Shadow King of the Bratva

Chapter 1

Chloe

Steam fills the bathroom as I step out of the shower. Nothing feels better than a hot shower after a twelve-hour shift. My back aches. All I want is to throw on something soft, sit in front of the TV, and eat the take out I ordered, until I pass out.

I barely had time for lunch. The hospital was packed today. It was as if everyone in Chicago decided to fall sick at the exact same time. And because one of the nurses had a family emergency and had to leave, we were short-staffed on top of everything else. I spent the whole shift running.

I wrap my towel around myself and make my way toward the bedroom, already thinking about putting on my softest pajamas and slathering myself in lotion.

But first, water. I’m parched. I pad into the kitchen barefoot, flip on the light, and pull the fridge open. The cold air hits my damp skin as I lift the bottle to my mouth. That is when I see him.

A man is standing in my kitchen. I freeze, the bottle in my hand stopping mid-air. He’s close. So close.

For a second, my brain doesn’t seem to process what I’m seeing. A stranger, in my apartment. And he’s bleeding.

The bottle slips slightly in my hand, and I open my mouth to scream. But I don’t get the chance, as he’s on me in an instant.

A large hand clamps over my mouth, swallowing the scream before it can escape, while his other arm wraps tightly around my middle and pulls me against him.

I struggle to get him off me but his grip only tightens. “Shh.” His voice is a deep baritone against my ear.

I kick and twist, trying to get free, but he’s too strong. I’m five-six, and I’ve never considered myself particularly small, but compared to this man, I feel tiny.

“Stop struggling.” His breath fans against the side of my neck. “It’s not going to help you.”

I keep fighting for another second before his arm tightens around my waist. “Calm the fuck down, or you’ll get hurt.”

Something about the certainty in his voice makes me stop. Because I realize there is no winning this by fighting him. He’s bigger, stronger and judging by the gun I can now feel pressing against me, far more dangerous than anyone I’ve ever encountered.

So I force myself to go still. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it.

“That’s better.” He pauses for a moment before speaking again. “Now, I’m going to let you go, and you’re not going to scream. Nod if you understand.”

I nod quickly.

His hand slowly leaves my mouth. “Good girl.”

Something about the way he says those two words sends an unexpected little shiver through me. The words land somewhere they shouldn’t. I don’t understand why they do anything at all, considering the situation.

The moment his hand drops, I stumble several steps away from him. And turn to face him.

He’s tall. Huge, actually. He’s dressed in a suit, his white shirt stained with blood. Dark hair slightly disheveled. One hand grips a gun while the other presses against his side, where the blood is coming from.

“Please don’t hurt me.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “I don’t have any money.”

He stares at me.

“Well, I have some,” I rush on. “There’s probably about a hundred dollars in my purse. Maybe a little more. I can give you all of it.”

“I have purses too,” I add, pointing vaguely toward my bedroom. “They’re not real Louis Vuitton or Gucci, but they’re good knockoffs. I’m sure you could sell them somewhere. Maybe you could get something for them. Please. You can take whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me.”

Good one, Chloe. Now you’ve just told him he won’t get much money if he steals your purses. I glance around my tiny kitchen, as if something valuable might suddenly appear out of nowhere.

He finally speaks. “I’m not here for your money.”

Strangely, he seems a little amused. “You can keep your change. And I’m not interested in your knockoffs either.”

“Then what do you want?”

He looks at me for a long moment. “First of all, I need you to calm down and lower your hands. This isn’t a robbery.”

I obey, slowly lowering my hands. “It isn’t? Because it sure as hell looks like one. You broke into my apartment and pointed a gun at me…”

“I’m not pointing it at you now, am I?”

“But you’re still holding it.” I stare at the gun. “How exactly is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Something almost like amusement flickers across his face. Then his expression turns serious again.

“Look, in a few minutes, some men in police uniforms are going to knock on your door. They’re going to ask if you’ve seen me.”

He shifts the gun, not pointing it at me, but not hiding it either. “You’re going to tell them you haven’t.”

My pulse kicks up again. “But you’re standing right here.”

He lets out a slow breath. “Yes. But I want you to tell them I’m not here.”

I stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “And why would I do that?”

