Page 48 of Sexting the Bratva Beast

“I’m here because I want your help, Cartier.”

“With what?” I still don’t understand where this is going, but I know now that I shouldn’t have come.

“With taking our enemy down.”

“No.” I swallow bile that burns the back of my throat. “Andrej is notmyenemy. My best friend is married to his brother. Whatever this is—” I gesture to the air surrounding our heads because I don’t know what else to do “—I’m not a part of it. And neither is Andrej.”

I slide out of the booth and this time I take a few steps before his words stop me in my tracks.

“They’re Bratva, Cartier. You understand what that means, don’t you?”

Bratva? As in Russian mafia?

I think about the money to fund the shelter. Leonid’s mansion that’s more like a fortress surrounded by cameras and bodyguards. Andrej’s penthouse apartment. The connections.The way the security teams reacted to him at the art exhibition and the nightclub.

My legs shake as I turn around to face him.

“What does this have to do with you? Are you Bratva?”

The picture of me and my parents pops into my head. The word Bratva conjures up images of thick-necked thugs with buzz cuts and black suits. I can’t relate the people in that old photograph to the Russian mafia. He must be lying.

But then he hits me with the ticking time bomb he was saving for last.

“Cartier, the Ivanovs killed your parents.”

12

ANDREJ

Standing under the shower,I think about Cartier.

If anyone ever tried to do to her what that fucking monster did to Elena, I will spend the rest of my life behind bars. Fuck that. I’d get a gold pass straight to the front of Death Row, and I wouldn’t regret a thing.

My cock springs to life when I think about fucking her in the shower the night before. She does things to me that I never expected anyone to do. It’s her aura: it’s pure fucking sex and pheromones.

I switch off the water and grab a towel from the heated handrail.

In the bedroom, I check my phone.

Four messages from Cartier since I left her at the shelter. I sit on the bed and read them with a goofy grin on my face like a teenager texting the prettiest girl in school.

How are you?

Is everything okay?

I know you’re busy, but just wanted to let you know that Elena is settling in.

Call me later.

And then nothing over the last few hours.

I left my phone behind; less chance of being tracked while I taught Elena’s husband a lesson. But now that I’ve washed today’s events off my skin, I can lavish all my attention on the one person who really matters.

I locate her number on my Contacts App and hit the green button.

It rings out, and there’s no option to leave a voicemail message.

I try again, and the call ends with a click.