Page 7 of Forced By the Bratva Beast

“Right near Melrose Park,” she answers. “I’ll give you more directions when we get closer,” she replies evasively, watching out of the window. Chuckling, I try to settle her nerves, not understanding them, given she appeared confident or naïve to take a ride with me in the first place.

“Hey, I’m the one who saved you from the creepy guy in the alley,” I remind her. “You can relax. I promise I’m taking you right home,” I tell her in a satiny tone.

“I know you are for some reason,” she mumbles, side-eyeing me, her adorable smile arousing to look at. She’s not like the other women who fling themselves at me. No. Not those. And they know what I am—who I am—and want in on the perks of the Bratva lifestyle. She’s not overdone either with caked on makeup. She’s herself, from what it seems, managingto maintain a sensual allure effortlessly. And the winning factor, the main reason I’m giving her a ride home, is I can’t put my finger on why. It makes me want her even more.

“Oh, you do, huh?” I tease, hungering for information on her.

“Yeah, it’s strange.” She frowns, as if shaken by the fact she’s let me drive her home, and most would not.

“I don’t think it’s that strange. I’m a nice guy, I promise.” Only if you play with my money, my associates, or my business do I then become a very nasty, ruthless guy, but these things Sophia doesn’t need to know.

“Spoken like all other nice guys I’ve met.” Her sarcasm throws me off-balance, but it’s refreshing at the same time as she directs me wordlessly, and I stop in front of a block of neat, modest apartments.

“I guess you’ll have to find out if I’m telling the truth.” I want to keep her engaged, because there’s a distinct feeling drawing me towards her.

“I guess. Were you not having a good time? Is that why you were happy to drive me home tonight?” she probes.

Shrugging, I tell her the truth. “I wasn’t having that great a time. I didn’t feel like drinking, and besides you are far more interesting to speak to.”

“Are you always so smooth?”

Watching her blush is making things a lot more fun. “No. You must bring it out in me.” I wink, my cock tweaking. Oh, she is fun. Maybe we can have more fun.

“Maybe I do,” she quips but not looking at me. “I need to text my friends to tell them I’m home safe.”

“Good idea.” I watch as she texts her friends, her ginger hair giving me every reason to touch it. It catches in the light of the streetlamp we’re parked under, and once she’s done, I bide my time hoping she’s going to invite me in for a nightcap and other naughty things….

“I hope you know I don’t normally do this, but do you want to come in for a while?”

“Sure. I’m enjoying your company.” I take her up on her offer as she gets out, following her, and checking out the street behind, mainly out of habit. My gun’s in my glove box, and I figure it can stay there. I’ve got a knife in my pocket if I need to use it, but I doubt I will.

Once inside, I’m pleasantly surprised by the homey feel and the sweet vanilla scent. Her house is as neat as a pin. It’s spacious, and I quickly work out it’s probably a two-bedroom unit, but everything is methodically in its place. There’s a bookshelf in the corner of the living room, and all the books are color coded.

Smirking, I drop my hands in my pockets. “Wow. You like order,” I point out, walking around.

She giggles sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m a little OCD about things being in their right place. Mind you, I’m not going to yell if it’s out of place or whatever, but I’ll probably put it back where it belongs quickly.”

Her candid admissions are endearing, and it’s still remarkable that she’s let a random stranger inside her home. “I get it.” I notice that on the dining room table is a vase of assorted flowers. I smile, liking the cute touch. I finger one of the petals, finding out they’re real. “I like things in order too.”

“Okay, that’s good. Can I get you something to drink?” she asks nervously as I wander over to the bookshelf, picking up a photograph of what looks to be her family. The picture’s old enough because she’s a younger girl with a long ginger ponytail in it.

“Yeah, whatever you’ve got is good by me,” I call out, wanting to know more about the man and woman in the photo.

She comes over with a glass of juice for herself and hands one over for me. “Oh.” A gloomy expression casts over her face as she stares flatly at the photograph almost in regret.

“Relatives?”

“Yeah, close relatives. That’s my mom and dad.” There’s a wistful longing on her face, and it’s one I recognize.

“You see them much?”

After a long drawn-out pause Sophia sighs heavily. “No. They died when I was seventeen in a car accident. Same old story, some stupid drunk driver,” she remarks in bitterness. “They were coming back from a road trip in Nantucket. They loved to road trip.”

She’s suffered loss like me. A painful stab hits my chest as the memory jogs mine of holding on to my father after they shot him in front of me. I was only a kid, and at the time, I’d hoped they’d shoot me too, because of how badly it hurt, but they didn’t. They took it one step further and let me live with the haunting memory of the murder.

“Sorry. I know how much it hurts,” I confess, not wanting her to feel alone. Maybe this is why we’re drawn to each other.

Her eyes widen in alarm. “You do? Have you lost someone special in your life?”

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