He quirks a brow. “Because I need your help? And I’m asking nicely?”

I look at the gun still in his hand. “Yeah right.”

I would never lie to the police. That is a crime. That makes me an accomplice... My mind races. Whatever this person in front of me has done that needs to be hidden from the police, as long as I can see them, I'm saved.

“I'm warning you, they aren't real police,” he interrupts, as if reading my mind. “That's why I said people in police uniforms. They aren't cops, they're bad guys. If you want to survive tonight, go open the door and tell them you haven't seen me.”

“If you say anything else, you die tonight.” His voice drops an octave. “Not by me. By them. They’ll kill us both.”

My eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Look, I’m not an armed robber.” He notices my eyes flick toward his gun and sighs. “Yeah, I know how this looks. But my point is, I’m not going to hurt you. If that were my intention, I would have done it already.”

I suddenly realize he’s right. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have done it already.

I look around my kitchen. “Okay. What if I just don’t answer the door?”

“No. You have to answer.”

“No, I don’t.” I shake my head. “If they knock, I can just ignore them. They’ll assume I’m not home.”

He sighs. “They won’t. Because your kitchen light is on.”

I glance at the light above us. Shit. I look toward the rest of my apartment. The lights are on too.

“They’ll know you’re home,” he says.

I drag a hand down my face. “This is not how I planned to spend my night.”

He watches me with an expression that is almost too calm for someone who is bleeding all over my kitchen floor.

“Trust me,” he says. “Neither did I.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Neither did you? You’re the one who broke into my apartment. Of all the units in this building, why mine? I locked my door. I know I locked my door. How did you even get in?”

“We don’t have time for that.”

The urgency in his voice makes me tense all over again. This can’t go on. God knows what he might do to me. Then I notice the knife block sitting on the counter. My hand moves before I can think better of it. I grab a knife.

“Get out!”

His eyes drop to the knife, then slowly return to my face.

“You need to leave my apartment now.” I threaten him in a low voice.

And then he smirks. For fuck’s sake. There is something about that smirk that does something strange to my insides.

What is wrong with me? This man has a gun. He broke into my home. He could be a murderer for all I know, and my brain has apparently decided this is the appropriate time to notice his stupid, devastating smirk.

I need to get a grip. Survival instinct, Chloe. He takes a step toward me, and I immediately take one back.

“Don’t come any closer.”

Another step. I raise the knife higher. “I mean it.”

He looks at the knife, then at the gun in his hand. “I have a gun.”

My heart is beating so hard, my voice comes off shaky. “So?”

“Who do you think has the upper hand here?”

“Whatever. For all I know, you don't dare pull the trigger. You're scared the gunshot will draw those guys over. Or you're out of bullets and there's nothing in there at all.”

His mouth curves again. “Really?” He takes another step. “Do you want to find out?”

I’m breathing too fast now, my grip tightening around the knife as I try to keep him in my sights. He advances again, I take another step back. And that is the exact moment my towel decides to give up.

It slips, and hits the floor. Leaving me completely naked in front of him. And I can’t even bend down to grab the damn thing because I’m still pointing a knife at him.

He stops moving, and his gaze slowly travels over me, from my throat to my breasts, down the curve of my waist, before lingering between my thighs. He takes his time, as though cataloging every detail about me.

My skin goes hot everywhere his eyes touch, and suddenly I’m painfully aware of every inch of myself.

The heat creeps up my neck, and my nipples tighten beneath his stare.

A pulse stirs between my thighs, an unwanted response that makes me hate how much his attention is affecting me.

My grip tightens around the knife, though I’m no longer sure whether I’m holding it for protection or simply because I need something to hold on to.

At last, his gaze drags back to my face. There’s something heated and hungry in his expression now, and he doesn’t bother hiding it.

Then, a knock comes on my front door.

“They’re here.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

The pounding at the door comes again, louder this time. My heart jumps into my throat. What if he’s right about the men out there being dangerous? What if they try to harm me? Or worse, what if this is his plan to lure me into opening the door and letting his men in?

He moves quickly, closing the space between us. “Put the knife down.”

I hesitate for half a second before letting it fall.

I watch as he bends down, and picks up my towel. Before I can say anything, he wraps it securely around my chest.

