Bratva Prince (Bratva Series Book 2)

The change in Aleksandr was instantaneous. He cradled Dayton’s lifeless body in his arms, staring down at him like he had no idea what had just happened, like a parent who’d just lost a child. He rocked slightly back and forth, as if he were trying to soothe the poor boy, despite the fact that he wasn’t here anymore.

Then the fucker who’d stabbed Dayton coughed and Aleksandr’s head snapped to him like a lion locking onto its prey. His whole body tensed, his face morphing into the most savage and ferocious look I’d ever seen in my life. The Aleksandr I knew was gone, replaced by the dark, enraged version that wanted nothing by revenge.

He slowly put Dayton down and got to his feet, darkness literally pulsing from him as he bared his teeth and marched towards the man.

I’d never once been scared of Aleksandr. Not even when he kidnapped me or held a gun to my head. But right now, in this moment, Aleksandr was the scariest thing I’d ever witnessed.

We all got out of his way, parting for him like the red sea.

The man groaned as he slowly started to sit up. Aleksandr kicked him in the chest, forcing him back down. Aleksandr straddled him and began punching him over and over again in the face. Right hook, left hook, right hook, left hook. He smashed the sides of his fists down on him like a gorilla beating at the ground, once, twice, three times, before switching back to punching, alternating between hands with each blow. He never slowed. Never lessened. He just kept hitting and hitting and hitting, like a man possessed.

The man’s face crumpled from the unrelenting onslaught, denting inwards. Teeth and blood flew through the air with every strike, spraying across the room. And still Aleksandr didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. An animalistic roar exploded out of him as he dug both of his thumbs deep into the man’s eyes, shaking his head violently and slamming it to the ground before returning to pounding his face with his bloodied fists.

“Jesus Christ,” Lukyan breathed out, watching on with terrified eyes. “Stop him Nik, before he hurts himself.”

Lukyan was right. If we didn’t stop him soon, Aleksandr would hurt himself. If he hadn’t already. There was a petite blond woman standing next to Nikolai, looking at him with worried eyes. Her yellow sundress was bloody and torn, what looked like a mallet of some kind in her perfectly manicured hands. She didn’t look like the type to get her hands dirty. In fact, if it wasn’t for the ease in which she stood surrounded by all these dead bodies, I would have thought she was the prissy cheerleader type who shrieked at the first sign of blood. But she was far too comfortable in this environment for her to be that way. Was she a Bratva woman too?

Nikolai hesitated for the briefest moment before taking a cautious step forward. He approached from behind slowly. He reached out and lightly touched Aleksandr’s shoulder. “Zander—”

Aleksandr spun and punched his brother in the jaw. Nikolai flew backwards and Aleksandr went right back to punching the mangled body below him like nothing happened, never once losing momentum.

“Fuck,” Lukyan exhaled.

The woman shrieked and ran to Nikolai’s side, fretting over him worriedly.

I watched as Aleksandr continued to beat on the man. There was no indication he was going to stop any time soon. I needed to do something—anything—to help him.

I took a step towards him and Lukyan grabbed my arm, stopping me.

“No, don’t,” he warned, shaking his head.

I shrugged him off and continued on. If anyone could stop Aleksandr in this fit of rage, it was me. I knew it. I was the only one that could understand what he was feeling right now, the grief and guilt that would be consuming him from the inside out.

I approached carefully, making sure to take loud steps so he’d hear me and not be taken by surprise. I crouched behind him and took a deep, calming breath.

“Aleksandr?”

He spun on me like he did Nikolai. His fist halted in the air an inch away from my face. I didn’t back away. I didn’t flinch as his bloodied fist hovered mere millimetres from my jaw. I just stared into his wild, frantic eyes, his chest rising and falling with deep, ragged breaths.

Even in his darkest, and cruellest moment, one where he was so consumed with rage he couldn’t see straight, he refused to hurt me.

There was so much anger in him it seemed to swallow him whole. The Aleksandr I was staring at wasn’t the one I knew. The kind, caring, grump of a man who secretly had a heart of gold for those he loved and cared for. No. This one was full of darkness. An unfathomable beast fuelled by rage and hate.

I could also see the guilt lying deep in the depth of his eyes and my heart broke for him. Because of what happened with his mother, I knew this would be tearing him apart inside. I needed to talk him down from the ledge he was standing on somehow. Pull him back from the darkness.

I reached forward and wrapped both of my hands around his fist that still hung in the air, pulling it close and nestling it between the valley of breasts. “Regresa a mí.”Come back to me. I spoke softly, coating my words thickly in my Spanish accent because I knew how much he liked it.

Aleksandr’s face twitched. I could see the struggle burning in his eyes, like a part of him was beating behind the wall of anger, desperate to get back in control. He was torn, not sure what to do. Whether to let himself drown in his anger or listen to me and let it go.

