Page 8 of Brutal Monster (Zhukov Bratva #2)

CHAPTER SEVEN

VANYA

I leave her building with my blood on fire.

My grip on the steering wheel nearly cracks the leather as I drive back to my hotel. Inez's taste lingers on my lips—tequila and desire. Walking away from Inez Bravo might be the hardest thing I've done in years of difficult decisions.

The memory of her body pressed against mine haunts me through the night.

By morning, I've channeled that energy into purpose. My suite transforms into a war room as my security team files in, faces grim with professional focus.

"Gentlemen." I stand at the window, watching Mexico City wake below us. "We have work to do."

Maksim spreads blueprints across the mahogany table. "These are the current schematics for Ms. Bravo's building."

I study them, but my mind flashes to Inez pressed against her door, her small gasp when my lips found her neck. I clear my throat.

"The garage entry is vulnerable. Two cameras with blind spots, and minimal personnel." My finger traces the path we took last night. "Anyone could follow her in if they timed it right."

Like I did. Like Inez's stepbrothers could.

"We'll need to install our own surveillance. Discreet but comprehensive." I tap the blueprint. "And I want men here, here, and here. Rotate them every eight hours."

Timo, my intelligence specialist, speaks up. "What about the De Leon brothers, sir?"

The mention of Emilio and Adan sharpens my focus. I slide a folder across the table.

"This is everything we have on them, and it’s not enough," I remember how Inez's eyes hardened when she mentioned them at dinner.

"I want to know what they eat for breakfast, who they fuck, and especially who they talk to.

If they so much as sneeze in Inez's direction, I want to know before they reach for a tissue. "

My men exchange glances at my intensity. I don't care.

"The Tulum property needs a complete security overhaul before the wedding.

" I unroll another set of plans—the beachfront estate where I'll make Inez my wife.

"I want a perimeter that could withstand a small army. Bulletproof glass, panic rooms, the works. I don’t care what it costs, but it needs to look like a paradise, not a prison. "

As I detail the security measures, my mind betrays me again.

I imagine Inez in our wedding bed, her dark hair spread across white sheets, those fierce green eyes looking up at me with the same hunger I saw last night.

How her skin would feel beneath my hands, without barriers of clothing or propriety.

"Sir?" Maksim's voice pulls me back.

"The staff," I say, recovering. "Everyone working at the property must be vetted three times over. No exceptions."

I turn to Timo again. "Do we have progress on infiltrating Emilio and Adan inner circle?"

"We have someone close to Emilio's lieutenant," he answers. "Early reports suggest they're amassing resources. Weapons, mostly. American-made."

My jaw tightens. "The brothers are planning something."

"It appears so."

The thought of those men threatening Inez makes my blood run cold. I remember the weight of her in my arms, how delicate she felt despite her strength. How I could have so easily stayed, taken what she offered in her tequila-hazed state.

But I want all of her. Clear-eyed and certain.

"Double the surveillance on both brothers," I order. "I want eyes on them around the clock."

The meeting continues for hours. Security protocols, intelligence gathering, contingency plans.

Throughout it all, my mind keeps returning to Inez.

The soft curve of her lips, the heat of her skin.

What would have happened if I'd stayed? Would she have let me strip away that midnight blue dress?

Would she have moaned my name as I tasted every inch of her?

"That's all," I finally say, dismissing my men. All except Maksim.

When we're alone, he speaks freely. "You seem distracted, Vanya."

"I'm focused on what matters."

"The woman or the alliance?"

My eyes narrow. "They're one and the same."

"Are they?" He's known me since we were boys. He sees too much. "The way you look when you speak of protecting her... It's not business."

I turn to the window again, unwilling to let him read my expression. "It's always business. But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy certain aspects of the arrangement."

He chuckles. "If you say so."

After he leaves, I pour myself two fingers of vodka. The burn doesn't come close to matching the fire Inez ignited in me. I check my watch. Almost noon. Is she awake yet? Hungover? Regretting that kiss or, like me, reliving it?

My phone buzzes with a text. Inez's name lights up the screen.

About last night...

I stare at those three words, feeling like a teenager instead of the head of the Zhukov organization. Three dots appear, disappear, appear again as she types. Finally:

We should talk. Dinner tonight? My place. 8pm.

My pulse quickens. Inez's place. Where I left her wanting more.

I type back:

I'll bring the vodka.

Setting down the phone, I walk to the shower. As hot water pounds my shoulders, I close my eyes and see Inez again—fierce, beautiful, dangerous. Tonight, she'll be sober. Tonight, if she asks me to stay, I will.

And God help anyone who tries to come between us.

