Lobanov Bratva Reckoning (Lobanov Bratva #5)

Prologue

Mila’s POV

Of all the ways to spend a snowy Saturday night in February, getting stranded on the side of the road had to be one of the worst. Scratch that, it was the worst. But that was the exact situation my best friend and I found ourselves in.

We had been cruising peacefully on the road, arguing about where to get takeout food from before the vehicle started acting up.

The sounds came first, and then the car refused to accelerate—and then it stopped just beside the road.

As we got out of the car, we were grateful it didn’t break down before she managed to move it to the side of the road.

But after a minute of wrapping our arms around ourselves while Anya’s mechanic’s line kept going to voicemail, annoyance—and maybe a bit of fear—settled in.

“How the hell do we leave this place?” I questioned, sighing.

“All for a crappy conference,” Anya complained, sweeping the stray tendrils of her hair off her face.

She wasn’t lying. We weren’t unserious or anti-social students who balked at the idea of attending academic or even co-curricular activities and gatherings.

But the psychology seminar we were coming from wasn’t necessary as far as coursework was concerned.

The only reason we had decided to go was our love for Professor Martina, who we learned was a co-host of the seminar.

“I would have been okay with every other thing if Dr. Marinelli hadn’t stepped in to cut her short,” I expressed.

“And for a tea break? Why didn’t they think of that when Professor Logan was boring the hell out of us for hours?” she chimed in.

“His non-behavioral take on a behavioral theory,” I went on. “Even a B.Sc. student would be ashamed of spending days preparing such a sorry excuse of a lecture.”

“Rubbish.”

The wind howled through the empty street, making it feel even more dangerous. I blew out a gust of air through my mouth, trying to contain my unease.

“Okay. The mechanic is a no-show. I’ll call my brother.”

“If some maniac doesn’t haul us into his vehicle before then,” I remarked.

“Come on, we’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about,” she answered, chuckling.

“Hm, you’d say the same thing if we were stuck in a burning house.”

Anya giggled.

“Well, it’s true!” she defended. “We’ll be on the road in a few minutes. I’ll call him now.”

“How do we even know he’s going to come. It’s a Saturday night,” I pointed out, shrugging.

Although I had never met him, I knew Anya had an older brother. According to her, he mostly ran the family business since she was still studying and wasn’t interested. Knowing the Lobanovs, I didn’t need to ask much about the business.

Anya spoke briefly with her brother while I went back to the car to grab our purses.

“He’ll come. He always does,” she told me, collecting her purse from me.

“Okay.”

“Raincheck on takeout?”

“Definitely,” I answered. “I don’t think I can stomach anything, anyway.”

“Oh, I could eat a horse right now.”

“Of course,” I muttered. “You’re unfazed enough for the both of us.”

“Hm-mm. There’s nothing to be worried about,” she shrugged, and we both burst out laughing.

A sports car went past and then slowly rolled backwards, towards where we stood.

Anya and I exchanged a quick look as the front window slid down.

“Hello, ladies. Stranded?” the older man asked, practically poking his head out of the window.

His green eyes moved up and down my best friend’s body like someone examining a slice of beef at the farmer’s market.

“Oh, no,” Anya answered, wearing her polite-but-I-don’t-take-bullshit smile. “Thank you, kind sir.”

I pursed my lips to keep myself from laughing.

“I could give you a ride, it’s no problem at all. Your mechanic could come pick the car up later. You shouldn’t be out here this late.”

“Yeah, we’re fine. My husband is a few minutes away. Thank you,” she told him.

“Well, okay then.”

“Thank you,” she repeated.

He nodded before turning to his driver. The car sped off immediately.

“Your husband,” I uttered. “I thought we were both single.”

“First thing that came to mind. Not totally untrue though, someone is coming for us.”

“Not that his motivation was helping two stranded strangers,” I conceded. “He looked like he wanted to jump you.”

“In his senior citizen dreams,” she replied. “He’s got to be older than fifty.”

“His eyes caught the stunning eye candy, and he wanted to—”

“Oh, please,” she cut in, chuckling.

“Besides, I thought you didn’t mind age gaps,” I teased.

“Yeah, I still don’t. But not fifty. And certainly not someone who looks fifty. I mean, if he were a 30-year-old stud...” she explained, a slow smile crossing her lips, “I might reconsider.”

“Right. I—”

“He’s here!” she announced, cutting me off. “Told you.”

“Yeah, you did,” I mumbled absentmindedly as I watched the ‘cavalry’ arrive.

I knew Anya came from an above-average family—she was a Lobanov, after all—so I wasn’t expecting a beat-up sedan.

I had expected her brother to arrive in a nice SUV or something similar.

What I hadn’t imagined was a black armored SUV flanked by two other cars.

It was an actual convoy. A small, controlled one, nonetheless.

The back door of the second car opened and, before I could ask my body not to react, a suited-up man stepped out into the snow as if he owned it.

“Hey, bro,” Anya greeted.

A slow blink was the only response he gave.

Damn, he was tall. Taller than I’d imagined.

