Page 3 of Brutal Reign (Bratva Kings #3)

CHAPTER

THREE

HOPE

The Lamb and Flag smells like every other grotty pub in East London—the undercurrent of lemon cleaner fighting a losing battle against decades of cigarette smoke and spilled beer. I’m attacking the bar top with a rag to give it a proper polish, my hands moving in restless circles.

Outside, London is doing its best impression of a monsoon, with rain hammering the windows and turning the street into a river.

It's perfect weather for drowning your sorrows, which means we’ll be packed tonight.

Plus, with Arsenal and Chelsea going head-to-head, every football fan around will be desperate for a place to watch and drink their feelings.

This place is nothing special, but it’s where Lily Ashford landed when she needed a job that didn’t involve paperwork or background checks. Two months in, and I’m still here, which says more about my options than my job satisfaction.

“Christ, Lily, do you ever stop?”

Chloe, my workmate and the closest thing I have to a friend, breezes in from the back. Her copper-red ponytail bounces as she moves, coat still damp from her smoke break. She’s got that effortless Irish beauty, with freckles scattered across her nose, sharp blue eyes, and curves for days.

“Keeps me from getting bored,” I say, not looking up from my futile polishing.

She dumps her coat behind the bar and immediately starts touching up her already perfect lip gloss in the mirror. “Honestly, watching you is exhausting sometimes. What demons are you running from?”

Even though she’s kidding, she has no idea how right she is. When I stop moving, my brain goes to dark places: Swiss villas, men with guns, my hands coated in blood, the sight of smoke rising in the rearview mirror.

And more than anything, I keep on replaying the last conversation I had with my father. We were in the middle of a game of chess when he got a phone call that someone had leaked our hideout location and the Syndicate was on the way.

I tried desperately to convince him to leave with me that night, but he refused. His words are still etched in my memory.

“I’m not leaving, Hope.” He moves from behind the desk, closing the distance between us. “A leader doesn’t run. He stands and fights with his men, no matter the cost.”

Tears blur my vision. “Forget about honor for once. Please, Baba, you’re the only parent I have left. And we’ve only just gotten to know each other.”

After my mother was killed by a rival triad when I was eight, my father took no chances with my safety.

He sent me to the UK, my mother’s home country, where I was more or less raised in boarding schools with no family left to speak of.

These three weeks in hiding are the longest stretch of time I’ve ever spent with my father, and it’s been nice.

So nice. And now it’s all being ripped away.

For a moment, his composed mask slips, and I see the devastation in his eyes before he swallows it down.

“I’ll fight the Syndicate with everything I’ve got, but I can’t do that while I’m worrying about you. Do you understand, Hope? I need to know you’re safe.”

My shoulders sag, but I don't want to make any of this harder for him. “I’ll go,” I agree.

Relief washes over his features. “Listen to me carefully because we don’t have much time.

There’s a black Land Rover parked behind the villa.

The code is the year you were born. Everything you need to run is hidden under the front seat.

” He swallows hard. “This isn’t easy for me to say, but as my only child you’re valuable to both my allies and enemies.

The Syndicate will always see you as a threat and they will hunt you down.

I’ve arranged papers under a new identity, but you’ll always need to be careful. ”

The blood drains from my face trying to make sense of everything he’s saying.

“I’ve left you a two-hundred-million-dollar trust fund, but you can only access it in five years, when you turn twenty-five.

I’m sorry, bǎobèi , but it’s too late to change that.

Uncle Chen is the trustee and the only person who knows about this money.

Find a way to contact him before your birthday and he’ll arrange everything.

You need to be strong, Hope. Stronger than you’ve ever had to be. ”

I nod, not trusting my voice. Then I launch myself into my father’s embrace, pressing my face against his chest and breathing in his familiar scent.

Seconds later, the door to his office opens, and my father’s second-in-command, Simon Lau, enters. My back stiffens. I just wanted one more moment with my father alone.

“Boss,” he says urgently. “We need to gather the guards and plan our counter-attack.”

“Have everyone meet us in the conference room. We’ll discuss it there.”

Simon’s eyes flick to me. “What about her?”

“Don’t worry about my daughter. She’s taken care of,” my father replies curtly.

