Bratva Beast (Bravikov Bratva #1)

PROLOGUE

ISABELLA

I glance at my alarm clock on my bedside stand. It’s two in the morning, and my mother and her newest man are going at it on the other side of the wall. Bang, bang. Why does she have a headboard that beats against my wall?

“Oh fuck, you’re so big. Make me come.” Her voice screeches.

“Yeah bitch. Take it. Take it all. Fuuuck!”

I’m twelve years old and clutching my childhood teddy bear under the covers beneath my bed. I stay here every night, huddled in the corner, protecting myself from the men she brings home. My father died a year and a half ago, and my mother gets increasingly out of control every day. She can’t be without a man. The noise stops. Please go to sleep. This new man seems worse than the last dozen, and he’s stayed for three days. The little voice inside me says he’s pure evil. When I got home today, he looked at me like I was a sexy bunny, and he was the panther looking to devour me.

I wake to a squeak. Someone is opening my door. Oh God. I take a breath and hold it. Please, just leave. A jerk above me startles me and my fist moves to cover my open mouth, stifling the scream. The bed scrapes as it moves away from the wall, exposing me.

The man leers at me. His pupils are huge, and I can see he’s flushed. He looks like he’s been running. Well, pounding my mother will do that to you. I squeeze the bear harder to my chest.

“Why are you on the floor, honey?”

I shake my head, pressing it into my bear.

He puts his foot into the side of my bed, shoving it away, and reaches for me. His scarred hand grasps my father’s t-shirt that I wear every night to sleep. “I want to see you.”

“I’m tired. Just leave me alone.”

He jerks me to him and spittle from his mouth covers my face as he yells. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You don’t tell me what to do.” He grabs the bottom of my t-shirt as I shove off him, trying to move around him. His hand grabs at my hair, missing, and swipes my shoulder. The scrape from his nails stings. I use all my speed and run to my door. I nearly reach the doorknob as he slams his body into me, knocking me to the ground. “Bitch. You’re not going anywhere.” He squeezes his fingers around my upper arm and pulls me up. His warm, slimy tongue licks up the side of my face as he laughs. “You taste young and sweet. I think I’m going to take a turn with you while your mama is passed out in her room.” He squeezes my breast. “I’ll bet you’re a virgin. I’m going to pop your cherry.”

A noise outside my door causes him to drop his hand and move to the door. The doorknob rattles and twists as my mother screams from outside my room. I can’t understand her. She’s slurring. “Baby?”

I want to tell him she’s calling him, but I shift myself to make him move from the door, allowing her to push it open. Her blood-shot eyes overwhelm her pale face. She’s lost so much weight in the last eighteen months.

The man growls. “Go away, bitch. I’m going to use your cunt of a daughter.”

She slurs. “What? No. Come on.” She pulls on his arm, farther from the door.

I move to duck around him and get the door open enough to squeeze through. I make it three steps before his hand is on my hair. He spins me and slams his palm into my cheek.

Pain radiates through my face and my jaw. I understand why people say they see stars when they hit their head. He grabs my chin and uses his other hand to strike my cheek. “You’re not going anywhere.”

My mother surprises me as she throws herself at the man, jumping on his back. I use this moment to run to the kitchen. I pull her cell phone off the counter and scan through to find the Pakhan. My father’s boss told me at my dad’s funeral if I ever needed help to call him. I need help. I click on his number.

A man answers with a heavy Russian accent and I respond in Russian. “I need help. He’s going to kill me. My father said…”

I don’t get to hear if anyone responds as the angry man rips it from my fingers. The flat of his hand hits me again. I lie on the ground, listening to my mother moan in the doorway of my room. He puts his foot into my leg, a half shove, half kick. “Who’d you call, bitch? The cops won’t come. No one cares about you. You be good to me, and I’ll make sure you get fed.”

My face is on fire. I taste copper. My lip is bleeding. Get up, run away. My brain is trying to figure out how to get out of this. He’s going to rape me. He’s right. I’m a virgin. My brain is scrambling to figure out how to get to a knife or the gun in my mother’s bedroom, but first I have to get up off the floor.

My mother moans, catching his attention. I quietly crawl away from him as fast as possible as he moves to her. I almost make it to the door and his foot catches me on the side. Pain explodes in my ribcage. I shift over into the fetal position, crying out in agony.

I don’t know how long it’s been, but I’m on the sofa, and my mother is screaming from the kitchen. My apartment door slams open and men rush into our living room. A man leans over me, mumbling in Russian. He asks me if I’m Isabella. I nod. His head jerks to a loud scream, and I turn to the sound. My father’s boss, Mikhail Bravikov, the Pakhan I’ve known all my life, has his hands on the man. The Pakhan’s face is placid, no emotion. He flicks his head at one of his sons. I don’t remember his name. He grabs me from the floor and cradles me in his arms.

