Chicago Bratva

Chapter 3

Nikolai

NikolaiThe game is in full swing by eleven. We have a suite in a posh hotel where I have one table, seven players. I’m satisfied—the house has already made thirty grand, and I have a buyer lined up for Zane’s Mustang.

A knock sounds at the door, and I shoot a glance at my twin, Dima, who’s in town for the weekend, as I go to open it. Oleg flanks me, as my muscle. Dima reaches for the pistol in his waistband. We’re all more cautious since the incident with the Feds last month. Getting shot at one of my games isn’t the way I want to go. Dying young has been a possibility since the day my brother and I joined the bratva, but I’d rather go out in glory than from a pot-shot taken by a trigger-happy kid.

I c***k the door to peer out.

“I’m here to see Nikolai,” a female voice announces.

“Oh, hell no,” I say, when I take in the small but mighty female standing outside. I recognize her from the photo at her apartment—Zane’s sister.

She preemptively thrusts her hand through the c***k in the door before I can close it.

I may be a d**k, but I’d never smash a woman’s fingers. I’m also not about to let her into the hotel suite to kill the vibe. I open the door enough to step outside, forcing her to back up into the hallway.

She’s adorably angry—all five foot two of her. Her chestnut hair is pulled up into a high, thick ponytail, and her golden eyes spark with fire. Bronze freckles dot her nose and cheekbones, matching the reddish lights in her hair.

Oleg looms in the doorway behind me, drawing her gaze, which I dislike for some reason.

“I’ve got this,” I murmur to him in Russian, leaving her in the dark about what I said, and Oleg retreats and shuts the door.

She puts her hands on her hips and raises her brows. “I’m Chelle Goldberg. Sister of the guy you put in the hospital today?”

“I know who you are,” I say mildly, advancing on her, just to see if she’ll retreat or hold her ground.

She holds her ground, which I find even more adorable.

“Tell me Zane did not give you the location for this game because that kid does not need another a*s-kicking from me right now.”

“No,” she snaps, thrusting her chin up. “I saw the text message on his phone. While he was lying on a hospital bed.”

I roll my eyes. “Zane did not require a trip to the hospital, Freckles. The only thing the ER would do for him would be to hand out some pain meds, which a guy with substance a***e issues doesn’t need.”

That steals her thunder and her breath. She blinks at me, like my words gave her an unpleasant shock. A twinge of sympathy niggles in.

Does she seriously not know her brother has a d**g problem?

Maybe she’s been in denial, and my saying it out loud made it real.

“Go home. Take the pain pills away from him. See if he’ll smarten up and get his s**t together.”

“I came here to talk about Zane’s debt.” She’s lost some of her bluster. She meets my gaze but can’t hold it anymore.

I fold my arms across my chest. “So talk.”

She makes a show out of looking around. “Out here in the hallway?”

It’s comfortable as far as hallways go. Wallpaper and artwork and side tables with heavy pottery sitting on top.

“You’re not coming in here, doll. Not unless you brought cash.”

She clutches her purse tighter, like I’m about to rip it from her arm. “I came to find out exactly how much he owes. And to see if we could come to some kind of arrangement.”

Oh, Freckles, yes. I would definitely like to come to an arrangement with you.

Oh, Freckles, yes. I would definitely like to come to an arrangement with you.The n***d-tied-to-my-bed kind.

I let my interest show in my slow perusal of her body. She’s not curvy—in fact, she’s a bit on the angular side, but I find the whole package to be alluring. Something about her interested me the moment I saw her photo at her apartment. “What kind of arrangement?” My low rumble holds a seductive edge to it, and her body responds, her n*****s protruding through her thin sweater.

She firms her jaw. “May I come in?”

Fuck. I definitely don’t want her in the suite. But for some reason, I’m finding it hard to deny her.

Against my better judgement, I open the door and usher her in.

Oleg immediately moves in to search her purse and pat her down, and I have to stifle the sharp rebuke that rises in my throat. He’s doing his job. Protecting me from getting shot again. I just don’t like his hands all over her.