Anya was two inches taller than my 5’6” height but he was several inches taller.

He had to be 6’2” at least. His cool expression also told me he was sharper and more commanding than Anya’s occasional descriptions.

His auburn hair shone in the glow of the streetlights.

Slipping his hands into his pockets as he approached us, his long strides showed the confidence of someone who controlled the world without speaking.

His eyes flicked to me for a brief second, and something stuttered inside me.

“Why didn’t you call your mechanic immediately? I don’t need to tell you it’s dangerous for you to be out here, do I?” he asked his sister, looking her over for injuries, his face showing none of the irritation or affection in his voice.

“Hello to you, too,” she answered before turning to me. “Mila, this is my beloved brother, Alexei.”

His eyes landed on me again. They didn’t move away this time, and I could feel my pulse in my throat.

“Alexei,” I whispered.

I eventually blinked and opened my mouth again for a proper greeting, but he beat me to it.

“How are you, Mila?”

I was glad he didn’t offer a handshake. If just a look from him could do this to my insides, I didn’t want to explore what his touch would do.

“Fine. Thanks for coming to our rescue.”

“Which I wouldn’t have had to do if you had maintained your car,” he answered, facing Anya.

“Really? How is this my fault?” she asked.

“Car checkups exist for a reason,” he said.

“What makes you so sure that this is about a missed checkup?”

“Waiting for something to go wrong before proper care. Typical you,” he remarked. “And now you put your life in danger as a result of it.”

He turned to the side and nodded at one of the men standing by the cars. The man was beside him in a second, and Alexei told him something in a low tone.

“Alexei, you’re overreacting,” she countered, chuckling.

I saw his lips move and heard him snap back with a Russian word, but I didn’t quite hear it.

“Let’s go,” he commanded.

As we walked to the second car, his hand hovered around her back, as if he was trying to make sure she was warm and safe. It was nothing, they were siblings.

But then again, it was everything. The thought of someone who seemed so unreachable, so invincible, being oft towards his sister made something tingle in my chest.

“Front seat, please,” Anya called, going ahead to the passenger door. “I have to stretch these feet, and my beloved brother won’t let me adjust the backseat. He’s addicted to working positions.”

I smiled despite the urge to ask her to stay with me in the back.

One of his men opened the front door while another opened the back door. Alexei stepped to the side, indicating for me to go in before him.

He got in beside me, and the space between us seemed too little. We drove off and I let out a shallow breath, hoping the ride would be as short as possible. I concentrated on the sophisticated interior design of the car instead.

“You know what I just thought of Mila? I should have told Mr. 50 that we were sisters-in-law, that my brother, your husband, was on his way to get us.” Anya twisted her neck to face me, grinning.

“What?” I gasped. “I mean, why would you say that?”

“Alexei and I look alike. If he had arrived earlier and they’d met, it could have been weird.”

“That’s true,” I agreed.

“Do I want to know who this Mr. Whatever is?” Alexei asked, looking up from his phone.

“Nope,” Anya answered, turning away from the back seat.

“Hm,” he muttered, back to typing away on his phone.

The subtle scent of his cologne tempted me to inch closer to him.

Of course, I couldn’t. As we drove on in silence, I was hyper-aware of the rhythm of his breathing.

Then we hit a bump, and I brushed against his sleeve.

I could feel his taut arm and I would have done anything to see it in that moment.

I couldn’t possibly look his way anymore so I looked out the window instead.

**********

Hours later, I was back in my apartment.

Even after a warm shower and an attempt at reading, I couldn’t shake him.

The memory of him—under the streetlight, his suit, the dark and spicy smell of his cologne—just wouldn’t fade.

It took just a second of thinking about him for me to feel hot all over.

I tried to focus on what I was reading, but I couldn’t.

I stood from the chair and went over to my bed. As I lay on my back, the image of his lips barely moving as he greeted me flashed across my mind. I bit my lower lip as I imagined what it would feel like to have those lips on mine.

My hand slid down the waistband of my pajama bottoms as my breath hitched.

My heart beat faster in anticipation of what I was about to do.

Something I had never done before. I didn’t know whether I was giving in to my body or getting memories of him out of my system, but my fingers went beneath the waistband and slid into my panties.

I let out a breath as I rubbed my already-wet core.

“Alexei,” I whispered without meaning to, as my middle finger entered my pussy.

I started moving my finger, picking up the pace as my imagination got more vivid. Soon, my whole body was tightening as the sensation of pleasure rose steeply, becoming a terrifying current consuming my every thought.

A gasp left my lips, followed by a breathless, shuddering, moan that seemed too loud in the stillness. My whole body quivered as my breath came out in soft pants, a sheen of sweat covering my skin.

As I lay limp, dazed and trembling, the realization hit me.

I want him.

For the first time, I understood the devastating, thrilling pull of a desire that I knew, with frightening clarity, I shouldn’t feel. But hadn’t the deed been done?

I had just had my first orgasm to his name.

I wanted someone I shouldn’t want.