shoulder, she looks between Cole and I, “you’re always a we, never an I. I like that about you. Family’s important, huh?”
She’s baiting us, trying to get us to ask her what she knows. What she doesn’t realise though, is that we really don’t give a fuck about what it is she thinks she’s heard. There are always rumours about us, and none of them are ever true.
“We don’t fucking care,” I repeat lazily, casting my gaze over the crowd in search of our girl, my boys.
I got the two of them to take her out of here when she started rubbing her temples, worried she might be getting another headache. They seem to come on for no reason at all and disappear in just the same way. I think it’s stress that drags it out. She’s not used to having a support system, being able to say she’s uncomfortable and facing no consequences for it, so she stays silent until it makes her brain ache.
“Hmm, not even if it’s about your new little fuck toy?” her eyes sparkle as she says it, my own immediately going to Cole. My back stiffens and I know she feels it, “I’ll tell you what I heard from Amberwood Hills if you do me a deal with those lovely little incendiary rounds of yours.”
Bronya lifts her hand from her lap, peering down at her nails with fake interest.
Little bitch.
Lifting my hand to her face, I smooth my fingers across her cheek, palming the side of her head before coiling my fist into her ponytail and yanking her face into mine, so close our lips brush again as I speak.
“Speak or have your throat slit, you fucking snake.”
Pronouncing her words very carefully, sounding out every individual syllable, she stares right into my eyes, “In-cen-di-ary rounds.”
A growl rumbles in my throat as I tug on her hair so hard, I see the tight skin at her temples pull with it, “Speak,” I hiss in her face, our mouths touching.
She sighs, even though her eyes are watering with the pressure on her hair, “I heard there was a lovely little funeral in the Hills today for a member of the James family.”
I scoff, “Don’t care, and neither will she,” I release her hair harshly, dropping back against my chair.
I catalogue all of the things she’s told me so far, all the things she knows. It concerns me that she knows anything about Ember at all.
Bronya reaches up, appearing unfazed as she smooths her hair back, retying it, “Oh, I’ll think she’ll care.” She lifts a brow, a slick, knowing smile I do not fucking like on her black painted lips as she pushes to stand, sweeping her hands down her front, she licks her lips. “God, may she rest in peace, pretty little dead girl, Emberleigh James.”