She steals a quick glance at the game going on then produces a fat envelope from her purse after Oleg gives it back and hands it to me.

I take out the cash and count it. “Fifteen hundred off Zane’s debt,” I tell Dima, who is positioned with his laptop near us to record every time money changes hands.

He nods and types it in.

“Is that enough to keep you off his back for a few weeks?” she demands.

“No, bunny rabbit.”

Her eyes flash with annoyance at the pet name, but she doesn’t address it. “How much more does he owe?”

“He’s in forty grand to me right now.”

She makes a little huh sound. “You took ten grand off for the Mustang?”

huhI nod. “That’s the resale value.”

She digs in her purse again, and produces a set of keys. She unwinds a Toyota key from the ring. “Take my car. It should be worth at least another ten grand.” Her fingers tremble when she holds the key out to me.

I refuse to take it. “I’m not taking your car.”

She thrusts the key in my face and shakes it, the shaking growing more visible. Her lips tremble, too, although I suspect it’s with rage not fear. Certainly not tears. Chelle is a tough cookie, that much is obvious. “Take it,” she snaps. “You took Zane’s.”

“I’m not taking your car. You don’t deserve that. Have you considered the long-term consequences of always bailing your brother out?”

Her forehead wrinkles. “What?”

“Do you think Zane will learn his lesson if you keep making sacrifices to keep his nose unbroken?”

Her jaw drops. “So now I’m getting life-coaching from his f*****g loan shark? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

loan sharkI smirk. This woman is cute on wheels. I prop my shoulder against the wall and fold my arms over my chest. “Believe it or not, I like your brother. Before he got his nose into the blow, he was a brilliant card player and an entertaining presence at my table. Now? He’s a douchebag, and he’s out of control. He needs help, but he’s not going to get it if you clean up his messes.”

“So you beat him up out of tough love? Was that it?” Her voice drips with sarcasm.

I shrug again. “It’s a natural consequence when you stiff the bratva. There will be more if he doesn’t get his s**t together soon.”

Some of her bravado fades, and I see uncertainty dance over her expression. I have to fight the urge to reassure her that I’m not going to dismember her brother. Part of the problem is that I let Zane think we were friendly. I may like the kid, but that doesn’t mean he won’t have to pay up, one way or the other.

“His other natural consequence is losing his wheels. But it shouldn’t be yours. You weren’t the one snorting coke and playing loose at my table.”

Her eyes brighten with tears, and she blinks them back. Swallows. “He’s using a motorcycle now. It belonged to my dad. You could go take that from him, too.”

“He can bring it to me,” I say smoothly.

“I’ll bring it—”

“Uh uh,” I interrupt. “Stay out of this. Zane can figure it out. He’s a smart kid.”

She stares at me for a moment then nods.

I open the door for her. “Don’t come back here again,” I say when she steps close to pass.

She stops and looks up at me. I have the irrational urge to count the freckles that dust her cheekbones. “Or what?” I see that flash of temper again. “You"ll beat me up too?”

“You?” I raise my brows, then allow some of the heat she rouses in me to show in my gaze. “No, Freckles,” I murmur in a suggestive purr. “I"ll pin your hands to the wall and s***k that cute little a*s of yours until I hear you beg.”

Her eyes dilate, berry lips part. “B-beg for what?” she asks.

I hold in my chuckle. “What would you beg me for, Chelle?”

She draws in a sharp breath. “You’re…”

I c**k my head when she trails off, expecting an insult with expletives.

“Bold.”

“Bold.”My lips twist into a surprised smile. “And you’re interested.” I allow my gaze to drop to the peaked buds of her n*****s showing through her sweater.

She looks, too, and flushes. Her gaze sweeps up my tattooed forearms and across my shoulder to land at my throat. The moment she manages to lift it enough to meet my gaze, electricity pulses between us.

My d**k gets harder than stone. She freezes.

Oh, Zane. I just had the most wicked idea of how you can pay off your debt.

Oh, Zane. I just had the most wicked idea of how you can pay off your debt.Except I don’t pay for s*x. Nor do I allow it to be used as currency.

