Page 2 of Unwilling Bratva Bride

My entire body seized up as he spoke, his voice penetrating my brain like a drill. It was deep, so fucking deep, and coarse enough to file down glass.

Furrowing my brow, I swallowed hard. “What?”

Realization hit, and my brows shot to my hairline as warmth filled my cheeks. “Oh! Umm…it’s from a movie.”

Seriously? Had I just said that? I was so pathetic. I would blame the alcohol if I didn’t really have that ironclad constitution, but I did, so that was a no-go.

The massive guy chuckled, and my eyes wormed their way across his forehead as I realized that the shadows across it weren’t actually shadows. It was a tattoo, and as I looked closer, I could just make out the shape of broken glass spiraling out from the point of impact, which appeared to be some type of scar.

“I see. So, now, what’s making such a pretty girl like you frown? Hmm?”

That deep, raspy voice held the hint of an accent that I could totally place but had to assume was from somewhere like Russia or Ukraine. We got plenty of diverse customers at the bodega, and I’d gotten pretty good at telling where they were from.

Beyond that, though, was the fact that when he spoke, my heart felt like it would explode out of my chest. And he’d called mepretty.

“Umm, it’s a long story. I’m sure you’re not interested.” I shook my head, my gaze falling back to the bar where my empty shot glass perched between my fingers.

“On the contrary. I assure you that I am. ‘Sides, I’m in no big rush. Indulge me.”

My stomach clenched, silent alarm bells going off in my head as he pulled out the stool next to me and sat down.

I couldn’t help but look over at him again. Damn, he was terrifying—those tattoos and his entire vibe just screamed ex-con. Hell, it screamed current con, and I wasn’t sure if that’s exactly what this was.

I’d had to watch for trouble-makers trying to pull one over on the shop, steal, or just quick-change me. I wasn’t about to let it happen now after everything else I’d dealt with today. Because he might not know it, but I was far from drunk, and that was the only way he was getting one over on me.

Still, as he smiled at me, my thighs involuntarily clenched together. He may have been a scary-ass guy, but he was also…beautiful.

It was as if Brad Pitt and the guy from that motorcycle show had a baby, genetic impossibility aside.

“Umm, I should probably be going, actually. But thanks for the—”

His hand snaked out and took my arm. It wasn’t rough, but there was an unspoken command behind it—to stay put, or maybe he’d chase me.

“Come on. I’ll buy you a drink. Maybe I can help?”

I wanted to say no. I should say no. But his damn eyes penetrated me through to my backbone, and I felt somehowcompelled to list out the terrible truth if just to show him how unappealing of a prospect I really was.

Sliding back down into the stool, I raised my brows at him. “Make it two, and you’ve got a deal.”

He laughed, the sound way too sexy for a reasonable human to possess, and nodded. “Can do.”

After my shots were delivered, I knocked one back straight away and let the floodgates open up. As the story left me, it felt oddly good to get it all off my chest. Venting, it’s good for the soul.

“My parents will lose their bodega, which is also our house, which means we’ll all be out on the street. We’re behind on the rent. No fucking sales because some fucking quickie mart opened a block down from us, and no one’s coming. I tried to get us a loan to buy some time, but we’re ‘poor candidates’ or some shit.”

A sigh left me, and I hung my head before I downed the other shot. The guy next to me, who was still nameless, just watched, his eyes glued to me in a way that felt too intense and intimate.

“I’ll probably just get a job somewhere to help them, but my mom’s health sucks, and my dad is getting old. And!” I gestured at him, that buzz hitting harder. “I’ve got twin siblings trying to go to college in the next few years! Ha! No one in my family is going to claim that honor.”

Mystery Man smiled gently, sipping at his vodka like a true Russian. “What’s your name?”

“Adley. Adley MacCormack. Nice to meet you, strange bar dude who just got the full download on my shitty luck.”

He laughed again, and dammit, it should not be that hot.

“It’s Ivan. Ivan Ustinov.”

“Ha!” I slapped a hand down on the bar, which stung. “I knew you were Russian.”

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