Page 12 of Claimed Bratva Virgin

I was going to give myself some accolades and say, with twenty-three years and counting, I was doing a pretty badass job convincing Papa that I was more than capable of handling my own business and running larger affairs. So, where did my boisterousness leave all the men?

In thefuckingbackground, that’s where.

Well, with clear exceptions made to my brother, growing up with them meant I’d seen them and their varieties—the big ones and small ones, the pure ones that always tried to maintain a piece of heart in their jobs, and the ruthless ones that ripped the hearts out with cynical smiles on their faces. I was a first-hand witness to theiruniquenessand decided there was nothing special they had to offer. And they always proved me right.

Especially that stupid, fucking idiot, Ivan Yezhov.

My grip on the wheel grew tighter than I thought it possible to. If it were a person’s neck, it’d have snapped in two already.

How dare he?

To me, his audacity was the height of disrespect, but I’d retaliated and, at the very least, humiliated him. That ought to keep him away from me for a while.

I let the wheel glide underneath my palms, forcing myself to relax while trying to shove down thoughts of the Russian weasel. There were better things to fill my head with, like imagining the look on Papa’s face when I told him I won the Long Beach Grand Prix, though word would have spread by now. And Matteo would seize the opportunity to remind me that I liked showing off.

Maybe I did, sometimes. Maybe I didn’t like showing off. But the one thing I did like—love—was my family. We cared more about the pride of winning than the value of the win.

I cruised into a familiar street, not entirely surprised to find it deserted. I didn’t bother with checking the time. We’d spent a lot of hours at the celebratory party, long enough to know when the midnight breeze seduced my hair and enough to feel the sting at the back of my eyes despite how much fun I was having—indicators of weariness and the urgent need to crash on my bed for a long, well-deserved sleep.

In the midst of stifling a yawn, a flash on the side mirror caught my attention. It was dark, and the car trailing mine with dimmed headlights blended with the night. Making out the model or any distinctive features proved impossible, but nothing ever hindered me. I was going to find out who the driver was sooner than later.

I accelerated slightly, and my engine responded eagerly. The black car kept pace, maintaining a constant distance, and I found its persistence suspicious—familiar, like the echo of someone’s skills I was well acquainted with.

To confirm my suspicions, I was willing to take extra steps. We approached a sharp curve, and I slowed down. True to my guts, my follower did the same.

I wasn’t going to lie; this driver was good, mimicking my moves and playing a game of being hidden in plain sight.

Too bad this mystery person was going to have a serious run for my money if he thought he knew all the cards up my sleeve in this cat-and-mouse chase.

Before he could see it coming, I slammed hard on the brakes, cutting the air with the shrill sound of screeching tires. In the process, I almost flew off my car seat.

Good thing I wore a seatbelt.

The sudden silence in the car was interrupted by rapid thumps of my heart beating in my chest. I felt my ribs expand and the hot air burn in my lungs.

I gripped the wheel, tightened the seat belt, and stared out the window.

Chaotic strategy, but my plan worked.

My tailer pulled up beside me, and red-hot fury blinded me like a punch to the gut when I got a good look at him. I knew those moves were familiar and oddly suspicious, and when the windows rolled down, I put on my best poker face.

“Stalking me now, Ivan? Or you just can’t find your way home?”

His eyes flashed, and his fingers tightened on the wheel. If the anger radiating off him could tick off a bomb, maybe we’d have both been incinerated. “You’ll be the one wishing you could find your way home by the time I’m done with you.”

Yeah, right. No one else had ever given such feeble threats. I shuddered. “I’m so scared.”

Raising a finger, I flipped him off and floored the gas, plunging deeper into the road with reckless speed. If I could beat him once, I could certainly beat him again. Ivan was good but would probably never be good enough to match me.

Definitely petty and degrading of me to think that way, but, as always, I only had him and the rest of his bloodline to blame. To me, nothing good ever came out of those bloody Russians and associating with them.

I was down the road, already shifting gears to plunge deeper into the darkness, when I noticed there were no flashing headlights behind me. I stole a quick peek at the rearview mirror. Ivan was hesitating, and before I could figure out why, a black Tundra literally emerged from out of the shadows, causing a ghastly blockage on my path.

Shit.

I pumped the brakes, almost hyperventilating when my hood jerked up on the stranger’s bumper. I tried to catch my breath, watching quietly as burly tattooed men dressed in black jackets hopped down from the car with guns. Huge and broad men with hard, unrelenting eyes.

Russians.

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