As soon as Simon is gone, Baba holds me at arm’s length, looking at my face like he’s trying to memorize it.

“I love you, Hope. Promise me you’ll never look back. Escape through the back passageways that lead to the tunnels. Go now.”

“Lily?” Chloe's voice yanks me back to the present. “You completely zoned out there.”

“Sorry. I got lost in my thoughts.” I force a smile and flick the damp rag at her. “You could help clean, you know.”

“I could,” she agrees, hopping up to sit on the bar itself, “but I’d rather preserve my manicure.”

A laugh breaks free from my chest. That’s Chloe, hilariously blunt and cheeky.

She’s also the only thing keeping me sane most days.

In a way, she’s my opposite, carefree and bold, and she doesn’t take anything too seriously.

She came to London from Dublin a few years ago, studying at the local art college and working here to make ends meet, though barely, considering what we’re paid.

She does clay sculptures and pottery on the side, living this very bohemian life that I envy because it’s so far from my reality.

But her lightness is exactly what I need to remember how to breathe.

She thinks we’re kindred spirits, two girls from different backgrounds learning to make it in the big city on our own.

The story I told Chloe, and anyone that asks, is that I’m estranged from my wealthy family because I refused to study law like they wanted.

Instead, I spent the last year “finding myself” while backpacking around Europe.

Backpacking is a romantic spin on what I really did after I escaped from Switzerland with nothing but a fake passport and a stack of cash.

I spent months on buses traveling through small European towns and coastal villages where I could disappear. I kept moving—Prague, Barcelona, Nice—always looking over my shoulder, hoping in time the Syndicate would forget about me.

But eventually, the money ran thin, and it was time to settle somewhere.

The fake passport my father arranged brought me back to England, where I decided to start a new life in this working-class part of London.

It’s a world away from the fancy boarding schools I attended, which makes it an ideal place to lay low and avoid people from my old life.

My guard’s still up. I live like a ghost with no digital footprint or social media, nothing that could lead back to my true identity. But I’ve got a little flat, a job that pays cash, and I’m still breathing. That’s got to count for something.

My father was right. I've had to become stronger than I ever thought possible. A year ago, I was just another Cambridge student, pulling all-nighters, hitting the pubs, and snogging boys whose names I barely remembered.

I was studying history and literature, dreaming of writing a book about rebellious women who shaped our world. That life ended when I went into hiding with my father.

Now, I’m making just enough to survive and keeping my head down, waiting until I turn twenty-five and can reach out to Chen Wei.

He was my father’s lawyer and oldest friend, someone I’ve known my whole life.

Once he helps me get my inheritance, I’ll go somewhere far away.

Maybe a quiet coastal town where I can write a book, or go back to school.

“Are you gonna tie that shirt up and show a little skin or what?” Chloe raises a brow and tugs at the hem of my shirt. “With the match on, tonight will be good for tips.”

I groan. She loves to tease me about playing up the whole flirty barmaid thing for better tips, but the last thing I need is more attention when I'm trying to stay invisible.

“If I had as much to show off as you do, I might consider it.” I pull a face. “And if Darren comes in...” I shudder.

She winces in sympathy. Darren is our creepy-as-fuck boss. I don’t appreciate his lingering looks or the “accidental” brushes behind the bar, but this is the only job I could find that didn’t ask for references and was willing to pay under the table.

He doesn’t pull this crap with Chloe; his attention is reserved for me. But Chloe always has my back, and she does her best never to leave me alone with him.

“Good news,” my friend announces, sliding off the counter with a theatrical flourish. “He texted earlier, saying we’ll need to lock up because he’s not coming in tonight.”

I exhale, tension I didn’t realize I was holding loosening in my chest.

“Halle-fucking-lujah.”

She winks. “You can say that again.”

With game time approaching, Chloe saunters off toward the end of the bar to flick on the telly. While we finish the prep, she launches into stories about her latest conquest. He’s some artist she met at a gallery opening, apparently dumb as a doornail but blessed with a “magic tongue.”

Sometimes I envy how carefree she is, how she can live in the moment without the weight of her past on her shoulders. She’s always asking why I never go out clubbing with her, and I make excuses about being tired or skint, but the truth is I can’t risk being seen or photographed.

