Page 8 of Pregnant Bratva Virgin

Given my arm of the Bratva business, it would make sense that I’m the enforcer type, but I’m not wanting to be that guy. I would prefer to conduct my shady business professionally and unethically under the table. But there’s a dark well inside me, and if the right person pulls the trigger, I won’t hesitate tothink about the consequences of their deathafterthe fact. Willy Dee was the man who did just that.

A trait I should probably work on, as it’s led me to being cooped up inside a jail cell for days longer than I should have been—particularly in my younger years of being in the brotherhood. As I’ve grown older, I’ve settled somewhat. I’ve had to scrap my way to the top of the food chain to match it with my brothers, but I never wanted to be an entrepreneur like Ruslan or Dimitri. No, I felt most at home in nightclubs and in street dealings, gambling and whatever other illegal activities I could get my hands on. It’s the only way I know how to carve out a place for myself in the brotherhood.

I’ve proven myself, making my own connections, importing my own product, and running it through clubs, and cleaning the money that way. Now, I’ve got three main clubs in Chicago, and I’m looking to expand into New York, working with Dimitri for contacts. The Bratva might not have believed in me at first, but over time I’ve proven myself, becoming the underboss. I’ve got my sights set on the top-dog spot, but I’m going to have to either bide my time or pull in a substantial amount of money to change that.

Power and control is the name of the game, and I’m here to win.

Emily stirs beside me, her eyes fluttering as she murmurs in her sleep, the sheets clinging to her supple curves tempting me to take her body for a morning test drive. Sticking my head under the covers I smirk at my cock at full mast, thinking I could masturbate beside her, and she wouldn’t know.

Fuck. Don’t do it. You could get lost in a woman like her.

And as I watch her roll over, her full ass forcing the blood to my cock even more, I start to tug, pulling hard and fast staring at her ass, my arm pumping under the sheet. I doesn’t take longbecause Emily is a wet dream, and she could have any man she wants. Hell, she enticed me to break my cardinal rule, and I don’t know how.

Only temporarily satisfied, I groan as I keep looking at her body under the sheet for stimulation. I wipe myself off with the box of tissues next to me, heading to the bathroom so I can’t see her face anymore. Splashing the cold water on my face, I stare back at myself.

Time to go.

I’ve never loved. Only fucked.I can’t.It’s too dangerous, and one too many men in the Bratva organization have lost their heads like stupid fools over women. I’m on an upward trajectory, and if I want to be a Bratva boss one day, I’ve got to keep them at bay. Someday I plan to get married and do the kid thing, but not in the immediate future. Even as I think about it, I detest the idea.

One of my cousins is headed for divorce right now, and he can’t let her go like that. Once you’re in the Bratva and you know the secrets of us, we can’t let you live. No. You have to die. And now he has to kill his wife. Such a fucking shame. Returning to the bedroom, I check the time and on sleeping beauty. It’s early and check-out’s not going to be for another four hours at least. Her long hair’s draped over the edge of the bed and I have to ignore it, finding my pants under the bed.

Grinning, I shake my head. Emily was a wild ride, and I’m going to be thinking about her and that glorious body for quite a while. Zipping my pants up, I reach for the left-over juice from room service gulping it down and adding my shirt. I’ve got plenty of shit to do, and I need to check the club’s takings from last night and a bunch of other unpleasant tidy-ups I don’t want to partake in.

And I was right.Emily’s been the perfect escape, but now I’ve got to go before I linger longer than I should. A surge of guilt runs through me as I open my leather wallet pulling out four hundred dollars.

“Sorry, Emily. I can’t stay, but you were good. Real good,” I mutter, slowly lifting the lightshade up and sliding the money under it before walking towards the door.

She doesn’t move a muscle, staying in place, her slow breathing makes me want to spend more time.What did she do to me?

I should leave like I am. I owe her more. So much more. I stepped over my own line, but as I walk out and blow her kiss, I know I can’t go backwards now.

Feeling guilty, I leave another woman in my wake.

Chapter Five - Emily

I hate that I’m still hung up on the guy, and that from time to time I wonder if I gave him the right phone number or not. I deleted him after two weeks, knowing he wouldn’t call if he hadn’t already. All I remember is the Hampton Suites and that his first name started with anR. In fact, I don’t think I got his surname, but why would I? I didn’t want to conduct a police check on the guy. I only wanted one night of fun, but given how pissed off I am at him, maybe I wanted the chance at more.

He could have called me, or texted me to say something—anything, but the event is only in my memory banks. Stamped and collected, archived into the don’t-go-there bin.

I checked with the girls to see if I was being too ridiculous, but they were as shocked as I was when we caught up for drinks a week later for a steamy recap.

“He didn’t call or text at all to tell you he had a nice time?” Kiara inquired while we sipped piña coladas at happy hour down the street from my house.

“No. He didn’t. Nothing—and get this, he left money on the nightstand.”

Kiara choked on her drink, and Stacy just stared at me blankly. “Be for real! Did he think you were a hooker or something? What the hell?” Kiara asked in outrage.

“He must have,” I told her sadly, remembering the money making me feel cheap, but the worst part about it is I needed the dough desperately, and used it to help me pay for incidentals for my mom and me.

“There’s no chance he thought you were a hooker. He couldn’t have. No, nuh-uh. What a clown. Seriously. And tothink I was rooting for this guy and thought he might be a winner,” Stacy added in disgust.

Cringing at my work desk, I hate the fact I took the money, and when I shoved the bills in my purse, every inch of me felt dirty about it, but what else was I going to do? I wasn’t about to let it just sit there on the bedside table.

It’s the worst timing to be thinking about him. Swiveling around in my seat, I look over at the deputy chief’s office, the door open. He’s a good guy and has an open-door policy for his bureau of detectives, and normally that’s not such a bad thing, but today it’s totally intimidating. I stare back at the time on the clock. Ten minutes of nail-biting suspense before I have to go and see him for our meeting.

“I need you in my office on Tuesday morning at ten thirty, and don’t be late because I don’t have long. I’ve got news.”That information he left me with on a Friday evening before knock-off left me in a tailspin, and contemplating whether I’d properly resolved my last case. I rifled back through all the paperwork and follow-up, not finding anything I’d missed.

“Don’t think the worst. You’re the first in and almost the last out every night. You never know. It could be that leg up you wanted,”my colleague, who I’d come through police academy with, proposed.

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