I have a personal rule about it just to keep things clean.

Besides, Adrian would probably try to put my head in a meat grinder if he did. He came to America to free his sister from human traffickers, a horrific chapter she’s still barely recovering from.

I watch as a tremor runs through Chelle’s small frame, but to my disappointment, it seems to shake her back to reality. She pushes past me and out into the hallway.

“Don’t come back,” I remind her.

She flips me the bird without turning as she walks away.

I stay in the doorway, watching her cute a*s twitch as she walks, drinking in all that is Chelle Goldberg. Fiery, adorable, and very fuckable Chelle.

Damn.

I want her.

She’s lucky I had enough scruples to let her walk away.

Next time she might not be so lucky.

Chelle

ChelleI hit the elevator button eight times in four seconds, fully aware of Nikolai’s gaze setting my back on fire.

What just happened?

I’m reeling from the interaction.

The elevator door opens, and I launch into it. Of course, when I turn to push the button, Nikolai’s still standing there, watching me with amusement.

Damn him.

I just got my a*s handed to me by a mobster. That much I sort of anticipated, but it was the way it went down that shocked me.

I expected Nikolai to be terrifying. I pictured gold teeth, chains around his neck, and a revolver pointed at my head—something like that. And he certainly does seem dangerous. But I didn’t expect the suave player persona. The good looks. The charm.

His arms are covered in tattoos, but he wore slacks and a nice dress shirt, open at the throat. No chains. Nice teeth. Perfect teeth, actually, and a Hollywood smile.

Nikolai is downright hot.

What would you beg me for, Chelle?

What would you beg me for, Chelle?I’m not sure I’ll be able to get that suggestive growl out of my mind. Nor can I banish his threat. He wants to s***k me?

Um, yes please.

Even now, alone in the elevator, the memory makes me blush. I’ll probably be blushing until Thanksgiving.

I hate myself for being so turned on by those words. By him.

What just happened back there?

That wasn’t the most unnerving part. It was the way he talked about Zane—like he really knew him. Like he maybe even liked him. He seemed concerned about Zane’s substance a***e problem. The one I’d been hoping didn’t exist. It shocked me awake to hear it named out loud.

Zane is into drugs. I’d been afraid of that, but honestly? I’d been avoiding that nugget of truth. It caught me off guard, so when Nikolai gave me his Dr. Phil advice on letting Zane fail, I took it in. As much as I hate to admit it, he may be right.

I can’t believe I’m taking relationship advice from a loan shark in the Russian mafiya.

mafiyaThe elevator doors open, and I step out. A cold wind blows between the buildings of downtown Chicago, making me wish I’d worn a jacket. I wrap my arms around my waist as I jog toward the parking lot where I left my car. I couldn’t afford the rate at the hotel garage—it was astronomical. As I round the bend, I stop and look up at the building, as if I might see through the walls and floors to catch another glimpse of my brother’s persecutor.

A shiver runs through me. I was crazy to come here by myself. I’m lucky Nikolai wasn’t awful. That could’ve gone horribly wrong.

All the righteous rage I’d harbored on my way here has dissipated. Now I’m just mad at Zane.

He did this.

Nikolai is right. Zane should figure it out himself.

The trouble is, Zane is all I have, and he’s my little brother. My responsibility. If I don’t figure his s**t out, he could wind up permanently damaged or dead.

My mind flits back to Nikolai’s comment about the hospital.

I shouldn’t find it interesting or respectable that he seemed to know just how bad Zane’s injuries were. He believed Zane didn’t require medical care. That doesn’t make him honorable.

But it does make him smart. Much smarter than I anticipated. The beat-down he delivered to Nikolai was calculated. Measured. Perhaps a prescribed remedy for late customers.

I don’t want to find out what he will do to Zane next if my brother doesn’t deliver.

I open the door to my car—the one I’d come here fully planning to turn over to the bratva—and climb in.

Well, I still have a car. I may not have a brother for much longer, but I can drive to his funeral.