Broken from the bratva k.., p.1
Broken From the Bratva (Koralev Bratva #2), page 1
Koralev Bratva Duet
Part II
SASHA LEONE
Copyright © 2020 by Sasha Leone
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Broken From The Bratva
Acknowledgments
1. Billie
2. Maxim
3. Billie
4. Maxim
5. Billie
6. Maxim
7. Billie
8. Maxim
9. Billie
10. Billie
11. Billie
12. Maxim
13. Billie
14. Maxim
15. Billie
16. Maxim
17. Billie
18. Maxim
19. Maxim
20. Billie
21. Maxim
22. Billie
Epilogue
FREE ebook
Also by Sasha Leone
I almost married a monster—
Now, he’s coming back to finish the job.
Maxim Koralev.
Dark. Powerful. Handsome.
Beastly.
The perfect villain. And my unlikely hero.
Our love ignited a war that tore us from each other’s arms.
… And saved my life.
But I’m still hiding so many secrets…
I betrayed him. More than once.
And if he discovers the truth before I can finally tell him why,
Then he might become too dangerous to ever see again.
… Not that I’ll have a choice.
The Bratva boss gets what he wants.
And if he wants me,
Then eventually, his searing fingers will wrap back around my throat.
And I’ll be left to wonder:
Is this for love,
Or revenge?
Editor: C.J. Swan
Cover Design by Clarise Tan, CT Cover Creations
1
Billie
How quickly things change.
One moment, I’m walking down the aisle at my own fake wedding, feeling very real love in my heart. I’m wearing a gorgeous gown that costs more than my entire college tuition; I just came from a penthouse suite in the sky, where I slept on a bed as big as my apartment, next to a man who’s so handsome and powerful that my knees nearly buckle at the mere sight of him waiting for me under the arbor. All my troubles vanish in his gaze. The feds. My business. That nagging Loneliness. Poof. Gone. He only leaves room in me for one thing: him.
Then, boom, everything goes to shit. Gunshots. Blood. Screaming. Maxim Koralev’s massive body protecting me from it all. His warmth makes me believe everything will be alright... until he suddenly goes cold.
That’s when I know it’s over. It’s the only way they were going to manage to put him in handcuffs. I’m hauled out of the chaos by strangers. Men of the law. FBI. People are still shooting when I’m thrown in the back of a dark van and driven away.
Now, I’m here. In the next moment. The thrill of the danger and the lust and the love is gone. Vanished. It’s nothing more than memories now. Sweet, steamy memories. Memories I touch myself to when I’m bored.
And I’m always bored.
At least witness protection stuck me in a house with a dryer.
Yeah, that’s right. I’ve gone from future wife of one of the most influential men in one of the biggest cities in the world to a complete nobody, stuck in a Podunk town out in the middle of bums-fuck-nowhere.
The feds tell me I’m safe here, but I don’t want safe. I want him.
I hardly even care about the 30 million I’m owed. Not that I’m ever expecting to get it. The Koralev Bratva have more important things to worry about than paying me. They’re at war, after all—oh yeah, and their leader is in prison.
I swear I didn’t put him there... at least, not on purpose. You can only fight so hard against the feds before they use your own words against you. They’re adult bullies, the kind that will tell you to stop punching yourself as they grab your wrist and fling your own hand against your face.
I had to tell them where the wedding was. They made me. But I didn’t think they’d arrest Max. They didn’t have shit on him, as far as I knew. So, what changed? It wasn’t like I gave them any useful info.
Only, I did; by accident.
I inadvertently connected Max to a murder they didn’t know he was involved in. A murder that apparently still had enough evidence on its body to justify hauling him in.
So, in a way, it’s my own fault I’ve been whisked away to a safehouse so far from the only home I’ve ever known that I get sick just thinking about it.
It’s hardly even a consolation prize that I’m still alive. What’s living worth if it’s like this?
The cruel joke is that I’m being forced to live almost exactly the way I was at this time last year. Sure, back then I’d do more talking on the phone with potential clients and investors, but I still wouldn’t have any friends to go out with, no boyfriend to have over, no social future to look forward to.
Max made me realize just what I was missing out on. He forced me to realize it. And now I’m being forced to try and forget the thrilling reality he introduced me to. I’ve been resigned to purgatory, all while the memory of a steamy hell and a carnal heaven rattle through my mind and my fingertips in the form of his image.
That giant chiseled body, those fiery grey-green eyes, the dominance, the protectiveness, the jealousy, the lust, the love.
