The God (Bratva Blood #3)- S.R. Jones Page 0,9

a time.

Speaking of the woman. I ought to go and check my feed, see if anything happened last night.

“You know,” K says as he sips at the tea. “You want any other bones breaking, and I can be of service.”

I give him the finger and walk out of the room, his laughter following me out the front door.

I’m lucky that he’s fucked in the head the way he is about Cassie because it helps him understand why I need to do this frankly crazy thing with Dasha.

Although, at first, K was against it. Andrius, surprisingly, was the one to support it. Said I needed to get it all out of my system.

They might not be Bratva anymore, but they aren’t squeaky clean either. Letting one of their partners go and pretend to be security for a woman he basically wants to stalk is not part of the super clean image they are wanting to build here. Frankly, I’m waiting for Reece to put his foot down and say he won’t allow it. He’s the above board one in all this. He’s British Special Forces, and this venture we are setting up is going to be linked to work he and his friends are doing back in the UK. He might not want a partner involved who is creating a ruse to pretend-safeguard a woman he’s obsessed with.

He might say no.

Then I’ll have to leave this great opportunity because come hell or high water, I’m going to see Dasha again.

This thing I’m doing isn’t linked to what K and Andrius are building here, though. I’m not stupid.

I won’t be using their company as my cover.

No, Damen is setting it up for me, and providing me with a cover. The big issue is, what Dasha will do when she sees me. Will she give the game away before I get the chance to talk to her? I hope not because once we’ve had a little chat, she won’t be sacking me anytime soon. I’ll use any dirty trick in my book to make her let me stay.

Then what? I don’t have any concrete plans beyond worming my way into her life for a while and seeing what’s what. I want to fuck with her head, the way she fucked up mine. I also, however, have some genuine concerns for her safety after what Damen has found out about her husband, what I’ve already seen, and what happened to some of the girls he had previous stewardship of.

The man is a creep.

I sit on my bed, raise my laptop screen, and log on. The feed is super boring at first. Her reading. Her husband reading on his laptop and then wanking off, which I really didn’t need to see. I fast forward that bit. Then there’s a man come to talk business, so I listen in. He wants Dasha to endorse some footwear and bags. She doesn’t like the idea; I can tell from her face. She’s more stuck up than she used to be. Where’s the girl who stole bubble gum with me, and smoked her first cigarette aged sixteen and nearly threw up?

Dasha was always beautiful, but in a carefree way. Now, she’s put together, with a haughty air that tells the world she knows she looks like a fucking queen and expects to be treated like one. I want to make her kneel for me and beg forgiveness. Worse, I want to kneel for her. To beg her forgiveness because let’s be honest, I threw the first stone.

Revenge might be a dish best served cold, but what I want from her is red hot. I don’t know quite what it is, this emotion, only that it’s red and fiery like her hair.

I study her features as she listens to the salesman drone on. Her nose is tilted, like the perfect Disney nose. Her eyes are huge, clear pools of bright color. Her hair is swept up from her face highlighting a high forehead and strong cheekbones. Her jaw is perfect and gives her a regal look along with a tiny chin, small mouth, and long neck.

She’s delicate and expensive looking. Patrician. I like that word. Patrician. It describes her perfectly. At some point during the proceedings, she excuses herself and heads upstairs to her bedroom. I don’t have cameras all over the house. Just the kitchen, living room, her bedroom, and his bedroom. It was hard enough to get those hidden well, or so Damen’s man tells me.

I’ve scrolled through