His Savage Obsession (Savage Bratva Brothers Duet #1)

Chapter 1

Alina Kent

I’m a hot mess.

Loose strands of my dark hair have fallen from my bun and are plastered to my temple and the back of my neck as I step out of the quiet Manhattan boutique hotel and into the humid summer night.

While I may be sweaty and exhausted, at least I’m finally free.

After twelve straight hours of guest emergencies, broken AC units, and an entitled banker having a meltdown over his minibar charges, I’m ready to shed my wrinkled hotel uniform and stand under ice-cold water until my soul resets.

Thanks to all the caffeine I’ve ingested, though, I still feel wired. That’s why I do my sisterly duty, checking in on my older brother to see if he wants to grab a late dinner with me.

Archer hasn’t answered my texts in days, hasn’t laughed at the memes I sent him, hasn’t even asked for money, which is how I know something’s wrong.

While I believe in putting in a hard day’s work to earn a living, my older brother is always searching for a shortcut.

I don’t usually approve of his methods, but I refuse to berate him too much about his risky life choices.

How can I when some of his schemes are what kept us together and kept me out of foster care when our mother died?

While I know exactly how selfish my brother can sometimes be, I still love him.

Plucking my cell phone from the canvas tote on my shoulder, I power on the ancient device to call Archer.

If he won’t answer my texts, hopefully he’ll answer my call.

While I wait for the screen to light up on my walk to the subway station, I can’t help but notice the vehicle in my peripheral vision.

A dark SUV that’s creeping way too slowly down the mostly empty city streets.

A cold chill runs under my skin; the same one I used to feel when my mom’s boyfriends got too close.

I try to ignore the feeling, but when it comes rolling up right next to me on the sidewalk, I decide to walk a little faster. I tell my racing heart that I’m being ridiculous, and there’s probably nothing to worry about.

There’s a squeak as the window rolls down, then I hear it.

My name.

It’s a masculine voice, much deeper than my brother’s with a rough edge to it.

Don’t turn around. Don’t look back. You’re just imagining shit because you’re tired.

None of those reassurances helps appease my anxiety, especially not when car doors open and close nearby. Instead, I hear my brother’s voice when I was twelve, telling me not to trust anyone with our secrets.

The subway entrance is just up ahead, no more than twenty feet away. I have twenty feet to decide whether or not to take those stairs down. Do I really want to trap myself underground with a man stalking me? Absolutely not.

“Alina?” the voice calls out again, making my name sound like a question when he obviously knows who I am. This time I notice a harsh accent I can’t place. He’s also louder, closer to me than he was before. I’m being followed.

How does he know who I am? And was he lurking in the street, waiting for me to leave work? If he knew where I worked, why not just come inside to talk to me?

Unless he doesn’t have any interest in talking…

I stupidly glance over my shoulder before I decide if I should keep ignoring them or start running.

Fuck.

It’s not just one man who got out of the SUV; it’s two!

Two large men jump out of the SUV and are striding toward me with purpose. That’s when I decide that I should definitely run.

I take off in a sprint with no intended destination, my boots pounding on the pavement, my fingers clutching my purse straps in one hand and my phone in the other.

Rapid footsteps warn me that the men are now actively chasing me. One calls out, “Stop!” as if he thinks I’m a fool.

My legs pump even faster. I need to call 9-1-1 or Archer, but I can’t chance slowing down to punch a single button! I glance around, hoping to find someone who looks like they might help me. It’s not easy to do when I can’t afford to slow down or to choose wrong.

I don’t even make it far enough for my lungs to burn before a large hand clamps down on my arm, jerking me to an abrupt stop.

Remembering everything Archer taught me about self-defense, I spin around to face the bastard, driving my knee into his balls with every ounce of twelve-hour shift rage.

He immediately drops to the ground in agony, but his arms still work just fine.

Reaching out, he grabs my lower leg. And no matter how much I tug to pull it free, he hangs on, keeping me from running again.

The other guy, bigger with gray hair, slows to a walk when he catches up to us. I don’t think, I just act. Lunging for him, I slam my clenched fist into the front of his throat.

Eyes bulging, he makes a gagging sound and clutches his neck with both hands. Behind him, I see a flash of headlights. It’s that damn SUV they rode up in moving closer. Who knows how many more sons of bitches are inside of it!

Unfortunately, my moment of distraction gives the kneeling man time to recover. He snatches my other leg and jerks both of them out from underneath me.

My ass hits the pavement so hard my teeth chatter. My right elbow throbs from taking the brunt of my weight since my fingers are holding onto my phone for dear life.

“SOMEBODY HELP ME!” I scream at the top of my lungs and then lift my boots to try and shove the heel into the man’s face. One kick lands, slamming into his chin and mouth hard enough that he thankfully, finally, swears loudly and releases my legs.

