Page 1 of Untamed

Chapter 1

RODION

The low thrumof dance music beats steadily, like the heartbeat of California’s underbelly. Neon lights slash across the dance floor, throwing jagged shadows over the dancing forms of women. I lazily watch them. I love women of all shapes and sizes. I don’t care about the color of their skin or their hair, if they’re short or tall, curvy or slender, or if they have glasses or freckles or whatever. Women are god’s gift to men, and fuck, I miss having one in my bed. It’s been way too long.

I’ve tried to be good. Responsible.Mature.

God.

California might glitter, but I miss the familiarity of home. Here, under these neon lights, I feel untouchable and detached—like a tiger prowling, watching the world from behind the bars of a cage.

I want out.

I nurse my glass of the bar’s sorry excuse for vodka—some cheap, local crap that doesn’t hold a candle to what we drink at home for any excuse to cheer a victory—and glance at my hands.

Fuck. For a second, I swear I see flecks of blood from the job I wrapped up earlier. But no, it’s just the lights messing with me. I washed my hands in the penthouse bathroom so many times under steaming water that they’re half-scalded.

Not that it matters. Rafail, my oldest brother and the pakhan of our family, rules with an iron fist and expects every job to be wrapped up neat, tied with a bow. Me? I like the reminders of what I’m capable of.

Maybe it makes me a sociopath. I like to think it keeps me human.

Got one more job to do here.

A burst of laughter gets my attention. I look over to see a table of giggling women. I shift closer to the bar, slinking into the shadows so I can watch unnoticed. Six of them, dressed in low-cut tops and short skirts, sit at a table cluttered with empty glasses. A young brunette with waist-length glossy hair shoves her phone under the nose of another woman. The second one’s wearing something across her shoulders. A sash?

I squint.

Bride to Be, the gold lettering reads. Ah. A bachelorette party.

How cute.

“I’m telling you, it’s the possessive ones! Like, ‘I own you’ energy!” A blonde giggles over her drink. Her friend rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.

My ears perk up.“I own you energy.”What are they talking about?

I’ve got better things to do than eavesdrop, but I’m bored as hell and need to get laid. Rafail would fucking kill me for not sticking to the plan.

I fucked up, big time, and he sent me here to lay low while he manages the fallout. Turned out I could utilize my skills while here for the greater good of my family, so I can’t lose focus now.

I look away from them.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Rafail

Heads up. Semyon got fucked over… instead of wedding bells, looks like he’ll be playing clean-up crew and teaching some lessons.

Shit. It’s been a year since Rafail married his wife, Polina, which meant it was time for one of us to get married. We had to. Taking the position of leadership after my father’s death, Rafail wasted no time in establishing himself as the married eldest because, in the old-fashioned, cutthroat world of the Russian Bratva, a married man had more power. Respect. A man likeme—wild and free, untamed by the love of a woman—was unfettered but unpredictable…andwielded less power.

We don’t have time to date casually and don’t have the luxury of playing around. Marriage, children, the stability of vows are a must.

Semyon was ready to marry before the ink was dry on Rafail and Polina’s marriage certificate. He didn’t have the time or patience for anything less.

Whatwasit about our luck, anyway? Rafail’s first attempt at marriage was an epic fail, and now Semyon…

Rafail

So maybe… if you happen to find a wife in California, make it happen. At least for now. The Romanov gala is in a month, and we need a show of strength when we attend

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