Taken & Bred By The Bratva (Bred By The BRATVA #11)

Chapter 1

Zara

The alley behind Rosetti’s Diner smells exactly how you’d expect from a greasy joint in a lowdown neighborhood.

I scrunch my nose, pulling my jacket tighter around my shoulders against the cold air, cursing under my breath for picking up an extra shift and finding myself taking out trash in the middle of the night in this slum.

Twenty-two years old and still scraping together rent money.

Fuck my life. If someone was to write cliff notes about me, the whole thing would boil down to: Zara Thompson.

Born in Oakland. Parents dead in a car accident when she was sixteen.

No siblings. No close relatives. Currently, three months behind on rent and maxed out on two credit cards. Oh, and no boyfriend…

That’s when the sound of a low, gravelly voice freezes me in place, breaking through my thoughts. “You had a whole fucking month, Marcus.”

The deadly tone makes my blood turn to ice.

And I press myself hard into the dirty brick wall, carefully setting down my heavy trash bag, heart hammering in my chest as I peer around the dumpster.

Shit, shit, shit! Three men are standing in the dim light coming from the street.

Two of them restraining a guy who’s on his knees, blood all over his messed-up face, while the third one towers over him.

He’s way over six-foot tall, with huge shoulders that fill out an impeccably cut dark suit, thick, dark blond hair, a strong jaw, and eyes that look like they could cut through glass. He’s fucking beautiful… in the way a loaded gun is: breathtakingly lethal.

“Please,” the guy on his knees begs. “I can get you the money. Just give me more time…”

“Time?” The giant tilts his head to the side, feigning curiosity. “You had months, you dipshit. Fucking months to pay back what you owe the Maksimov family.”

Maksimov. The name hits me like a punch. Everyone in the city, damn the state, knows them. They’re Russian mob. Bratva. The kind of people you cross the street to avoid. Fuck, the entire continent!

“I have a family,” Marcus pleads. “A wife, kids…”

Scary, tall, hot guy scoffs. “Should have thought about that before.”

Then he reaches inside his jacket, making my heart stutter. He pulls out a sleek black gun and presses the muzzle to poor Marcus’s forehead…

“Wait…” comes out the man’s last word, then the gunshot echoes through the alley, resonating like thunder.

I clamp both my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming as the dead body crumples to the ground, blood pooling from it.

“Clean this shit up,” the killer rumbles in a completely unaffected voice. Like he’s ordering coffee, instead of instructing his goons to dispose of the body of a man he just gunned down…

With my hands still over my mouth, I start sliding toward the back door of the diner, my back pressed to the wall.

I need to get out of here before they realize there was a witness to the execution.

I saw their faces, heard the entire conversation.

Names. Fuck, I could pick each one of them out of a police lineup. I’m not safe!

And that’s when my fucking phone buzzes… Fuck, fuck, fuck! The notification sound cuts through the quiet, and I watch the three men freeze. The giant’s head snaps toward my hiding spot, his deadly eyes scanning the darkness.

Fuck!

I hold my breath, pressing my body deeper into the shadows behind the dumpster. Praying that maybe…

“Go check that shit out,” he growls.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!!

I hear heavy footsteps approach, my heart beating like a war drum, and I squeeze my eyes shut, praying I can disappear, even though there’s nowhere to run or hide. Please, God! Please!

A rough hand grabs my arm and yanks me into the dim alley light.

“Looks like we had an audience,” the man who pulled me says as he pushes me in front of the killer.

He’s even more terrifying up close… and fucking gorgeous.

With a strong jaw, full lips, and dark eyes that feel like they can see straight into my soul.

The blood spatters on his expensive suit, completing his deadly beauty.

He looks like a punishing angel. Tall, broad, insanely attractive… and cold-blooded.

“What’s your name?” His deep voice sends a shiver down my spine.

I’m scared shitless. I just watched this man pull the trigger at a man’s head without even flinching. But it’s like I can’t look away from his dark eyes. His striking features. His very presence.

“I…” The word comes out croaky. I clear my throat and try again, declaring precipitately, “I didn’t see anything.”

His gorgeous lips curve into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not what I asked, sweetheart.” The tone is low, conversational, and scary as hell.

“Zara,” I whisper. “Zara Thompson.”

“Zara.” He says my name like he’s fucking tasting it. And there’s something about the way he’s looking at me that makes my pulse quicken even more. It’s like he’s undressing me with his eyes.

“What you want us to do with her, boss?” one of his men asks, bringing me back to reality.

The gorgeously deadly giant steps closer. So close I can smell his cologne, something expensive and intoxicating. So close I can see the lighter flecks in his dark eyes.

“Nothing yet,” he rumbles, never breaking eye contact with me. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. My eyes fall on it. It’s black with silver lettering. No name, just a phone number.

“When the police come asking questions, you call this number, yeah?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

“Good girl.” The praise makes something clench between my legs. What the fuck?! “Now go home. And Zara?” I’m already backing away, but I stop. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”

I turn and run. I don’t stop until I reach my shitty apartment six blocks away. My hands shaking as I unlock the deadbolts on my door. Once inside, I slide down to the worn carpet and finally let myself fall apart. Shaking all over, tears falling down my face, I curl into a ball.

I witnessed a murder. I saw a man die. And the killer looked at me like I was his next meal.

Why, God? Why is this my fucking life? No place to call home. No one to call mine but a couple of friends. Nothing to look forward to but a life of grind. And now this…

The sharp corners of his card bite into my palm as another sob breaks through me.