With the football match starting, the hum of voices builds as the after-work crowd trickles in. Nigel, one of our regulars, ambles in first. He’s a short, balding bloke in his fifties with kind eyes and roughened hands from his years in construction.

“Alright, loves,” he says, settling onto his favorite stool at the bar. “I’ll have the usual, and maybe a bowl of those spicy peanuts if you have them?”

Chloe slides a bowl across to him from the counter.

“It’s gonna cost you extra,” she teases, even though we have this exact exchange every Friday and never charge him. We’re not supposed to give out the spicy nuts for free, but we make an exception for Nigel.

The pub starts filling up as kick-off approaches. As usual, it’s mostly men: construction workers, office types, a few uni students nursing single pints to make them last. They’re all gravitating toward the massive telly mounted in the corner, pulling up stools and claiming their usual spots.

I’m halfway through pouring another round of lagers when the door swings open. I happen to look up just as a man I’ve never seen before walks in.

I blink. Damn .

He’s tall. Like, really tall. Well over six feet.

I’d feel tiny beside him even in heels. Broad-shouldered in a way that suggests serious time in the gym, not just good genetics.

A baseball cap is pulled low over his brow, casting shadows across his face, but what I can see is impressive.

A strong jawline, nicely shaped lips, and when he turns his head, I catch a glimpse of sharp cheekbones.

Since when do I notice a man’s cheekbones?

He’s dressed too well for this place. Dark jeans, a black Henley that hugs his defined chest beneath his jacket, and a pair of expensive trainers. He doesn’t look like the usual sort who stumbles in here after work.

He scans the room with a careful attention that sends a flutter low in my belly. When his gaze locks on mine, everything else fades, and a jolt of electricity shoots down my spine. His eyes are pale gray, the color of storm clouds, and there’s an intensity in them that catches me off guard.

He’s the one to look away first, glancing around before choosing a seat at the quieter end of the bar, away from the television crowd.

I deliver the lagers I poured, trying to keep my hands steady, then ring up the last order at the till. I’ve just finished the transaction when Chloe sidles up and elbows me in the ribs.

“Did you notice that hot-as-fuck Viking who walked in?” she whisper-hisses, barely containing her excitement.

“Viking?” I keep my eyes focused on the register.

She looks past me, checking him out with no shame whatsoever. “Yeah, there’s something Viking-y about him. Tall, blond, and built like a bloody Norse god. And he’s staring at you.”

I snort and point to the telly above my head. “You may have noticed I’m standing directly beneath the match.”

But when I sneak a look his way, it’s true. He’s staring at me, and not in a casual waiting-to-order way. His cap is off, revealing thick blond hair that’s slightly tousled, and the way he’s leaning his forearms on the bar makes his biceps bulge.

I quickly look away, a flush prickling beneath my skin.

Chloe lifts her brow in an I-told-you-so expression. “See? His eyes are glued to you. When’s the last time someone that fit came in here?”

“Never,” I admit.

“Right, so you’re going to march over there and take his order,” Chloe announces like it’s already decided. “Flirt with him, properly. Lean in a bit, smile like you mean it, maybe even touch his arm when you laugh.”

“Christ, Chloe, I’m going to serve him a drink, not proposition him.”

“Why not? He’s the hottest guy to ever walk into this shithole. This might be your chance to finally get laid. God knows you need to.”

“Please. Men are too complicated. I don’t need that in the age of battery-operated boyfriends.”

I’ve been working my B.O.B. overtime these days, and yeah, it helps, but she’s not wrong about me needing to get laid.

It’s been way too long. A relationship is impossible given the dangers of my life, but there’s no harm in chatting up a handsome stranger. It’s a chance to feel normal again.

I run my hands through my hair, adjusting my top. “I’ll take his order, but that’s all I’m promising.”

Chloe grins and gives me a little push toward the end of the bar where he’s sitting. “We’ll see about that. Go on, make tonight memorable.”

My pulse quickens with each step toward him. When I’m close enough to notice the dusting of stubble along his jaw and the upward curve of his mouth as he smiles, the butterflies in my stomach erupt into a full-on swarm.