- 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐕𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 -

◾️ 𝐑 𝐎 𝐌 𝐀 𝐍 ◾️

Hello everyone❤️
I hope you all had a lovely Christmas
And
A happy new year🥂

I took some time off from writing for a while since December was such a busy month for me and my family.
But I hope you enjoy another chapter🖤

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Sacha's eyes scan every face in the dive bar. It's Friday night and the room is packed with women wearing skin tight dresses and eyeliner and the men in ripped jeans and ink. The crowd is young, broke and horny. I make my way to the back booth that's covered in darkness from the broken light bulbs above, Ignoring every pair of tits that are thrust hopefully in my face. I don't give a single fuck about them. No woman could compare to Arianna Romanov. There's a fierce ache in my chest as I think about my wife. She could walk up and down my body in stiletto heels with a gun to my head, and I'd still do anything for her.
I'm a lost man, until I find her again.

My gaze can't help but stop and check every blonde in this shithole. There's no chance she's here, but I stare all the same. Some sluts perk up and smile as their eyes linger on my body, but I turn away as soon as I realise their not her. I'm not here for them, I'm here for blood.

A drunk man in skinny jeans stumbles into Mischa, who slams him into the wall without looking at him. I scan the room for the person I'm looking for, my focus and my rage combine into one fucking blazing thought. I'm going to kill someone tonight, and their screams of agony will slightly soothe the beast and turmoil that has savaged my days and nights since my woman was taken.

"Do you want vodka?" Damien asks, while smirking at the short brunette at the bar.

"I want the people that have took my wife, gagged and bound for me to torture."

"Oh? I'll go pull them out of my ass, shall I?" He mutters as he gets to his feet.

I shoot him a warning look before he stalks towards the shitty bar with a string of Russian expletives swallowed up by the even shitter music.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I let out a frustrating breath. This stress is giving me fucking migraines!!
Damien returns, 4 glasses held between his cupped hands. He passes the piss warm vodka and ice to each of us before he slides into the booth.

"Vashe zdorov'ye"

"Is this Russian?" Sacha asks, as he snarls the drink.

Damien slams the glass down, his eyes sparking.
"In this fucking dump? Of course it's not fucking Russian."

"Enough Damien." I command, kicking him under the table for good measure.

Before he can say anything else, my hackles rise as they always do when I know my prey is near. Recognition slams through me as the little krysha walks through the door. I almost jump to my feet, every nerve screaming at me to slaughter him.

I jerk my chin at the new arrival to Sacha. He turns and a slow malicious smirk takes over his face. He disappears into the crowd as I crack one knuckle after the other, craving the violence that is to come. The man we're all here for stops at the bar, trying to get the servers attention. I stand up and collect the empty glasses as if I'm going to get a refill. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the stumpy, pot bellied man with silver chains around his neck suddenly freeze. He turns on his heel and walks fast toward the exit, but before he gets there, Sacha steps into his path, causing our mark to smack into his chest.