Hunted By The Bratva Beast: A Bratva Stalker/Captive Romance - Jagger Cole (the ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Hunted By The Bratva Beast

Jagger Cole

Hunted By The Bratva Beast

Jagger Cole © 2021

All rights reserved.

Cover by Plan 9 Book Design | Editing by MJ Edits

Proofing by Jessie Stafford, Teshia Elborne

This is a literary work of fiction. Any names, places, or incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Similarities or resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events or establishments, are solely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal and a violation of US copyright law.

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Contents

Hunted By The Bratva Beast

A Special Present

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Paying The Bratva’s Debt Preview

Also by Jagger Cole

About the Author

Hunted By The Bratva Beast

The monster hunting my nightmares might be the man of my dreams.

The hell I was born into broke me, damaged me, and pieced me back together. I’ve come a long way from Russia’s foster system – now I’m third in command to my brother, the head of the Kashenko Bratva.

But the past has a way of never staying there.

There’s a demon on the loose — a huge, savage, ruthless killer they call The Beast. Kostya Romanoff has broken out of his cage looking to settle a blood debt he thinks my family owes him.

Now he’s hunting for one thing: me.

The hunt is on. But I shouldn’t like that he watches me. I shouldn’t tremble with heat and anticipation every time I feel those those eyes pierce, possess, and caress.

The prey shouldn’t ache for the hunter. The rabbit shouldn’t crave the wolf’s sharp teeth.

He’s invading my every waking thought. Corrupting every dream. And it’s getting hard to keep track of what I should or shouldn’t be feeling.

I might be the broken beauty he’s been looking for. And God help me, he might be exactly the beast I’ve always wanted.

Buckle up: this Bratva stalker/captive romance is a steamy nonstop thrill ride that I promise will leave you breathless and aching for more. Safe, absolutely no cheating, no cliffhanger, and a perfect happy ever after.

A Special Present

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Trigger Warning:

This book contains flashbacks involving abuse and past trauma. While these scenes were written to create a more vivid, in-depth story, they may be triggering to some readers.

Prologue

Kostya

My finger slips across the cold metal of the trigger like a lover’s familiar touch. My grip tightens on the stock of the rifle, and I lean into the scope. Slowly, I pan to the left across the lavish pool patio. The wind rustles the branches of the tree I sit in, but I pay it no mind.

My focus is singular. My intentions here today undiluted and unflinching.

The scope moves across the patio of the enormous Chicago suburb mansion; the palatial pool area, the six-car garage with luxury vehicles, the household help, manicured gardens…

My lips curl into a sneer as the anger ripples to the surface. The arrogance of these people makes me want to scream. But I hold it in. I focus, gritting my teeth and tensing my shoulders.

There’s movement by the doors to the patio. The scope moves with the subtle shift of my wrists. The patio doors open, and I growl quietly when they all come tumbling out—laughing, joking, smiling. My mouth sneers as the fury rises.

I know these men now. After three weeks of tailing them each individually, looking for the weak spots, I know them instantly; almost intimately. The first laughing man that strolls bare-chested out onto the patio with a beer in his hand is Lev Nychkov—second in command of the Chicago branch of the Kashenko Bratva. Behind him comes Viktor Komarov, the man at the top. Neither of them pulled the trigger. Neither of them is the direct reason I’m here, waiting like an angel of death. But they’re equally as responsible. They played as much a hand in what happened as…

The third man steps out, and I my blood curdles. This one is Nikolai Antonov—one the fastest rising avtoritet—captains— in their organization. But I don’t give a fuck about his position or title. I give a fuck that a few months ago, he shot my mentor, Fyodor Kuznetsov—the man who was the closest thing to a father I ever had—in the head.

The guilt of not being with him—and perhaps stopping what happened—comes rising like bile in my throat. But I shove those regrets down, and I bury them with my hatred and anger—the same hatred and anger that have been my sword and shield for my entire life.

Hatred and anger have kept me alive, especially in the hell I’ve been in for the last ten years. I look at these men laughing and enjoying their lavish lives and spoils in the sunlight and I snarl. I know none of these men grew up with the money and power they have now. I’ll grant them that. But still. Here they are, smiling in their wealth and arrogance like little oligarchs.

Their “broken childhoods” don’t hold a fucking candle to mine. I was born into Hell. I grew up molded by its fire and pain. And I’ve lived the last ten years of my life in its deepest pit—the Russian Gulag prison that’s been my home for a decade. It is that pit of blackness I clawed my way out of when I learned of my mentor’s death. It is that hell that I broke free of, with the sole purpose of