As I scramble to my feet, my tote slips off my shoulder. I make the snap decision to leave it behind and run when an iron band wraps around my waist from behind. I’m yanked clean off my feet and hauled up against a solid chest.

“STOP! HELP!” I shout while struggling. My phone is ripped from my hand and hits the ground. I grieve its loss, but at least my hands are now free to put up a fight. My fingernails frantically claw at the arm holding me, now carrying me toward the SUV. The passenger door is left open…waiting.

No. Nope. I’ll be damned if I’m going in there.

“Let me go!” I ram my heels against my captive’s shins then throw my head back, trying to catch him off guard by busting his face.

“Enough!” he growls into my ear, tightening his grip until my ribs protest.

The closer we get to the SUV, the harder I fight and the louder I yell. I throw elbows into his gut, and my boots aim for his kneecaps, while shredding the back of his hand with my nails, anything to make him let go. Nothing fucking works.

“You’re making this more difficult than it needed to be!” he grumbles.

Is he fucking kidding? The asshole is annoyed that I’m making my kidnapping more difficult?

Fuck him.

I’m about to say as much when his heavy hand presses on the back of my head, slamming my face down onto a leather passenger seat.

Oh shit. I’m in the damn SUV.

I scream for help, for the police, for anyone to save me now.

Around me, the men speak to each other in an unfamiliar language I wish I understood over my shouts. The arm around my waist pulls free, then my arms are wrenched behind my back so hard that tears fill my eyes. A second later, my wrists are held together, bound.

“This is to keep you from hurting yourself,” the annoyed man behind me says. He’s tying my hands so I can’t hurt myself? He’s so full of shit.

He then speaks to the others, giving them what sounds like orders I can’t interpret.

An arm wraps around my knees, binding them together with something tight, limiting my ability to kick anyone else in the face before my ankles are restrained as well.

Shit.

In the quiet that follows my defeat, everyone is breathing heavily, myself included. But I’m not giving up yet. I roll myself over, falling down into the floorboard…and getting stuck on my back.

Above me, an intimidatingly large man in a dark suit hovers.

He takes a step closer, his chest heaving from exertion or in anger, maybe both.

When the streetlamp illuminates his face, it’s all hard edges and brutal authority.

The blood pouring from his nose down his lips and chin makes him even more menacing.

I did that to him.

I should be proud of myself for busting his nose. Archer would be. He would tell me that the fucker deserved it and that he hopes it hurts like hell.

“Hello, Alina,” the suit says. Despite his greeting, his tone is cold, face expressionless as if this is all a completely normal encounter, and I’m now what I can only assume is zip tied, lying on the floorboard of my kidnappers’ car while his nose pours blood.

Maybe this is all normal for him.

I open my mouth to scream again, but he immediately leans over me, slapping his palm securely over my mouth to muffle the noise.

“That’s enough of that,” he mutters. The way he looks at me isn’t with fury. It’s possession, sharp and unsettling, like he’s already decided what I’m going to mean to him.

A drop of crimson drips from his nose onto the top of my button-down as he speaks, followed by another. It’s fucking disgusting, a kind of violation I’ve never even considered before, having someone bleed all over you. What kind of sick asshole does that?

I try to squirm away, but the tight space makes it impossible to escape him or his leaking nose.

When I feel a tug on the bottom of my shirt, untucking it from my pants, my entire body freezes.

This…this is the type of violation I’ve unfortunately imagined.

But with my hands behind my back, all I can do is hold my breath and watch as the man takes the material between his hands and rips off a swath, leaving my stomach exposed to the air.

He lifts the torn scrap and drags it across his bloody face, smearing red into the purple fabric like he’s claiming it—and me.

He doesn’t say a word; he just straightens with cold satisfaction, as if thinking the stain from his bodily fluids on my torn shirt are the least I deserve for busting his nose.

Then, he shoves the fabric into his pants pocket and speaks in that same tense, guttural language.

All the men around him move into action.

Car doors open and close again, and I don’t know what’s happening until my feet are roughly tugged.

I’m yanked out of the vehicle and into his arms, cradled against his chest. His hand wraps around my face to slap over my mouth as he carries me around to the back of the SUV. The bald man whose balls I busted glares at me as he opens up the trunk and I’m lowered inside.

As soon as his hand moves away from my mouth, I scream and roll toward the only possible exit.

The hatch slams, sealing me in darkness. I scream until my throat burns, until my voice scrapes raw, until it’s the only thing I have left.

Calling for help may be pointless now, but I have to do something to keep from curling up in a ball and crying because I refuse to shed a tear in front of these bastards.