Page 9 of Brutal Reign (Bratva Kings #3)

CHAPTER

EIGHT

HOPE

Tonight’s shift feels like it might never end. I wipe down the same stretch of counter I cleaned ten minutes ago, not because it needs it, but because standing still makes the silence too loud.

A couple of regulars congregate around the dartboard in the corner, and a guy near the window scrolls on his phone.

Amazingly, Darren texted earlier to say he won’t be coming in tonight, and if it’s dead, we can close up early. He’s been nice for over a week now, and we’re both completely confused. By “nice,” I mean thoughtful and accommodating, which is definitely not normal for him.

It’s like he swapped personalities with a decent human being, and while it’s certainly made our lives easier and way better, the change is baffling.

Chloe and I have a wager on what happened to him.

She thinks he fell down the stairs drunk—which would account for his bruises—hit his head, got amnesia, and forgot to be a dick.

I think he was abducted by aliens, who kept the real Darren for anal-probe experiments, and they’ve actually sent back a robot clone.

Whatever the case, we’re both grateful to have nothing to do with him.

I lean my hip against the bar, watching Chloe apply a layer of lipstick while staring into her small compact mirror in anticipation of her date after tonight’s shift.

“Who’s the lucky fella?” I ask.

She grins. “A guy I met at Inferno a few weekends ago. Or maybe it was Tinder. Can’t remember now.” She drops the mirror and lipstick into her bag and shrugs. “He’s hot, has a nice car, and doesn’t live with his parents. That’s the holy trinity, right?”

I chuckle. “High standards.”

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend or anything, but sometimes a girl’s gotta get laid. You know?”

I nod, because I do know. It’s just not an option for me.

She eyes me sideways. “How come you never hook up? Have you looked in the mirror? You do realize you can have any man you want, right?”

An image of Lukas flashes through my mind: tall, broad-shouldered, with a low, rumbling voice tinged with an accent that makes my stomach flip. I’ve Googled him countless times, scrolling through his author website even though it’s in Swedish, hoping to find photos of him.

But of course, he’s not coming back to this piece-of-shit pub. He’s probably already gone back to Sweden.

“Yeah, right.” I laugh off the compliment, though part of me wonders if she’s right.

I used to think I was pretty enough; back at uni, I never had trouble getting attention when I wanted it.

But that feels like another lifetime. “It’s not like anyone interesting comes through here, and sadly, this is where I spend all of my time these days. ”

“That’s not true. The hot Viking from the other week was interesting. Remember the one you promised you’d fuck if he showed up here again?” Chloe raises her eyebrows suggestively.

My stomach does a little swoop at the memory. “Those were not my words.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Let’s not argue about semantics. You know what I meant.”

“Anyway… that hot Viking is probably back in Sweden, writing his next masterpiece.” I swallow hard and focus on arranging the clean glasses in perfect rows. “He’s long gone.”

Except in my fantasies.

Chloe sighs like I’m a lost cause and leans her chin on her palm. “You can’t just work, sleep, rinse and repeat. That’s not living, Lil. That’s surviving.”

If she only knew how accurate that statement is.

I grab a towel and start dusting the bottles behind the bar for something to do, anything to avoid meeting her eyes as I lie to her face.

“You know how it is. I need to make rent and save up for school. Fun’s not really in the budget right now.”

“Are your parents really such assholes they wouldn’t even lend you a little money?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” I say, wiping down a bottle of gin that looks like it’s been here since the seventies. “I’d rather not talk about my family. It’s… complicated.”

“Well, if you won’t go to the party… I’ll have to bring the party to you.” Chloe grins mischievously as she grabs her phone from the shelf under the till.

“Stand back, grandma,” she announces, right before Pony by Ginuwine blares through the speaker.

I groan, but it’s already too late because she’s shimmying behind the bar, hips swaying, mouthing along to the lyrics.

“Oh my God.” I grimace, but I can’t help laughing as well.

She flashes a grin and holds out her hand. “Come on. Give me one song.”

I hesitate, but what the hell. The few customers are crowded around the dartboard at the far end of the pub, paying zero attention to us. I let the rag fall and take her hand, falling into rhythm behind her.

Chloe bumps her hip into mine, and I sway against her, shoulder to shoulder, our bodies moving in unison. We’re laughing and dancing like idiots. Just as we’re really getting into it, the front door swings open.

Chloe freezes. Her breath catches mid-laugh, and she elbows me hard. “I think your night got a whole lot more interesting,” she mutters out of the corner of her mouth.

My stomach does a complete somersault.

Lukas Viklund is standing there, looking like he stepped off a Milan runway and into our dingy little pub. He’s wearing a dark coat, and his blond hair, falling to his ears, is disheveled in a sexy way. His eyes land on me, and the air shifts.

Or maybe that’s the air whooshing out of my lungs.

Chloe, grinning like this is the highlight of her night, calmly reaches for her phone and taps off the music.

My cheeks go up in flames. He definitely caught us, judging by that crooked little smirk on his face.

Christ, I never thought I’d see him again, and definitely not while I was grinding against my friend to a horny R I know who he is, or at least I know enough of who he is to know he’s not a threat.

Lukas gives me a patient half-smile. “How about a drink,” he says, lifting a shoulder.

I chew my lip, twisting the bar towel between my hands.

I’ve been in survival mode for so long I almost forgot what it’s like to want something just for myself.

He doesn’t live here, so there’s no chance of him showing up here again or wanting to get close.

No risk of him prying into my past or sticking around long enough to get tangled in the mess that is my life.

I toss the towel onto the shelf and tuck my hair behind my ear, a spark of anticipation fluttering in my chest. “Alright. One drink.”

Two drinks later, we’re deep in conversation about everything and nothing. Books, travel, the peculiarities of British versus Swedish culture.

We’ve claimed a corner booth in this cozy little bar, candles flickering between us, the rest of the world fading into background noise. Lukas is telling me about his disastrous first attempt at navigating London traffic, and I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt.

“I’m not joking. I was stuck in a roundabout for twenty minutes because I couldn’t figure out how to exit,” he says, running his hands through his hair in remembered frustration. “I nearly made myself sick going round and round. It was like being trapped in purgatory.”

“Which roundabout?” I ask, wiping tears from my eyes.

“Hyde Park Corner. I think I’m still technically going around it.”

“Oh God, you picked the worst one! That’s like choosing Mount Everest for your first hike.”

“Now you tell me.” His smile is devastating, all straight teeth and genuine humor. “In Sweden, we have sensible intersections with traffic lights. Here, it’s like some trial by combat.”

I’m relaxed for the first time in months, shoulders loose and defenses down in a way that feels almost foreign because it’s been so long.

“That’s why most people take the Tube and don’t attempt driving here. Plus, the whole ‘wrong side of the road’ thing,” I point out.

“Sometimes, I have no choice but to drive for work. Easier when I need to get out of the city.”

“Did you get to visit the museums I suggested?”

His mouth tightens slightly. “Unfortunately, not this time. I was busy with meetings and such.”

“Your job sounds pretty cool, though,” I say, fidgeting with my straw. “In another life, I think I would have loved to be a writer. But that’s not really in the cards anymore.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “How old are you if you don’t mind me asking? Early twenties?”

I nod.

“You have your whole life ahead of you. Why would you rule that out?”

I shrug. “Things didn’t turn out the way I thought they would. You know how it is.” I trace the rim of my glass with a finger. “So… how old are you?”

He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest. “A lot older than you.”