Page 5 of Bratva Queen

Hadher. As if she were a toy and he wanted the first turn. I glanced over at him and whipped out a stack of whatever cash was in my pocket—not yellow 100s, but blue 2,000s. “Let’s let her decide who to go with,hm?”

Isabel’s full lips turned up at the corner. “Sorry, Vlad. Money talks.” She turned on her five-inch heels and escorted me to an empty table, gesturing to the plush booth seating. “Well, are you gonna sit?” she asked, in that low tone of hers.

I pulled out a chair for her to sit in front of me. She eyed it skeptically, reluctant to take a seat. “Your feet must be sore from those heels,” I said, motioning to the chair.

“They are.” She sat down, eyeing me carefully and slipped them off, rubbing her feet for a moment as she asked, “So, where’s your boss? I’m surprised he isn’t here badgering me with questions.” Her voice was bland, not piqued like other women who have asked about him before.

“He got held up,” I answered, sitting down on the booth seat. “I’m surprised you’re not more interested. Most women are thrilled to have Stepan’s attention.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes with that same attitude I’d spotted the first night Stepan met her. “So long as he keeps paying, I’m thrilled.”

I swallowed deeply, shocked by the overwhelming sense of jealousy that was creeping down my arms and into my fists. Her feelings should’ve come as no surprise. Any woman would prefer the boss over the right-hand man. Like a cold awakening, it made me think straight again, and I decided to dig into those feelings, on Stepan’s behalf, of course.

“May I ask, do you like Stepan? Are you… fond of him?”

She laughed, “Fondof him?” Her eyes captured mine. “Are you asking if I want to fuck him?”

“That wasn’t my question,” I said. “I was curious if you were interested in him romantically.”

Her head cocked to the side, and she stared at me, her emotions undecipherable. I noticed the color of her eyes was not just chocolate but had some gold within them. She also didn’t wear much more than a touch of makeup, with dark red lipstick that contrasted her skin. After a minute, she answered, “He isn’t so bad. Could be worse, like Mr. Pot Belly over there.” She gestured with her thumb. “But I don’t really know him. He’s been coming in every night, talking to me and asking me questions, like some kind of reporter.” She chuckled, her laugh smooth like velvet.

I couldn’t help but laugh back. “He’s just a man interested in a woman.”

She watched me, as if trying to read my thoughts. What did she see when she stared at me? Perhaps I was nothing more than Stepan’s wingman to her. But maybe, just maybe, she was just as fascinated by me as I was with her.

“All the men here are like that,” she answered gently with a shrug, pretending not to care, though I could tell that she cared a bit more than she let on. “They only want one thing.”

“Do they?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, please,” she said with a huff. “I’ll bet you don’t even know my name. I’m just anothersuchkayou want to fuck.” She leaned back in the chair with her eyes narrowed at me, her leg hanging over the other, and her arms crossed under her breasts.

I watched her for a moment, deepening my gaze into her eyes. “Isabel.” The name flowed out of me easily and smoothly. Just for a moment, I’d thrown a kink in her tough exterior. “What’s my name?” I asked, deciding to be bold.

“Aleksei,” she said, her gaze just as intense. I realized that her voice no longer held that low, seductive tone, but rather a more genuine hum. She was being real with me. She was allowing me to see that intelligent, spirited side of her that Stepan had never been able to draw out of her.

It was more than I’d ever hoped for.

I looked down and licked my lips, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees and my hands clasped together. “I knew you were more than just a pretty face.”

When I looked up again, I saw a look on her face that held something I didn’t recognize. I forgot for a moment we were in the middle of a strip club. Suddenly, the dim lighting and alcohol-infused setting pushed its way back in, bringing me back to reality when a gruff voice interrupted us from behind me, shattering the hazy glow of our first conversation.

“You’re on the clock, Isabel.” I turned to see Boris, the short, portly manager with hair poking out of the top of his shirt standing beside us. “This isn’t fucking social hour. You want to date, do it on your own time. If you’re going to talk, you need to dance while you do it.”

Isabel looked down, biting back her hostility in the same way she had with so many other men in the club. If I hadn’t observed her so thoroughly in the recent past, I wouldn’t have noticed the irritation. Still, she gritted her teeth and said, “Sorry, boss.”

He nodded and walked away.

She strapped her heels back onto her feet and stood. “So, what’s it going to be?” All the genuineness from before had been stripped away along with her dignity. “Lap dance?”

I sat back, holding up my hands. “Uh, no… You don’t have to—”

“You heard him,” she murmured. “I need to dance when I’m on the clock.” Her eyes remained locked on mine as she began to sway her hips from side to side, perfectly aligned with the music pumping through the club. I shifted uncomfortably, looking over my shoulder, though I knew neither Stepan nor any other bratva men were here tonight. It was just me, and her.

I felt a tap against my ankle and wrenched my head back to see her toes nudging my legs open wider. I obliged and she stepped between them, turned around, and bent over. Her delicious, soft ass wiggled right in my face. I didn’t know how to react. Not because of the lap dance—that I was somewhat used to—but because it was her, the gorgeous woman I’d come to respect and desire more than any other before. I had no idea where the boundaries were. Could I touch her? Stepan would definitely have my balls. But what about her? It was clear to me that she was flattered by his advances, but what about mine?

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