The elevator to Inez's penthouse feels too slow. I tap my foot impatiently, bottle of premium vodka in one hand, my other hand adjusting my tie. The mirrored walls reflect a man trying too hard to appear casual. I look away.

When the doors finally open, her front door is ajar, and I step directly into her foyer.

No security checkpoint tonight—she's expecting me.

The space is all sleek lines and modern art, bathed in the amber glow of Mexico City's lights through floor-to-ceiling windows.

The view is breathtaking. But not as stunning as the woman who steps into view.

"Vanya." Inez wears slim black pants and a silk blouse the color of blood. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders—a departure from her usual severe styles. "You're punctual."

"A Russian virtue." I hold up the vodka. "As promised."

She takes the bottle, examining the label with approval. "Dinner's almost ready."

I follow her into the kitchen, watching the confident sway of her hips. The space smells of garlic and spice—something authentically Mexican. She's cooking for me herself. Not using staff. Interesting.

"I didn't know you cooked," I say, leaning against the counter.

"There's a lot you don't know about me." She pours two glasses of vodka, hands me one. "Yet."

The "yet" hangs between us, loaded with promise. I take a sip, letting the liquid burn a path down my throat. Inez does the same, her eyes never leaving mine.

"About last night," she begins, setting her glass down. "I want to apologize."

"For kissing me?" I keep my voice neutral.

"For putting you in that position." She turns back to the stove, stirring something that sizzles. "I'd had too much tequila. The stress with my stepbrothers... I wasn't thinking clearly."

I step closer, close enough to smell her perfume—something expensive with notes of jasmine. "Is that what you believe? That it was just the tequila?"

Her shoulders tense. "What else would it be?"

"The truth."

She laughs, a sharp sound with no humor. "The truth is complicated."

"No." I take the wooden spoon from her hand and set it down. "The truth is simple. You wanted me. You still do."

"Vanya." Her voice carries a warning, but she doesn't move away when I turn her to face me. "This alliance is business."

"Is it?"

Her eyes—those fierce green eyes that haunt me—drop to my mouth for a fraction of a second. "It has to be."

I cup her face with one hand, my thumb tracing the small scar on her jawline. "Tell me you don't feel this, and I'll drop it."

Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers. "I can't afford to feel anything."

"Liar."

I pull her against me, giving her one heartbeat to resist. She doesn't. Our mouths crash together with none of last night's hesitation. This kiss is hungry, desperate. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she rises on her toes, pressing herself fully against me.

I back her against the counter, lifting her onto it. Her legs wrap around my waist instantly. I taste vodka on her tongue, feel the heat of her through our clothes. When I break the kiss to trail my lips down her neck, she gasps—the same sound that's been echoing in my mind since last night.

"This is a mistake," she whispers, even as her head falls back, giving me better access.

"Then stop me." I nip at her collarbone, feeling her shiver.

Her hands slide into my hair, gripping tight enough to hurt. "I can't."

I reclaim her mouth, swallowing her confession. The kiss deepens, becomes something dangerous. My hands find the buttons of her blouse and begin working them open.

A timer dings sharply.

Inez breaks away, breathing hard. "The food."

I step back reluctantly, watching as she slides off the counter and turns to the stove. Her hands shake slightly as she removes a pan from the heat. The back of her neck is flushed pink.

"We should talk," she says without looking at me.

"After."

She turns, her blouse half-unbuttoned, her lips swollen from my kiss. "After what?"

I move toward her again, deliberately slow. "After I show you exactly how real this is."

Her eyes darken. "Vanya..."

"Tell me you don't want this." I stop just short of touching her. "Tell me, and we'll eat dinner and discuss business like the good partners we're supposed to be."

For a long moment, she says nothing. The only sound is our breathing, still uneven from the kiss. Then she reaches out, takes my hand, and places it over her heart. I feel its wild rhythm beneath my palm.

"I can't lie to you," she finally says. "But this complicates everything."

"Everything worth having is complicated." I draw her back into my arms. "And I intend to have you, Inez Bravo. All of you."

This time when we kiss, there's no hesitation, no pretense that this is anything but inevitable. Inez's fingers make quick work of my tie, my jacket. My hands find skin beneath her blouse, warm and soft.

"Bedroom," she murmurs against my mouth.

I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist again. "Lead the way."

As I carry her through her penthouse, I know there's no going back. Tonight will change everything between us. The alliance, the business, the power dynamics—all of it shifts with each piece of clothing we shed.

And I don't care. For once in my calculated life, I'm not thinking five moves ahead. I'm thinking only of Inez, of her skin against mine, of making her forget every reason why this shouldn't happen.

Tonight, she's mine. Tomorrow, we'll face the consequences together.