Page 1 of The Pakhan’s Forced Bride (West Coast Bratva Pakhans #3)

The idiot sitting opposite me pulls his mouth to the side in a grimace.

“Don’t you think you should have ordered a salad?” he asks.

I snort.

This is not the first comment he’s made regarding my weight this evening. And I put a lot of effort into getting ready and looking pretty. Not for him. I did it for me, for fun, to try and make this evening more bearable.

But no matter how pretty I feel, it doesn't change the fact that I don’t want to be here on another forced date. Thanks, Mom.

It’s hilarious how men think they have a right to comment on my body as though they own it. It’s mine, by the way.

Especially men that I don’t even know. Like this asshole.

My eyes trace over the guy sitting opposite me.

Another one in the long line of assholes my mother has been setting me up with on these stupid blind dates lately.

She’s hell-bent on finding me a husband, something I have zero interest in. I want to be single for a good deal longer. And when I meet a man, he’s going to be amazing. He’s going to love me for me, and best of all, he’s going to have a sense of humor that can match mine.

But until then, I want to travel, see the world, find out who I am, learn about myself, and what I want from life.

I’m way too young to be stuck in this torturous, never-ending blind date mission my mother is on.

I sigh and smile tightly. “Interesting that you feel the need to comment on the steak I ordered when you look like you haven’t seen the inside of a gym in years.”

His eyes flare wide. Oh, it’s not that fun when someone does it back to you, is it?

I sit back in my seat, watching his face change from annoyance to anger.

He leans forward over the table and hisses at me, “You’ll never find a husband looking like that.

You should take care of yourself, girl; you’d be lucky to marry a man like me.

And I’d make sure you got yourself right.

It’s appalling you think men would ever be attracted to that.

” He makes a point of looking me up and down, slow and judging.

My smile gets much wider as amusement shoots through me.

The audacity. I roll my eyes ever so slightly.

It’s always the same with these guys. I mean, this one is way bigger than I am.

His teeth are stained from smoking, and he has zero personality.

I’ve been carrying the conversation the whole date so far, and his eyes are so dead, I’m starting to wonder if there’s even a real person in there somewhere.

He’s boring, bland, and mean.

Yet he feels he has the right to comment on my body.

How does my mother find these guys?

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to powder my nose. Just to take a moment to take care of myself, ” I say over-elegantly, brushing my hand through the air with my pinky finger raised. Yes, asshole, it’s called sarcasm.

I stand up and walk away from the table, taking my time because I’m hoping he’ll be gone by the time I get back.

I can’t wait to end this date.

The problem is that I’ve had to sit through to the end of each of them because these are well-known men in bratva circles. Men who have business with my brother, Benedikt. Allies and partners.

I can’t be rude and just leave out the back, even though it’s all I daydream about from the moment I sit down. Dammit, I wish I could tell them what I really think of them.

I’d love to do a proper comedy roasting on his non-personality, wine-red cheeks, and yellow teeth.

Okay, now I’m being mean. But it’s self-defense.

I make my way through the restaurant, past the open kitchen where you can watch the chef doing incredible things with food that makes it look like he’s creating art.

So what if I enjoy food. It’s my choice. And I’m actually perfectly comfortable in my body, so I really don’t care what that asshole thinks of me.

This is a beautiful restaurant, one of my favorites in Las Vegas. Sometimes I come here alone because I love watching them make the food. They put on a show. It’s fascinating. You can see the love and passion they put into their creations.

I head around the corner towards an ornate wooden door that says ladies.

I smile and step aside as a pretty girl walks out of the powder room. She smiles back at me and says, “I love your dress.”

“Thanks.” I smile even wider. At least she’s polite and sweet.

My date hasn’t made one nice comment.

Inside the ladies' room, I walk past the rows of cubicles. I don’t even need to pee. I just needed a break from that moron I’m on a date with.

I slide my phone out of my purse and send a text to my brother.

Me: Mom did it again. She set me up with another douchebag. This one is so bad, I can’t even say the visit to my favorite restaurant made it worth it.

Benedikt: Dammit. That mother of ours really never gives up. Do you want me to come and fetch you? I can pretend it was an emergency.

I giggle. My brother is always willing to help. He’s my safe place in this world. He’s always looking out for me. And between the two of us, I think we only survived the eccentric onslaught of my mother’s chaos because we stuck together. He understands me.

He’s taught me a lot about the bratva life while also keeping me safe and making sure I have everything I've ever needed in life.

He’s the best brother I could have asked for.

Me: No, it’s okay. I’ll suffer through it, but this really has to stop. This is the fifth date this month. It’s like she's on a warpath to get me married ASAP. Can you talk to her?

Benedikt: I’ll take her out to lunch this week and have a word with her. You know she still does her own thing, though, right? We might have to come up with another way to get you out of these blind dates.

Me: At this point, I’m willing to run away and join the circus if it means I don’t have to go on another of these.

Benedikt: Haha. Let’s not have you running away just yet. Let me know if you change your mind about wanting to be rescued. I’ll happily come get you.

I slide my phone back into my purse and set it down on the marble countertop next to the sink.

There is a massive mirror covering the entire wall above the sink, and when I look up into it I see myself—a pretty girl with bright blue eyes and long, light brown hair.

Sure, she ’ s curvy, not the stereotypical standard of what society wants to call beautiful, but when she smiles, she’s confident.

And most importantly, she’s happy with herself.

That’s me.

I smile at my own reflection.

The black dress I’m wearing is long, right down to the floor.

