Page 6 of Brutal Reign (Bratva Kings #3)

CHAPTER

SIX

HOPE

The second I push through the door into the main bar, the noise hits me like a wave. A roar of celebration fills the air as glasses clink and people leap to their feet. I keep my head down, forcing my body to stay steady even as my hands tremble.

What just happened with Darren was worse than his usual creepy comments and wandering eyes. He was aggressive, and his words were hard and ugly.

On the way out here, I stopped in the bathroom to wipe my tears and splash cold water on my face, hoping to erase the evidence of how rattled I am. At least Darren’s left for the night. He rarely sticks around after his power trips, preferring to collect his cash and disappear.

I slip behind the bar and grab a towel, attacking the already-clean glasses with unnecessary vigor. Anything to keep my hands busy, to channel this restless energy somewhere useful.

Chloe materializes beside me, her expression furious. “What did that asshole do to you?”

“I’m fine. It was the usual bullshit. Nothing I can’t handle.” I keep my voice carefully neutral. Chloe’s already on thin ice with Darren because she’s always sassing him and standing up for me.

She has serious lady balls, which I admire, but one more confrontation and I’m worried she’ll lose her job.

Not only does she need the money as much as I do, but I’d be devastated if we didn’t work together anymore. She’s the only friend I have.

She studies my face, clearly not buying a word of it, but something in my expression must warn her off. The last thing either of us needs is more drama.

I can’t help but sneak a look for the tall, blond stranger I’d been talking to. Lukas. There’s a flicker of disappointment when I see his seat is empty.

Chloe sighs. “He left right after Darren hauled you off.”

Of course he did. That was awkward as hell for both of us. He probably thinks I’m a hot mess, or worse, that there’s something going on between me and my boss.

I press my lips together, trying to look unaffected. “No big deal,” I say, turning away to stack clean glasses. “He was just some guy.”

But that’s a lie. Beyond being ridiculously hot, there was something about him. I felt that spark of attraction. It’s something I haven’t experienced in so long that I’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

Then Darren barreled in and reduced it all to something dirty and shameful, making me feel like I’d done something wrong by enjoying a conversation with a customer.

I keep my head down for the rest of the shift, slipping into autopilot like I’ve done a hundred times before. I pour drinks, smile, chat, and clean up spilled pints when things get messy. Chloe keeps throwing me these sidelong looks, her brows drawn tight, but I refuse to meet her eyes.

Hours later, we lock up the bar together and linger outside, street lamps buzzing overhead while Chloe lights up a smoke.

“You wanna come over?” she asks. “Talk about it? We can make a voodoo doll of Darren and cut off his dick. I don’t know why he gives you such a hard time.”

“He’s a bully,” I say, pulling my coat tighter around myself. “Give it a month, and he’ll lose interest in picking on me.”

Chloe snorts. “I hope so, or I’m going to have to add arsenic to his tea.”

“Promise me you won’t start shit with him. I can handle him myself, I promise. Anyway, let’s not talk about him. He doesn’t deserve a minute of our time.”

She narrows her eyes like she’s waiting for me to crack. Then, smirking, she says, “Fine. Let’s talk about the hot Viking instead.”

“Who?” I ask with a smile, purposely playing dumb.

“Don’t be cute. The guy who was staring at you like you were an expensive whiskey he wanted to sip nice and slow. Did you get his number?”

I laugh. “No. I didn’t get his number. He was… interesting. He’s an author. Writes about Vikings, funny enough.”

“Well damn,” Chloe says, eyebrows arching. “Smart and sexy. That’s rare to find in this place.”

“That’s because he’s not from here. He’s visiting from Sweden. Anyway, I’m sure after Darren’s caveman routine, he thinks I’m sleeping with the boss.”

Chloe cackles and blows out a ring of smoke. “Please. If he’s got eyes, he saw that whatever’s between you isn’t mutual. But if he comes back, you’re taking him home. He’s only visiting, so there’s no chance of things getting messy or complicated.”

I’ve told Chloe that after a string of shitty relationships, I’m taking a break from men, even one-night stands. But the truth is, casual hook-ups are risky. Trusting the wrong person could cost me my life.

