Page 25 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

“Sure thing. Thank you,” I shoot back and let his colleague wand me.

A minute later, I’m inside, marveling at the sight before me.

There are approximately a hundred people in here already, with at least another twenty outside. It’s a huge place and absolutely beautiful. I search for one of the guys, but I’m so easily distracted and uncomfortable that I don’t even notice Artur until he’s mere inches away, his hot breath tickling my cheek.

“What are you doing here, Lyric?” he asks, his voice low while embers burn in his grey eyes. I find myself mesmerized by them, unable to breathe, or even think. “I… I…”

“You, what? You decided to waltz right into the lion’s den? Do you have any idea how many of these people wouldn’t even bat an eye before shoving you in their trunk?”

He’s angry. A split-second later, he takes me by the arm and discreetly guides me up a flight of circular marble stairs. On the upper level, it’s quieter. Darker. Glancing back, I realize they’ve got a security detail stationed at the bottom of the stairs.

“What do you mean?” I ask Artur, then take a moment to silently admire him more thoroughly.

He looks dashing in his dark grey shirt and black silk pants. His ink-black hair is slightly curled and stylishly tousled over his forehead, his gaze glued to my lips. “You’re lucky that nobody recognized you as Matthew Phelps’s daughter is what I mean,” he replies. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

He takes me into a large bedroom. This is a man’s place. Every inch is masculine and dominant, meant to attract and devour its beholder.

Unsurprisingly, my mere presence in this personal space turns me on.

“How’d you know where we live?” he gives me a troubled look, then narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Did your father put you up to this? Bowman?”

“What? No,” I shoot back and yank myself free from his hold, momentarily offended. “No. I went on the internet.”

“The internet?”

“Not the regular internet. I didn’t use typical search engines,” I mumble, trying to keep it sweet and short so I don’t incriminate myself any further. But Artur can see right through me, and a devilish grin stretches across his lips. “What have you been playing at, Lyric?”

The door opens and I freeze for a moment. Max and Ivan join us, both of them equally concerned and surprised. And just as handsome, wearing black tie ensembles that make their broad shoulders appear broader, their jaws sharper. I’m starting to think this was a bad idea. I can’t even think straight anymore.

“Hey,” I manage, along with a shy smile. “Sorry to show up here like this.”

“Lyric was just about to tell me how she found out where we live,” Artur grumbles, nowhere near interested in cutting me any slack.

“I do a lot of research work online, using a multitude of channels, platforms, and search engines,” I sigh deeply. “And since I had no way of reaching you, I started using those tools to find you. I came up with this address, and, well… ta-dah.”

It comes out a tad flat.

“You are beyond reckless,” Max decrees. But he can’t take his eyes off me, either. “Do you have any idea what kind of people we’re entertaining tonight?”

“Artur mentioned something about me ending up in the trunk of a car if anybody were to recognize me,” I mumble. “And no, I didn’t consider any of this until now. I wanted to talk to you. The three of you.”

“We’re going to have to sneak her out of here,” Ivan tells Max.

“Are you not listening? I said I wanted to talk to you.”

Suddenly, all three are watching me like hawks. Their eyes are wide and flashing, their lips slightly parted, hunger emanating from them. The tingling in my core intensifies with each passing second of sexually charged silence.

“I saw my dad’s campaign rally on TV,” I manage to gather some of my thoughts. “I just wanted you to know that I don’t condone anything he said. That’s his bullshit, his train to ride, not mine. I swear I have nothing to do with him, Bowman, or anything that they promote.”

“We know,” Max replies.

“Well, I needed you to hear it from me,” I say. “I don’t like where this is headed. For the record, I don’t condone your activities, either. I’m trying to keep my nose clean, to focus on my work, my doctorate thesis, my research.”

“And yet you decided to show up here tonight,” Artur replies with a half-smile. “You’re looking for trouble, Lyric. At least admit it.”

“You three were supposed to come see me on Friday.”

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