It hugs over my body, the glittering sequins hand-stitched onto the velvet material accentuate the curves of my body.

My rather voluptuous breasts fill the top of the dress, and the cute, bubble-like heart-shaped pendant hanging on my chest sparkles in the soft bathroom lighting; it seems counterintuitive to wear a heart pendant on a blind date, but I love it.

It was a gift from Ulyana for my birthday this year.

That girl is like a sister to me. She’s amazing. Tomorrow we’ll go for coffee and laugh until we cry when I tell her how badly this date went.

Ugh. I have to go back out there.

I don’t care if that asshole doesn’t find me attractive. Or any of the assholes I’ve been on dates with lately. I don’t even want a husband.

I roll my eyes for the tenth time this evening. It’s becoming a bad habit. I should stop doing that.

Dipping my hand into my purse, I wiggle it around until I find my lipstick. Deep red.

Taking my time, I reapply it, carefully tracing the outline of my heart-shaped lips. With the red painted on them, they look even more cupid-like.

I smile at myself again.

Fuck that guy, you're beautiful.

Despite being happy in my own skin, his comments still sting. It’s just mean. I don’t get why people think they have a right to be so blatantly mean.

Sighing, I drop the lipstick back into my purse and step away from the mirror. Let’s get this over with so I can go home and watch the last episode of that awesome sci-fi show I’ve been binging.

If it wasn’t for my mother’s constant interfering with my life, I’d actually be having fun right now.

I hope Benedikt can convince her to stop setting up these stupid dates.

I don’t want to hear one more lecture about how I should diet, exercise more or visit some fancy wellness clinic to ‘get myself right,’ as the latest idiot so blatantly put it.

Thanks, Mom, for this endless torture. It’s strange because usually I’m so good at handling my mom.

I can distract her from her ideas and send her on a different thought train, but after Benedikt got married and met the love of his life and all that fairytale nonsense, she’s stopped worrying about him and is now fully focused on my love life with the entire force of her eccentric determination.

It’s exhausting. Literally, my body feels drained, and I start getting anxious every time she tells me she’s set up a new date. I can’t take much more of it.

The bathroom door swings open easily, and I step out into the hallway and end up bumping into a ridiculously tall, solid wall of a man. He reaches out to hold me steady.

I glance up at him. He’s freaking gorgeous.

He’s huge. Muscular. Solid and broad and massive. His pitch-black eyes glare down at me and make my heart race faster.

“Sorry,” I say sweetly as I smile up at him, but he doesn’t smile back. He tilts his head to the side, with his hand still resting on my waist, he mutters, “You should pay more attention to where you’re going, darling. You don’t want to bump into the wrong person.”

It sounds like a threat more than anything else, which makes me laugh.

“I’ll do that.” I sigh, rolling my eyes. Oops. Bad habit. It’s all these idiot men around me. It’s their fault.

His hand slides off my body, and I’m amused by the fact that one touch from this stranger has my body tingling with electricity. Why can’t my mom set me up on a date with a guy like this?

He’s freaking hot. Black hair and eyes to match, a dark shadow of stubble over his square jaw, and lashes that could put any girl to shame.

He’s more than hot. He’s beautiful. Dangerous. Mysterious. The type of guy you close your eyes and dream about before falling asleep.

Still an asshole, by the sounds of it, but at least he’s a hot asshole. At least I’d have something to look at while he lectured me on my eating habits.

I step left and he steps right, so I step right, and he steps left, and we get caught in one of those awkward, embarrassing dance maneuvers that happen when you try to walk around someone in a small space.

I giggle, stop side-stepping, and instead take a step backwards, trying to give him space to pass me, but he steps forward this time, and I end up with my back against the wall, and this devil of a man pressed against me.

“Um. Sorry ,” I say again, my brow furrowed, because that seemed very deliberate of him.

He presses his hand into the wall above my head, and his body pins me harder against it. I take a sharp breath as my nerve endings spark like fireworks. His muscles are solid, carved from rock. I’m so distracted by how he feels against me that I’ve completely lost my train of thought.

“How is your date going, Belle?” his deep voice rumbles over me, vibrating against my breasts.

“It’s, um, it’s horrible, um…" Wait, did he just say my name? Like my actual real name? “Who are you?” I stammer.

“Mm. You don’t know? I’m a little disappointed.” Even his voice is dark and dangerous. The ultimate bad boy.

Despite the current of fear his voice is stirring in me, it’s also so freaking sexy that I find the contrast amusing.

“Are you going to introduce yourself, or are we going to stay stuck to this wall all night instead?” I ask, sassy and grinning.

He growls, snarling, as his lips curl up. Apparently, he doesn’t like jokes. Interesting. But that only makes me want to make more jokes.

“We’ll see if you’re still smiling in a moment,” he warns me, stepping back, grabbing my arm, and tugging me forward.

I’m about to tell him to get his hands off me when someone behind me slaps a piece of tape over my mouth. My eyes flare wide just before they throw a bag over my head, and I see a glint of devilish mischief in the monster’s face.

I scream against the tape, but there isn’t any point.

The sound is muffled and useless. The man lifts me off the ground and throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.

His massive hands grip my ass to hold me in place, and I cling onto the back of his shirt, hoping like hell he doesn’t drop me.

I’ve never been carried by anyone before, never mind someone who makes me feel like he could crush me with one hand.

He carries me out the back of the restaurant, and as the cool night air touches my skin, all I can think is, well, thank goodness I don't have to go back to that date.