Lord of the Underworld (The Bratva Lords #6)

Prologue

In which some nightmares never go away.

Oksana…

It's the same dream every time. A fist in my hair, shoving me down deeper into the pond.

I can't see much, just the shadow of a man shimmering through the water. His eyes, though. Those, I can see. Glowing, almost. Wildly alive, avid. Leaning in, he watches me closely, examining the terror and desperation on my face, my fingernails digging into his wrist.

It won't be enough. I'm small, he's a bear of a man and he's so happy to watch me suffer-

Shooting upright in bed, all I can hear are my desperate, rasping gasps, trying to pull air into my lungs. My hands fly to my hair, check my nightgown. It's dry. I’m dry. I’m not in that pond. My heart is like a fist, trying to punch through my chest.

I didn't scream this time. That's good. One of the guards would have come bursting through my door, gun already drawn. Seeing something like that fresh out of a nightmare is even more terrifying.

Burying my face in my hands, I start counting.

"One, I'm in my bed, the sheets are soft and I have my babushka's quilt wrapped around me.

"Two. There are two windows across the room and the moon is shining in. Like a friend.

"Three, my glasses of water scattered around the room…"

By twelve, I'm breathing normally again.

At least I'm in the U.S. If this happened at home in Moscow, my father would be screaming at me to, "Grow the fuck up! You're twenty-four. Screaming like a child? You disgust me."

My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I dive for it, happy for any distraction.

Anka: I'm sending you a picture of this hot bastard taking me home and his name. Just in case he's actually not up for a night of hot sex and really wants to make a skin suit out of me.

It's 3:30 AM.

Oksana: You're really ditching your security? Fam…

Anka: Oh, please. It's my weekend bodyguard. He's busy getting high in the corner of the VIP lounge and doesn't think I can see him.

Oksana: Wow. He sucks. You need better security.

Anka: Better security means less hot sex.

Oksana: I respect your priorities. Make good choices!

Anka: Thanks, Mom.

I would love to be wildly carefree like my best friend. Even here, my father's long reach from Moscow can be a stranglehold if he thinks I'm not acting like the pure Bratva princess he's keeping as an asset.

My bedroom is suddenly stifling and I open the balcony doors, heading outside.

I must look ridiculous, wearing a tank top and my Pokémon sleep pants, standing on this enormous terrace.

There's four of them in this stone castle.

My father would never step foot on U.S. soil but by god, he made sure our home here would be so grand that it would intimidate even the wealthiest neighbors.

For Pakhan Benedikt Vasiliev, it's all about how it looks.

There's a sickle moon tonight, casting a sullen glow over the forest behind the house. Even the crickets are quiet tonight, so I can hear a horse galloping along one of the forest paths.

At three in the morning? Did the horse somehow get loose?

Leaning against the wrought iron railing, I strain my eyes. Sound carries differently in the forest. The horse could be a mile away or about to leap into my backyard.

There's a flash between the oak trees, the moon catching movement. A man, regal in the saddle, riding a huge stallion that is as black as the morning hour. The sound fades as he races past and I strain to hear it. It feels like a dream, like something supernatural.

What it doesn't feel like are my nightmares. Not terrifying like them, just… someone who shouldn't have been there. Something I shouldn't have seen.

There's Russian folklore about the Black Horseman who spreads the dread and terror of night through the early morning hours.

Maybe he's followed me here from Moscow.