His fingers brush against my skin in the process, and the brief contact sends another strange sensation through me.

I don’t understand it. I shouldn’t be feeling anything right now except fear.

He leans closer, his lips near my ear. “Solnyshko.” The word is low, rough around the edges. I don’t know what it means. “Go out now and tell them you haven't seen me. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“But can I at least change?” I whisper. “Put on a robe or something?”

He takes a step back and looks me over. “No. You’re perfect like this.”

He glances toward the door, his jaw tightening. “I hate that those bastards are going to see you like this.”

Something about the way he says it catches me off guard. Is that jealousy? I don’t know why that thought even crosses my mind. But there is something in his expression that makes me wonder.

He continues. “But if you open the door like you just got out of the shower, they’ll believe you. That’s the story. You were in the bathroom. You haven’t seen anyone.”

He steps away from me, giving me room. I take a deep breath and force myself to move. The pounding at the door gets louder.

“Hey!” I call out. “I’m coming!”

I walk toward the door, trying to make my movements look normal when nothing about this situation is normal.

My hand closes around the doorknob. I take another breath, then I swing the door open.

“Sarah, if that’s—”

I stop when I find two men standing outside, in police uniforms.

“Oh.” I stare at them for a beat too long before forcing a smile. “Hello, officers.”

One of them looks me up and down. I tighten my grip on the towel.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I thought you were my best friend. She has a real talent for banging on my door like she’s trying to break it down. What can I do for you?”

Up close, I get a better look at the men, and something about them doesn’t sit right with me. Maybe it’s the way they’re standing.

They don’t have the relaxed, alert posture I’ve seen from actual police officers at the hospital. These men look too still. Too watchful. Like they’re ready to strike at any minute.

The man on the left has a scar running down one side of his face. The other has sweat gathered at his temple despite the cool night air. Neither of them looks particularly friendly.

And something in my gut tells me to be careful. I hate that I’m even considering it, but maybe the bleeding stranger in my kitchen was telling the truth. Maybe these aren’t police officers.

“Good evening ma’am. There was a robbery down the street,” the scarred man says. “One of the criminals got away. We believe he ran into this building.”

My fingers tighten around the towel. “Oh, really?”

“You didn’t perhaps see a man running across the hallway?”

I force a small laugh. “No, no. I just got out of the shower. I just got back from work, actually, and I was in the shower when I heard the knocking. I haven’t seen anyone.”

The two men exchange a brief look. “Okay,” the sweaty one says eventually. “You should go inside and lock your doors.”

“Of course.” I give them what I hope is a convincing smile. “Thank you, officers.”

I close the door quickly and lock it. The moment the lock clicks into place, I press my back against the door and release the breath I’ve been holding.

“Good girl.”

I jump so hard I nearly scream. The stranger is standing right beside me.

“God!” I press a hand to my chest. “You scared me. What is wrong with you?”

He’s smiling. “You did a great job.”

I take a step away from him. “Thank you. Can you leave now?”

“Not yet. They’re still out there. If I walk out that door, I walk straight into their hands. I have to wait.”

“Oh my God.” I drag a hand over my face, and that’s when I notice the blood again.

My gaze drops to his abdomen. He’s bleeding through his shirt, and now that I’m not distracted, I can see just how bad it is.

“How are you even standing? You’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

“I’ll send you money for the cleaning.”

“That’s not—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“Do you know how to stitch a wound?” he cuts in. “Or do you have a first-aid kit nearby?”

I almost laugh. He’s asking me if I know how to stitch a wound. “Well, today is your lucky day.” His eyebrows lift. “I’m a nurse.”

For the first time, he looks genuinely surprised. “Wow.”

I nod toward his bleeding side. “Yeah. Wow.”

He gives me that infuriating little smile again. “So, are you going to stitch me up?”

I look down at myself. “I need to change first.”

Then I turn and hurry toward my bedroom. The last thing I need is for this towel to fall again.

There will be another time for me to process the mortification of flashing a complete stranger. A very hot stranger, at that.

Right now, I need to focus on cleaning his wound, stitching him up, and getting him out of my apartment without killing me or getting me dragged into whatever the hell kind of trouble he’s brought to my door.