I’ve gnawed my lip bloody just from remembering him. Even his current disheveled appearance, whether I see it in newspapers or on TV while the media covers his trial, is enough to make me reach for my shower head. He still looks so strong, whether he’s wearing a dark black suit or a bright orange jumpsuit—you could hardly believe he was shot four times while protecting me.
Shot in the back.
Those bastards. The stink of betrayal almost threatens to ruin my precious memories. But I fight for them, because they’re all I have left. I’m one of those bastards...
My business is barely being propped up by the government. Income has stagnated. I’m living off the welfare of the same people who tore me down from the rooftop and stuck me in a bungalow in the desert.
I can’t even tend to a garden here.
It’d be late summer back home—a cool breeze is probably starting to provide relief from the humid summer air—but in my new state, the weather is so dry and stale and hot that I can barely walk barefoot outside, less the soles of my feet melt into the earth.
Instead, I spend most of my days scouring the internet for updates on Max’s trial; trying to get a hold of someone who can tell me how long it will be until I can return to a normal life—as if I even want ‘normal’ anymore—and trying desperately to think up novel ways to keep my business from imploding while I wait for the opportunity to run it like it’s supposed to be run.
It’s lonely and exhausting and restless and it almost makes me wish they hadn’t set me up with wi-fi at all. Procrastination has become my life, and it only took a couple of weeks before I addictively finagled my way back onto social media—in the form of multiple anonymous burner accounts, of course—despite specific instructions not to. Fuck them. Give me this.
Seeing happy pictures of old friends is enough to make me want to cry. They get to travel the world and share their successes and show off their boyfriends and girlfriends. There isn’t a single worry in the world on all of my home feed. I wonder if a single person I went to school with even knows what it’s like to struggle?
I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.
Max’s big trial is coming up. I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t see him again. At least for now, I have hope that he’ll get out of this jam and come find me. but if he’s found guilty of a murder that I helped lead the police to, then I just might have to give up. It’ll mean I’ll never get to see him again. There’s no way the feds will ever let me visit him in prison. I’m still in a whole world of danger.
There’s a war raging back in my home town. Entire sections of the city are on fire. And it all started at my wedding, because someone was looking to kill me.
Max wouldn’t let that happen. He’s the only reason I’m still alive today, and I’m the only reason he’s in jail, awaiting trial. The feds always get what they want, even if I didn’t mean to help them.
My complicity in the whole thing is enough to make me want to go mad. Sometimes, when news of what’s happening gets too overwhelming, I shut my laptop off and go for a walk. The searing heat of the southern sun feels like a proper punishment for my sins. I let it beat down over me as I wade through cacti and rock-hard shrubs.
My ‘home’ is tucked away at the end of a suburban cul-de-sac. My backyard is desert. I don’t dare exchange anything but pleasantries with my neighbours—I don’t want to be found out, or worse: risk making any connections. The only thing keeping me going is the hope that this isn’t permanent; that I’l
l be moving on before I can truly settle in.
But even that hope is fleeting. It feels like I’ve already settled into my solitary existence. My walks of distraction are just another part of my new life—even the ‘new’ is slowly starting to evaporate in the stifling heat; It’s just becoming my life.
Fuck.
The only consolation I get is what I find on the end of my walk. The foothills at the western edge of the desert contain a little oasis. A speckled waterfall, a pond, and a shaded boulder. I wash my feet in the cool water, staring at my rippling reflection while I try to stabilize my uneasy mind. I hardly look like a different person, even with my shaved head, but I feel so unfamiliar.
Would Max recognize me like this? Would I want him to? When we first met, we exchanged subtle jabs through barely withheld fire. Now, I’m an empty husk. The feds told me to change up my look so that I was unrecognizable. But even taking a razor to my scalp didn’t do nearly as much as all this time in isolation.
I’m losing sight of myself, and that’s not just because I’ve turned away from my reflection in the pond.
I climb up onto my shaded boulder and sit cross-legged, staring out over the desert and suburbia. An urge to check for updates on Max’s quickly approaching trial makes me reach for my phone, but one of the reasons I come up here is to get away from it all. I don’t get a good connection, and my browser is still loading when I finally give up and look back out to nature.
... And that’s why it comes as such a shock to feel my phone suddenly start to vibrate. My gaze immediately snaps back from the horizon down to my screen.
There’s no caller ID, but there is a number. I don’t recognize the area code, but the fact that there is one means that the call shouldn’t be coming from the feds. Their numbers are always blocked.
I can see my strange reflection in the darkness around the white numbers on the screen. My face is twisted in a ball of confusion. Who could it be?