“Regresa a mí,” Come back to me, I repeated, holding his hand tightly.

A tiny bit of light worked its way back into his eyes. He pulled me to him and I went willingly, climbing into his lap. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he buried his head into my chest, holding me tight.

He didn’t cry. Aleksandr wasn’t the type of man to cry. But he held me like I was his lifeline, like he needed me to keep him grounded. His body trembled, his hands squeezing me like he was afraid I’d disappear.

I whispered nonsense in Spanish to him as I ran my fingers through his hair, trying as best I could to soothe him. To let him know I was here, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that for, locked in each other’s embrace. It could have been hours. It could have been minutes. I truly didn’t know.

Aleksandr stiffened when someone cleared their throat awkwardly. He lifted his head, looking at his brother. A little bit more of that darkness had receded.

Nikolai rubbed his jaw, a bruise already starting to form on his skin. He approached cautiously, like he was afraid Aleksandr would strike him again. I tried to move off his lap but Aleksandr gripped me even tighter, refusing to let me go.

It gave me all the flutters.

“Is there anyone left alive?” Aleksandr grunted, his voice thick.

Nikolai glanced around. “If they are, they won’t be for long.”

“Find out what you can from them quickly, before they die.”

Nikolai nodded. “On it.” He went to leave but stopped, glancing back. “I’m sorry, Zander.” He didn’t need to elaborate on what he was sorry for. It was pretty obvious.

Tension worked its way back up Aleksandr’s spine as he took a deep breath. He didn’t say anything, just jerked his head once in acknowledgement.

Lukyan surveyed our surroundings with scrutinising eyes. “Where’s Father?” he asked, his head swivelling from side to side like he expected the man to appear out of thin air.

Aleksandr frowned. “I thought he was with you?”

“No,” Lukyan’s brows snapped together. “I haven’t seen him.”

Aleksandr’s frown deepened. A concerned look streaked across his face. His arms tightened around me as he used nothing but his core muscles to get to his feet.

The strength it took to not only do something like that, but to do it while carrying another person, was phenomenal. Not only that, but he’d done it with such fluidity it didn’t even seem hard to him.

He lowered me to the ground and gave me a soft, gentle kiss, cradling my head in his hands. He kissed me like he cherished me, like he didn’t want to let me go, his tongue moving in slow, deep strokes.

I melted into him like an ice cream on a hot summer’s day, my body just moulding to his as I kissed him back. I wanted nothing more than to drown myself in him. His touch. His smell. His everything. But Aleksandr pulled back far too quickly for my liking.

He rested his forehead against mine, those gorgeous crystal blue eyes staring deep into my soul. He kissed me lightly one more time, his lips lingering against mine before he turned around and walked away,

The look on Lukyan’s face was priceless. His mouth was wide open, his eyes literally bulging out of his head as he tracked Aleksandr out of the room, staring after him like he had no idea who he was even looking at. His gaze swung back to me.

“Okay, who was that man and what the hell has he done with my brother?”

I smirked, and lifted a shoulder innocently.

Did it give me a gooey feeling inside to know that this behaviour was out of the ordinary for Aleksandr? That he wasn’t the type to display such tender moments of affection?

Yes. Yes, it did.

“Peculiar,” Lukyan mumbled thoughtfully, turning on the balls of his feet. “Very peculiar.” He followed behind Aleksandr and I hurried after them.

Aleksandr walked into another room and I stopped, looking in from the doorway. It was an office space of some kind, and it had been absolutely trashed to pieces. The thick mahogany desk was on its side. The chairs were all askew, knocked upside down or toppled over. Little odds and ends were strewn across the floor—papers, pens, personal items, a lamp. The three dead bodies sitting in a pool of their own blood made it very clear that an epic fight had taken place here.

Aleksandr moved cautiously, his steps slow and precise while he manoeuvred his way through the wreckage. He studied every detail carefully, meticulously, his face full of anxiousness and worry as his eyes ran over everything. His whole body stiffened and he lowered to his hunches, picking something up.

“What? What is it?” Lukyan asked, walking over. When he glimpsed what Aleksandr was holding, he drew in a sharp breath. “Fuck.”

Aleksandr stood, a grim look in his eyes.

I squinted at what he held in his hands. It looked like a…I don’t even know.

What the fuck is it?

Whatever it was, it was bloody, and it had a string of what looked like flesh dangling from it.

“Tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Lukyan said, dread filling his voice.

“It is,” Aleksandr grunted. “It’s Father’s tracking chip. It’s been cut out of him.”

I’m sorry, tracking chip?

Surely I didn’t hear that right.

Aleksandr stared hard at his brother, the weight of his next words weighing heavily on him, as if saying them was almost too much.

“Father’s been kidnapped.”