Pakhan Bravikov barks at the man in Russian. “You hurt her. You made me break a promise to her father that she would always be protected.” I cringe as the knife in his hand slices through the man’s neck. Blood spurts all over and my mother vomits on the floor.

She’s screaming. “You killed him.”

The man’s body slumps to the floor as the Pakhan grabs my mother off the chair. “You let him damage your daughter. You are no longer under my protection, and Isabella is now mine.”

What? My splitting head tries to understand his words. He looks at me with no emotion. He moves his head to a different son. “Clean this up while you collect anything you think might be important to Isabella.” His focus shifts to the son holding me. “Bring her.” He takes his phone out of his pocket as we exit our apartment. Doors slam shut with gasps of concern going quiet as we move into the hallway. The Pakhan tells someone on the other end of his phone call that he’s bringing me and they need to meet us.

My body is on fire, lying in a sea of pain. Every bump the car travels over is excruciating. I can’t remember getting into the back of the SUV. I’m leaning against the Pakhan’s oldest son. He’s easily ten years older than I am and built like a truck. The warmth from his chest heats my body and soothes my fear.

“Isabella?”

His voice is low and deep, reminding me I’m safe. “No one will hurt you again. My father made a promise to your father, and he keeps his promises. We should have checked on you and your mother. When did she bring him home?”

“This one? A couple of days.”

His body stiffens. “This one?”

“Yeah. She’s had dozens. A new guy every couple of days. She’s drinking too much and getting high. I don’t understand why she’s doing this.”

“You’re going to be okay. But I can’t promise your mother will be.”

“I didn’t expect your father to kill the man.”

“He touched you. A promise is sacred. Your father gave his life for mine.”

The vehicle stops abruptly, and he growls at the driver. Telling him to be more careful. He leans into me as the back door opens, slipping his arms around me. His scent envelops me, reminding me of a woody spring rain. “The doctor is here.” He carries me into the house without jostling me. He takes me up the stairs and sets me on the bed in the third bedroom down the hall. My icy legs ache, and goosebumps pop up along my body, reminding me of the fear I felt just a half hour before. I whimper, reaching for the bedspread.

“What can I do?”

I shrug. “I can’t remember your name.”

“Cynric.”

“I should remember that.” Our families saw each other regularly before my father died.

“You’ve got a concussion.” He grits his teeth, glancing at my bare legs. “I’ll get you some clean clothes.”

A stunning redhead walks into the room. Her long hair is a slightly richer color than my own. She carries a small black bag and moves with a confidence that seems so foreign to me.

“Hi, Isabella. I’m Dr. Mitchell.”

I lift my head to acknowledge her and my eyes squint, deepening my headache. “Hi.”

She shakes her head as Cynric steps back into the room. He sets the clothes on the end of the bed.

Dr. Mitchell flicks her head to the door. “I’ll come out and talk to you when I’m done.” He crosses his arms, staring at the beautiful woman. Her mouth twitches as he rolls his eyes and steps out of the room. She turns her attention to me. “I’m so sorry. Can you tell me what happened?”

“My mother’s… Her latest fuck buddy beat me. He was going to rape me, but got too busy with beating me up.”

She pulls out a small, thin flashlight. “Follow the light.” She shines the light into my eyes.

“That hurts.”

She nods. “I can imagine. He did a number on you. Mikhail won’t be happy, but you’ve got to get a CT.” She looks down at my bloody t-shirt. “Did he sexually assault you?”

I shake my head. “He grabbed me, kicked me, hit me, and split my lip. My head feels like someone has it in a vise.”

“That’s to be expected. You have a concussion. I need to screen for a brain bleed, so you’ll be coming with me to the hospital.”

I glance down at the stack of clothes. “No one is going to like that.”

“True, but it has to be done.” She hands me the clothing. “Put on the pants.”

I shake my head. “The shirt is long. I hurt too much to put those on.”

She steps to and opens the door, finding Cynric with his arms crossed and his typical angry scowl. “She has to go to the hospital. She needs a CT.”

He grumbles in Russian. Something about if he wasn’t dead already, he’d kill him. Cynric looks around the doctor. “Fine.” He steps into the room and moves toward the bed. Scowling, he looks at my bare legs. He grabs a pair of pants and a clean shirt and hands it to the doctor. “I’ll step out. You dress her.”

The doctor takes the pants and slides the first leg over my foot. She works the other leg around my other leg, working the pants up my body. “Let’s change your bloody shirt.”

I nod as she helps me slide the sleeves over my arms. The fresh shirt slides over my arms as my head pounds.

A shadow moves into the doorway and Mikhail Bravikov scowls. “What’s going on?”

The doctor doesn’t miss a beat as she cocks her hip. “She has a concussion and needs to go get a CT.”

Mikhail complains, casting a glance at Cynric. “You’ll stay with her at the hospital until an enforcer gets there.”

I can’t look at Cynric to see his answer as he plucks me off the bed and cradles me back in his arms, following the doctor out the door.