Sure, I’m desperate to talk to anyone who isn’t a federal agent or a business associate, but is answering worth the risk? This cell phone is connected to a private number that is only known to a select few: my court appointed assistant; my lead developer; my business manager, plus whatever government official wants to call me up: those are the only ones who should have this number. But the government officials usually have a blocked ID, and I have everyone else in my contacts list.
Not knowing who’s calling isn’t a problem I’ve had to face in so long. I’ve been assured that my phone is untraceable, but I’ve also been told to ignore any non-essential or mysterious calls.
The phone rings as thinly veiled warnings echo around in my head. This is life or death... Cooperate and you’ll be fine... Don’t contact anyone...
A low burst of anger cuts through the cold emptiness inside of me.
Fuck this. I’m tired of being told what to do.
I let myself have this little slice of rebellion, no matter how small.
I answer the call.
“... Hello?” My voice betrays the anxiety I’m suddenly filled with. So much for being a rebel. I become all too aware of what one wrong move could mean for me.
“Hi. Billie?” The female voice is oddly familiar. Recognition dances on the tip of my tongue as I struggle to remember what face fits the voice. At least it doesn’t have a heavy Italian or Russian accent....
“Who is this?” I ask, unable to make the connection myself.
A familiar chuckle comes from the other end of the line. It all clicks just as she reveals herself.
“It’s Jackie, silly. Jackie Stonewall... from high school.”
Oh fuck!
My rebellious anger and my anxious regret both collide in a sudden explosion of happiness. “Jackie!” my voice echoes through the little foothill canyon.
There’s that chuckle again. It fills my body with a nostalgic warmth. “I know it’s been a while, but I figured you’d at least still recognize my voice,” she teases.
“Sorry,” I chuckle back, pinching the bridge of my nose in disbelief. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”
“That’s why I’m calling...” Jackie’s joyous tone grows a little more concerned. “I’ve been keeping an eye on what’s happening back home. I just wanted to make sure you’re doing alright.”
“I’m fine,” I immediately lie, then follow it up with a truth. “I’ve been keeping an eye out on all that too, but I’m not even there anymore.”
“Oh, thank god!” Jackie sighs. “It was looking like that stupid city was finally turning over a new leaf before everything suddenly went to shit again. It’s just like old times now.”
I can’t help but smile. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“So, if you’re not there, where are you?”
I almost answer, before catching myself. Taking this phone call was a big enough risk on its own, but revealing my location? That’s a little too much...
Still, the success of this little slice of rebellion has got me wanting more. “I’m on the west coast.”
A gasp. “Me too! Where on the west coast!?”
“Top secret,” I laugh.
“Fancy. Are you on a business trip or are you living there now?”
“Living.”
“Can I come visit?”
The question hits me like a freight train. My immediate reaction is to say yes. No, to shout yes. I’ve been so lonely, and the idea of seeing my long-lost best friend is so appealing I could jump off my boulder and fly to her right now.
But...
“Hey, not that I’m not thrilled to hear from you. But can I ask how you got this number?” I deflect.
The little hesitation in Jackie’s response makes me nervous. “I swore I’d never tell you...”
“What?” I push.
Jackie huffs. “Fine. Well, I was going to keep this a secret, but I don’t want you to think I’m a complete stalker—because I’m only half a stalker! But back when you first started your start-up, I made a teensy little investment, because I knew you were going to kick ass. I didn’t want to tell you—we’d already drifted apart and I didn’t want you to think I was trying to buy your love back—but now, what the heck. I’m a shareholder! I thought one of us would have reached out long ago, but I know we’re both busy working girls, and so when I saw what was happening back home, I thought, fuck it, I don’t care if she’s busy, I need to know if my bitch is alright.”
And just like that, we’re back to old times. “Oh, so that’s what took you so long!” I laugh, hardly caring that she hasn’t really answered my question yet.
“Not even,” I can practically hear Jackie’s smile. “You’re impossible to get in touch with. I only got this number because your business manager thought it prudent to give a shareholder some semblance of access to the big boss lady. She was having none of me when I asked as a friend.” There it is.
My laughter fills the canyon and washes over the desert. “I’m a very important person now,” I joke.
“You’ve always been important to me.”
“Aww.”
We start a chat that doesn’t end until the daylight starts to fade. My walk ‘home’ through the desert is the best one I’ve ever had. Still, about halfway through I get an alert telling me my phone’s about to die. Jackie isn’t happy about it.
“When can I see you? I have some time off of work coming up, so travelling is no big deal, especially since you’re on the west coast now.”
My heart feels so full—but that only weighs down my decision all the more. I couldn’t possibly tell her where I am, right? Would it even be legal? Could I get in trouble?
