Page 1 of Sold to the Bratva
1
KATYA
“Fuck you’re a good kisser.”
“I’m an even better lay.”
Little does my date know, it’ll never get that far.
The front door creaks when I shove it open with my back, a laugh slipping out as his warm lips skim the sensitive curve of my neck. I grope for the handle until I catch it, nudging the door shut with a soft click. Leaning into the stranger’s mouth, I let him leave feather kisses over my skin, even though I can’t remember his name.
Vince? Vlad? Something with a V, maybe a B. Not that it matters. He smells of leather, gin, and unearned swagger. The kind of guy who orders bottle service and leaves a five-percent tip. In short, a douche, but I don’t care. He was charming enough to reel me in and sleazy enough to infuriate my dad. For tonight, that’s the only thing that matters.
I slip off my heels one at a time, my bare feet settling on the cool marble.
“Shh,” I whisper, glancing down the hallway. “Don’t be too loud, or you’ll disturb the guards.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll be in and out before anyone even knows I was here.”
There’s the sleaze I was hoping for. Then again, even if he were a choirboy from Jersey, my father would still hate him. In my father’s eyes, who I bring home is never my call. My love life is just another pawn in his game. And, tonight, yanking that pawn off the board is all that matters to me.
I smirk at Vince-or-Vlad, whatever his name is.
“Cocky,” I purr. “I like that.”
It’s not exactly a lie. Honestly, I don’t even know what I like in a guy except that he cannot be someone my father hand-picked. Once my fate is sealed, there’s no going back, so for now I’ll squeeze whatever fun I can out of the night.
Our hushed voices ricochet through the grand hallway, slicing through the silence that hangs over the place. Growing up here was less luxury and more legislation, a museum of velvet drapes, antique furniture, and armed men I learned to slip past if I wanted even a shred of normalcy.
We make it only six steps into the house before a voice crashes through the dark.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Katya?”
I stop cold, my heartbeat thrumming with surprise and anger.
It isn’t the volume of his voice, it’s the lethal edge. My spine locks as I turn toward the source. The living room glows with amber light from the fireplace, casting long shadows across the ornaterug. My father sits in his usual armchair, his jaw set like stone, and beside him, smugly sipping scotch and clearly enjoying the show, is Oleg Grinkov, thepakhanof the Grinkov Bratva.
Shit. I didn’t just get caught. I embarrassed my father in front of his boss. There will be hell to pay. I swallow hard and sidestep whatshisname, shoving him behind me like a misbehaving dog.
“I didn’t realize you were home,” I say, my voice pitched too high and nowhere near sharp enough.
Papa’s stare doesn’t waver. “It’s time for you to send your friend home.”
“He’s not my friend,” I shoot back, trying to maintain some tiny shred of control over the situation. “He’s my reward for playing the dutiful daughter all damn day.”
His brow lifts, and my attempt to assert myself dies a swift, painful death.
I turn to my club fling and sigh. “You should go,” I say quietly.
He frowns, wearing the look of a man who’s just realized he isn’t getting lucky tonight.
“What? Babe?—”
“Now,” I snap, cutting him off. “Seriously. Get the hell out of here if you know what’s good for you.”
He shifts his gaze between the two men and me like he’s finally realized he might be in real danger. Then he huffs, mutters something under his breath, and walks out the front door with his ego bruised and his night ruined. I almost envy him.
I exhale, pushing a hand through my hair as I step farther into the living room.
