The Russian’s Kidnapped Bride (Lukov Bratva #2)

Prologue - Mikhail

Heavy bass pulses through the club like a heartbeat while drinks flow and the lights flash.

Leaning back on one of the leather couches, partially obscured by velvet curtains, my eyes slowly scan the scene, taking in the beautiful clientele, the dancers, and everyone else in between.

It’s a rowdy Friday night—the best time for business.

Each person entering the building is a walking dollar sign, and for us, those numbers keep climbing, making every sip from my drink taste sweeter.

My glass sweats in my grasp, full of vodka that goes down clean and cold. The subtle burn feels like a reward.

Ivan lounges next to me with his legs spread like he owns the place, seeing as he does, technically. We all do, but he wears that fact better than any of us.

He laughs over the music and tugs a brunette closer to his lap, not at all trying to hide what he’s really after. She clings to him while his hand is halfway under her dress, grinning and giggling along with his jokes.

They’re playing the same game, bound to get what they want by the end of the night. He plays into it, of course, pulling a charming smirk that is far too disarming.

Usually, I’d tease him for being such a shameless dog about it, but tonight, I’m letting it slide.

We’ve had one hell of a week, and regardless of the lingering tension we both feel, hitting the club is supposed to be our breath of fresh air. The chance to unwind and forget about everything else.

We’re both aware that all work and no play makes us cranky as all hell, so why not be brazen?

Maxim’s out.

Somehow, some way, that rat wasn’t rotting in lockup like we thought he was. Instead, he managed to slip away, and now he’s loose in our city. He’s breathing our air again and already causing problems.

Several months ago, we thought we buried him and his men, but after the shit show we cleaned up today, we now know that’s far from the truth.

In between bantering with the woman on his arm, Ivan glances over at me, then murmurs, “You don’t think Maxim is dense enough to show up here, do you?”

I huff, listening to the subtle clink of ice in my glass. “If he’s smart, he’ll lie as low as physically possible.”

Ivan grins, then lightly swats at my arm. “So stop scowling like you’re expecting him to walk through those doors. Lighten up. Relax a little.”

“I am relaxed,” I say back, letting my lip pull slightly as I vaguely gesture to him. “I’m just not as deep in the debauchery as you yet.”

“Maybe you should change that. Might help that tension in your shoulders.”

“You’re making things up at this point.”

He takes another swig of his whiskey, visibly buzzed and enjoying himself immensely. “You just know I’m right.”

Before I can say anything else, the brunette places a hand against Ivan’s chest and leans in to whisper in his ear. Immediately, his teeth flash through his smile, and he chuckles, smoothing a hand over her ass.

“We’re heading out,” Ivan murmurs, eyes already glazed with his less-than-pure intentions. The two of them stand, and she never lets go of him while he tugs her along. “Try not to kill anyone while I’m busy.”

“No promises.”

With a knowing grin, Ivan disappears with his conquest for the night, leaving me alone in the private section.

Letting go of a breath, I try to release any rigidity lingering in my system. I absently swirl the remaining drink in my glass while taking in the usual chaos unfolding in the club.

I didn’t come to work, but sometimes, hitting that switch is harder than I’d like.

I came to forget and unwind, and to reset myself for the inevitable week ahead once the weekend comes to a close. Maybe even to follow in my brother’s footsteps and find someone to ease that tension.

Conducting another sweep of the place, I find the usuals, all of which I’ve had before—models, escorts, dancers…even the occasional civilian who should’ve known better than to get tangled up with me. But none of them lasted. None of them caught my attention beyond mere attraction.

Then I see her, and my gaze halts.

Standing near the bar, a young woman smiles softly at something her friend says. While holding a drink, her posture seems a bit unsure, almost like she isn’t fully comfortable.

Rather than wearing copious amounts of body glitter, a plunging neckline, or anything else to gain attention, her black dress is simple, if not a bit modest, compared to everyone else.

But it’s the fit that gets me. It hugs her hips perfectly, accentuating every curve that has me nearly salivating.

Before I know it, I’m taking in every detail of her. From the clean cut of her short black hair to the way her eyeliner complements her dark eyes, and even the start of a tattoo peeking beneath her neckline.

Everything about her has me completely entranced and forgetting about the others.

Except for the guy with her.

The absolute joke of a man.

From a single glance, I already know he’s too soft. Weak.

Despite being in a club, he’s dressed like he should be at home studying for his next midterm. He’s talking too much with his hands, seemingly trying to make some sort of point he’s overly enthusiastic about.

Even so, she nods along, humoring him.

Regardless of how polite she’s being, he’s embarrassing himself, and by proxy, he’s embarrassing her.