* * *

Three days pass before they come. I’m working the morning shift at Rosetti’s, trying to pretend my life is back to normal despite the sleepless nights, the circles under my eyes, my jumpiness at the smallest touch or sound, when two detectives walk through the door.

One’s a middle-aged man with tired eyes.

The other, a younger woman with sharp features and a no-nonsense attitude.

As soon as they walk in, I know. The way they scan the place, quickly introduce themselves to my boss, and come to me after he’s pointed in my direction, makes my blood turn to ice.

“Zara Thompson?” The woman flashes her badge. “Detective Martinez, San Francisco PD. This is Detective Sullivan. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

With shaky hands, I set down the coffeepot I was holding and turn to face them. “About what?”

“There was a murder three nights ago in the alley behind the diner. We’re canvassing the area, talking to people who might have seen something.”

Breathe, Zara.

“I didn’t see anything,” I lie, holding her gaze.

Detective Martinez studies my face. “You sure? We have surveillance footage showing you leaving through the back exit around the time of the incident.”

My mouth goes dry. “I was just taking out the trash.”

“Interesting,” Sullivan chimes in. “There was a trash bag sitting there when we processed the scene.”

Fuck!

They know. They have to know. My heart is beating so fast, blood thumping in my ears, I’m sure they can hear it.

“Look,” Martinez says in a gentler voice. “If you saw something, we can protect you. But we need you to tell us what happened.”

The black card I’ve been carrying around feels like it’s burning a hole in my pocket.

I think about the killer’s scary eyes, about his deadly voice…

I saw what that man could do. Even if the police wanted to, I’m not sure they could protect me against someone like that. My decision is made in a split second.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I blurt out and rush to the back of the diner.

In the employee restroom, I lock the door behind me and pull out his card with trembling fingers, my cell phone in my other hand. Then I take a deep breath and dial.

He answers on the first ring.

“Maksimov.”

His voice sounds just as deep and dangerous, making my heart beat even faster.

“The police is here,” I whisper without preamble.

“Where are you?” he asks, also going straight to the point.

“At work. Rosetti’s.”

He rumbles, “I’m coming.”

Then the line goes dead.

I stare at my phone, my heart racing. What have I done? I shake myself. What I fucking needed to do to survive.

When I emerge from the bathroom, the detectives are still waiting for me. But now there’s some commotion at the entrance. A sleek black SUV is parked outside; three men in dark suits walking into the restaurant. The lethal, handsome giant leading.

And I can’t help but notice he’s even hotter in the daylight, in another dark suit that perfectly hugs his massive body.

Hair slicked back, accentuating the sharp angles of his ruggedly handsome face.

A beautiful monster. When his eyes find mine across the room, I feel everything inside me stand to attention under the weight of his dark stare.

“I believe you’re harassing my fiancée,” he says without preamble, in his deep baritone.

Detective Martinez whips around. “What? Who are…?” Then recognition passes over her face.

Fuck, how bad is this guy that a homicide detective recognizes him at first glance?

“Zara Thompson is my fiancée,” he continues, pinning them down with his hard eyes as he walks over me to slip an arm around my waist.

And I can’t help but notice how big he is. How tall. How good he smells. The heat from his body… Fuck, I’m in so much trouble!

“So unless you have a warrant, I suggest you leave her alone.”

“We’re conducting a murder investigation, Mr. Maksimov,” Sullivan replies, his jaw tight.

“Then conduct it somewhere else,” my fiancé retorts.

And his grip tightens around my body, warning me.

Martinez looks between us, smoke literally coming out of her ears. “We may have more questions…”

“Then call her lawyer.” He slides a card across the table. “Any further communication goes through him.”

The detectives exchange frustrated glances.

“This isn’t over,” Sullivan grits out as they head for the door.

When they’re gone, he finally releases me. And I stumble a little, my skin tingling where he was holding me.

“We need to talk,” he rasps out.

* * *

The ride to wherever he’s taking me passes in silence. I’m sitting in the back of the SUV, hyperaware of his presence next to me. His woodsy cologne filling the space between us. His muscular thigh brushing mine, sending unwanted sparks through my body.

“Where are we going?” I finally manage to ask, forcing myself to sound calm.

“Somewhere private.”

The somewhere private turns out to be a high-end condo on Russian Hill, the irony, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in San Francisco.

With floor-to-ceiling windows, and a stunning view all the way to the bay.

The furniture is modern, expensive, and perfectly arranged.

And the art on the walls definitely costs more than I make in a year.

I’ve never in my life been anywhere like this.

And despite my fear, I can’t help but gawk at how the other half lives. Fuck, must be nice.

“Drink?” Maksimov offers, walking to a fully stocked bar.

“What am I doing here?” I ask in return, crossing my arms over my chest to hide my trembling hands. Fuck, if I’m gonna die, at least it will be standing. Not on my knees, begging like that poor guy in the alley.

He pours himself a glass. Before his dark eyes come back to my face. His full lips lift, looking amused by my defiance. “You’re the one who called me, sweetheart.”

I lift my chin. “Because you told me to.”

He quirks an eyebrow, takes a sip of his drink, studying me over the rim of the glass. “They won’t stop. They know you saw something.”

Hew doesn’t need to elaborate on who he’s talking about.

“So what am I gonna do? Keep lying to the police?”

He sets down his glass and moves closer. Way too close.

I back until I hit a wall. “Are you… are you gonna kill me?”

He takes another step closer, and now I can see the long lashes fanning his dark eyes, feel the heat radiating from his massive body.

My heart hammers against my ribs. “Are you?”

“No, sweetheart.” His hand comes up to wrap around my throat, a thick, calloused thumb brushing across my skin. “I’m gonna marry you.”