“Sure. If he comes back, I’ll leap into his arms,” I joke.

“Promise me you will.”

I groan. “Promise you what exactly?”

She gets a devious gleam in her eyes. “If he comes back in, you’ll take him home.”

That’s insane. I can’t take some random guy home. It’s dangerous. Then again, Lukas didn’t feel like a threat. There was something reassuring about him. Even though he’s built like he could bench-press a car, he had a gentle giant vibe. The way he looked at me made me feel safe rather than exposed.

When’s the last time I felt that spark, that flutter of excitement? I’ve been living like a bloody nun lately. Maybe Chloe’s right; maybe I deserve some fun. One night where I live instead of just survive.

Still, I doubt I’ll see him again after tonight. He’s here for work, and it sounds like he’s busy with research and meetings. Why would he come back to this dive?

So what does it hurt to make a promise I’ll never have to keep?

“How about this,” I offer. “If that gorgeous Swede comes back to the bar, I’ll be open to… further possibilities.”

She rolls her eyes, stamping out her cigarette underfoot. “Is that code for P in V?”

A laugh escapes me. “That’s not the only way to have a good time.”

She waggles her eyebrows. “But it’s the best way.” Before she can push further, her cab pulls up to the curb, headlights splashing across the pavement. “You want me to wait for yours to come?” she offers.

I shake my head. “No need. It’ll be here any second. I’m good. This street’s busy and well lit.”

“Text me the second you walk through your door,” she adds, pointing a finger.

“I will.”

She slides into the car, waves once, and disappears into the night. When her cab is well out of sight, I turn the other way and start walking.

There’s no ride for me. Hasn’t been in weeks, after I spent what little I had saved on a Ring camera for my front door. I sleep better knowing I can see who’s coming and going, even if I can’t afford much else in terms of security.

I begin the half-hour trek home, one foot in front of the other, through the rougher parts of the city. I’ve learned to keep my hood up and my eyes down.

My fingers curl around my keys in my coat pocket. Not the best weapon. I’ve been meaning to buy mace or bear spray, but that will have to wait until I get next week’s wages.

The night is noisy, with traffic rumbling, laughter spilling from a club, and someone shouting a name across the street. The city pulses with life, but something makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise as if I’m being watched.

I’m sure it’s just paranoia. Ever since escaping the villa, I jump at shadows and read threats into every glance from a stranger. The hypervigilance is exhausting, but it’s not the worst part. The worst part is the guilt. And missing a father I never really knew.

Truth is, I wish we’d had more time together. Those three weeks in hiding were the most one-on-one time I’d had with him as an adult. Before that, even during brief visits home, Simon was always there, always in the way.

As an orphan, he’d been raised in the triad. My father saw potential in him early and took him under his wing. The day after I was sent abroad, Simon moved into our house, and my father raised him like his own son.

It wasn’t Simon’s fault, but I was always jealous. It felt like he’d taken my place in my father’s life, stolen the time that should have been mine.

What haunts me isn’t grief, it’s the lost potential. That opportunity will never come again. Baba, Simon, and all their men perished in the attack while I escaped.

Though “escaped” isn’t quite right. I was spared.

I’m only alive because of one man—a Syndicate soldier who, for reasons I’ll never understand, let me live even after I stabbed him.

I was trying to reach the back tunnels when I spotted three men heading for Baba’s office. I could have stayed hidden in the shadows as they passed, but something stupid and reckless made me try to buy my father more time.

Earlier, I’d grabbed a dagger from my room in case I needed to defend myself. Here, I saw an opportunity to help him, no matter how foolish.

In a burst of desperate courage, I lunged forward and drove the blade between the last man’s ribs. He should have shot me on the spot, or let his partners do it. I was certain I’d taken my last breath.

Instead, he let me go.

I can’t picture that soldier’s face because his mask hid too much. What I do remember is the unexpected mercy from an enemy.

But there’s no point in dwelling on the past. With one last glance over my shoulder, I pull my jacket tighter around me and hurry down the street.