Just watching them stirs something dark in my gut, and I don’t care to shove it down. It’s not jealousy…no.

Possession.

I don’t know her—hell, I’ve never even seen her before. But I know that tool doesn’t belong beside her. She should be somewhere better. Somewhere with me.

Despite myself, I watch a moment longer until he excuses himself—my opening.

Not missing a beat, I put my glass down and get off the couch, heading over with calculated steps. Everyone moves when they see me, momentarily distracted before returning to their business.

She checks her phone as I reach her, the screen causing her soft features to glow.

“Tell me you’re not with him.”

She startles and lifts her gaze to meet mine. From up close, I can see the depth in those deep brown eyes, taking in the warmth of them.

I didn’t think it was possible to feel addicted to such a sight so quickly, but here I am, and I don’t want to look away.

“Pardon me?” She blinks at me, shifting somewhat uncomfortably under my attention.

Lazily, I gesture towards the other side of the bar where her friend waits. “The nerd in the button-down sweater combo.”

Hesitantly, she glances towards him, then back to me. Defensive tension settles in her shoulders. “He’s nice.”

“He’s boring.”

She frowns, moving her body away from me slightly, which only gives me a better view of her contours. “And you are?”

I grin and hold my hand out to her. “Mikhail.”

Her eyes track down to my offering hesitantly, but she shakes my hand ever so briefly. “Lily.”

I force down a shiver from the feeling of her warm skin against mine, regardless of it ending just as quickly as it started. I can’t fight how I start gravitating closer. “Well, Lily, you look like you need better company.”

“I’m not so sure you’re qualified enough to judge my current company.”

Amused by the claim, I hum. “I like to believe I’ve over-qualified.”

Lily shifts under my gaze again—not retreating, yet not quite inviting me closer either.

She feels like something of a curveball for me. I’m used to confidence, bravado, and someone who already knows what they want even before engaging with me.

But she’s a quiet beauty shrouded in uncertainty and hesitation.

I do my best not to stare too much, but the soft fullness of her thighs and the curve of her hips are making it nearly impossible not to.

In a way, she seems somewhat insecure based on how she tries to shy away.

“You don’t like being looked at, do you?”

It’s a bold question, but I take the chance anyway.

Subtle irritation moves through her eyes. “I don’t like being judged.”

“And I’m not judging…I’m appreciating.”

She seems almost surprised by this, but she’s still uncertain. “Most don’t.”

“And I’m not like most guys.”

Despite herself, she laughs softly, almost sardonically. “That’s what they all claim.”

She might be right, but I’m not lying. Not about this.

I take another moment to drink in her features, noting the fine line art of her sternum tattoo. How, despite being slightly put off by me, she entertains it anyway.

Then, she looked at me curiously. “Not that I’m even interested in him like that…but you really think I can do better?”

My lips pull. “I know you can.”

I don’t even need to ask if she’s coming home with me for the night. Instead, we end up in the back of the Range Rover with her lips on mine as if it’s something we’ve done hundreds of times before. Her movements are soft, then hard, and her fingers curl into my shirt to keep me close.

While I’m not at all new to hooking up, there’s something different in the way I hold her, fingers tangling in her hair while I greedily take in the taste of her. The feel of her plush body against mine.

We’re both breathless by the time we reach my condo. She has no idea about who I am, what I do, or the security cameras I have installed. But she doesn’t ask, and I don’t need to tell her.

Not when we already know what we both want without having to say a word.

***

Sunlight edges the blackout curtains in my bedroom when I wake up, blinking through the grogginess.

Remembering exactly why I feel more tired than usual, I glance over to the other side of the bed, only to find nobody there. Only rumbled blankets and an ever-fading impression of where her body had been.

She’s gone. The sheets are still warm, but the room is empty of anyone else.

Sitting up, I look around both nightstands, but she didn’t leave anything behind—no number, no note, and no promise of seeing her again.

I stare at the empty spot for a moment longer, and for a second, my irritation flares, and my pride feels wounded.

Normally, nobody leaves me. I leave first. That’s how I operate. It’s always easier to stomach that way.

But the anger fades just as quickly. I don’t feel used or tossed aside…I just feel calm. Fulfilled, even.

I tell myself it’s for the best while I get up and head to the shower, torn between wanting to wash up and not wanting to get rid of her smell on me. It’s oddly sentimental, and I push that thought aside as quickly as I can.

But I don’t need any distractions, certainly not while Maxim is free.

With Roman preoccupied with adjusting to his new life as a father, my mind needs to be sharp. I have far too many things to deal with. Too many people are relying on me.

Still, even while the hot water cascades over me, I can’t get her out of my head.