Page 22 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

The sky is a blazing sunset red, while the streets are flooded with endless lines of crimson taillights. It’s the early evening rush hour, which means we’ll be walking home. The train will feel like a can of sweaty, smelly sardines, and a cab will take forever to hail.

“They released Bowman,” Shelby says and opens the macaron box. “So I got your favorites to celebrate!”

“Hah,” I chuckle softly. “Pistachio. Love you so much right now.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d be glad to hear about this.”

“Thanks, Shelby, I appreciate it. And yes, I am glad to hear he’s a free man. Please, tell me he’s okay.”

She nods enthusiastically as we begin our slow walk home. “He’s at the hospital getting a full checkup right now. And I’m sure he’ll be granting every requested interview once they clear him. But he’s okay. Which means you’ll be getting your interview with him, after all. It would’ve been a shame to miss out on such an amazing opportunity for your doctorate thesis, don’t you think?”

“To be honest, yeah, I was a little bummed out when he didn’t show up. What do they know about his captors?”

That’s the million-dollar question.

“I have no idea. The Feds called your dad to let him know that Bowman was safe. He hasn’t spoken to Bowman himself just yet.”

At least he’s alive and seemingly unharmed, which will get the spotlight off me. I was more than just uncomfortable lying to a federal agent and I’m glad it’s over. But I have to wonder why they released him.

Did Max and the guys get what they wanted out of him? I haven’t heard from any of them. We were supposed to meet up on Friday night, but that never happened.

Not a call. Not a text. Nothing.

It’s been radio silence since Max’s last visit.

I wish I weren’t so anxious about it. Maybe it’s for the best. Getting involved with the Bratva is such a bad idea, no matter how you look at it. Hell, I should feel relieved. So why do I feel the exact opposite?

“Tell me about you,” Shelby says. “How’ve you been? Any more sexy time with your new man?”

“No, it didn’t work out,” I reply, staring ahead while munching on a pistachio macaron. At least I’ve got the taste of French excellence melting in my mouth to make me feel better.

“Oh, no. Why? What happened?”

“We were supposed to go out on Friday night but I was ghosted. I’m over it,” I say. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry,” Shelby mutters. “Men can be real pricks sometimes, huh?”

“My dating pool is shrinking, anyway. I’m starting to see those red flags a little clearer these days,” I reply with a dry chuckle.

“At least you’re not running toward them like me,” she laughs.

7

Ivan

It wasn’t an easy decision, but we had to let Bowman go.

As soon as Smith dropped Lyric’s name, I knew it was only a matter of time before that fucker would find a way to bring her into this. Normally, we wouldn’t care. We’d forge ahead, no matter the potential collateral damage. And having a whale like Bowman in our possession could’ve secured some advantages for the Bratva going forward.

There’s just something about Lyric Phelps that tugs at our heart strings. It’s a dangerous pull, especially now that we know who she is.

“Bowman’s going to be holding a press conference before Phelps’s debate,” Artur says as he joins Max and me in the living room. We’ve got a few bottles of whiskey along with plenty of Chinese takeout for comfort food after what we all can agree has been a shitty week. “I want to watch.”

“Are we sure he doesn’t have any way of pointing a finger directly at us?” Max asks again. “I know we were careful, but—”

“He has no clue,” Artur reassures him. “We were more than careful. The guys we hired to guard him were outside contractors. They spoke three different languages, none of them Russian. They were paid handsomely. Two of them are already in Mexico.”

“Good. At least there’s that,” Max grumbles.

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