The Dance: Bratva Vows Read online

  “You’re very observant,” I tell him, my mouth trembling as I speak, but I won’t let him cow me. I straighten my shoulders and meet his gaze head on.

  “I have to be, in my line of work.”

  I jerk my chin out of his hold, which is gentle, and I get free easily. “You are wrong about the makeup. I’m tired is all. I need to go; I have to feed my cat.”

  Going back to unlocking my bike, I curse at my trembling fingers. Once I’m on it, I give him a small wave with one hand and start to peddle.

  “I’d bet good money you don’t own a cat.” His deep chuckle reverberates through me; it’s unnerving but also sexy. Bit like the man himself.

  I turn and give a pointed look at his cigar. “Smoking is bad for your health.”

  “Least of my worries,” he replies before stubbing it out underfoot and making his way across the tarmac toward the glow of the restaurant lights.

  As I ride home, I try to get myself under control.

  This is a dangerous game I’m playing, and it just got doubly so.

  It takes me at least ten minutes to stop shaking.

  * * *

  To continue reading, get for FREE here (always check prices as they can change):

  Want to read the very first two pages of the upcoming prequel for the incendiary Bratva Blood duet? Then read on—this story is not available until early spring, and release dates and cover reveals will be coming soon!

  This is The Monster: A Bratva Blood prequel novella.

  Reading order is:

  The Monster: Prequel

  The Boss: Bratva Blood Duet One.

  The King: Bratva Blood Duet Two.

  THE MONSTER

  BRATVA BLOOD

  SR JONES

  "The greatest pleasure is to vanquish your enemies, to chase them before you, to rob them of their wealth, to see their near and dear bathed in tears, to ride their horses and sleep on the bellies of their wives and daughters."

  * * *

  Genghis Khan.

  KONSTANTIN

  I wasn’t born a monster.

  Who is?

  Outside of fairy tales and the reassuring stories we tell ourselves, most monsters are made … by us. By society.

  The same could be said of me.

  I was born a boy. An ordinary boy, but maybe one with a hidden propensity for violence—for mayhem. For ruthlessness.

  That little boy grew, as most do, unless tragedy strikes, into a man. Once a man, I became a soldier, and still, after all I saw and did in war, I did not become a monster.

  No, the monster came later.

  Unlike the monsters in our collective stories and fairy tales, I didn’t lose control of myself and change shape, a terrible warning to all and sundry to stay away.

  I am not a frog waiting forlornly on a lily, hoping for a kiss to make me a man again. No, my monstrousness hides on the inside.

  My outside?

  Wealthy.

  Powerful.

  Successful.

  Names matter, words matter, labels matter.

  The labels those who don’t know me use are: businessman, venture capitalist, philanthropist.

  Those who know me better might use different terms. Oligarch. Ruthless. Shark. I like that one a lot. “You’re a shark,” my rival had said as I tore his empire down and sold off the bits I didn’t want. For what is war if not organized theft? And what is business if not war?

  All these labels fit. A great deal of my business is legit, a good portion … is not. No one cares. Money is legitimacy in this fucked up world. And I wear my wealth like a suit of armor. A disguise, and one that opens so many doors.

  I have houses in Moscow, Paris, and New York. Businessmen come to me for advice, and I once got an invite to Davos, which I turned down rudely enough to not get anymore. Supermodels party with me on the yachts I holiday on, whilst politicians lurk in corners and let me line their pockets for influence in the affairs of whole nations.

  And through it all, through all I do, beats one thing—my overwhelming need for revenge. Revenge on the people who breathed the monster within to life.

  In this fairy tale I am not the frog, or the ugly dwarf waiting for a kiss to once again become a man, but I’m not the handsome prince either.

  I am the motherfucking king.

  Yet my kingdom is too small, and kings love nothing more than the spoils of war and the conquering of new lands.

  It suits me that conquering this new land will hasten my revenge.

  It won’t be easy. It might get bloody. But the best wars always are.

  The best revenge too.

  This king is on the march, and his enemies will tremble before him.

  * * *

  ***Coming soon***