Punishing Devotion E-Book

Mia Kingsley

• Herausgeber: Black Umbrella Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Bratva Daddies
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 73

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

I'm supposed to steal a painting from an elegant villa to pay off my brother's debts. No one's supposed to be home, but as soon as I have the artwork in my hand, I promptly stumble into the arms of the owner. The tall Russian with the menacing tattoos wants to know who sent me. I can't possibly tell him that; otherwise, I'm as good as dead, and so is my brother. However, Maxim Gavrilov doesn't seem as if he has the slightest inhibitions about making me tell him the truth...   This short romance is over-the-top, a bit dark-ish, and will be served with a sugary sweet happy end.

Leseprobe

PUNISHING DEVOTION

BRATVA DADDIES 3

MIA KINGSLEY

A DARK DADDY ROMANCE

CONTENTS

Punishing Devotion (Bratva Daddies 3)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

About the Author

PUNISHING DEVOTION (BRATVA DADDIES 3)

I’m supposed to steal a painting from an elegant villa to pay off my brother’s debts. No one’s supposed to be home, but as soon as I have the artwork in my hand, I promptly stumble into the arms of the owner.

The tall Russian with the menacing tattoos wants to know who sent me.

I can’t possibly tell him that; otherwise, I’m as good as dead, and so is my brother. However, Maxim Gavrilov doesn’t seem as if he has the slightest inhibitions about making me tell him the truth...

This short romance is over-the-top, a bit dark-ish, and will be served with a sugary sweet happy end.

CHAPTER1

JACK

I hated it when somebody got a perm at the front of the salon because then I couldn’t get the smell out of my nose all day and imagined that my clothes reeked of it.

Mrs. Goodman leaned in my direction, her whole body tense, not letting the stench faze her. “Well?”

Oh yes, that’s right. I glanced discreetly at the little note stuck to the left leg of the table so my customers couldn’t see it. Mrs. Goodman had been married four times and owned three cats. At least, that’s what I had scribbled down there.

With a reverent nod, I took the tarot cards and placed the deck in front of her. I inscribed two meaningless circles with my hands and muttered a few words before telling her to draw a card.

She placed the card face up on the table, and I smiled brightly at her. Her eyes lit up with interest.

“A man,” I said. “He likes... cats?”

Mrs. Goodman pressed both hands against her chest and beamed at me, pure delight in her eyes. “No!”

“The cards don’t lie.”

In fact, the cards didn’t lie—but I did. I did it for money, and so women like Mrs. Goodman could go through life a little more lightheartedly. Or if they were addicted to drama, like a few of my other customers, then I also told them all about their gloomy future. Here, the customers were indeed still kings. After all, my boss wanted them to come back regularly.

I sold her two potions and a magic candle before Mrs. Goodman left my small room. With a roll of my eyes, I reached for my bottle of Coke and took a sip as the beaded curtain tinkled. I sighed because some days I really couldn’t catch a break. Christie, the boss of the hair salon, always sent the customers straight through to me without at least giving me a heads up, even though I’d asked her to do so a dozen times so I could better prepare my dramatic appearance. No one wanted to see a mystical fortune teller who was drinking Coke with her hand stuck in the Pringles can.

I looked up, and my stomach promptly shrank to the size of a speck of dust because it wasn’t the next customer standing in front of me but two of my boss’s henchmen. My guess was Charlie and Sean, but I wasn’t very good at remembering names because the guys came and went. Chaps was not an easy guy to get along with, preferring to terrorize his subjects, and accordingly, there was often trouble in his own ranks, which he always cleared up with a bullet between the eyes of the person who had caused the trouble.

“Hey,” I said, feeling my smile crumble since it usually didn’t bode well when Chaps sent his people.

“Come with us.” Charlie/Sean nodded in my direction and let his gaze slowly wander over me before he frowned in disgust.

I didn’t comment on his obvious dislike of my outfit but reached for my small backpack, which was made of black PVC and shaped like a coffin.

“Freak,” Charlie’s/Sean’s buddy muttered, shaking his head.

Since I was used to such niceties, I just followed them through the door and out into the street. They talked quietly among themselves and, with occasional glances in my direction, made sure that I was still there.

They stopped in front of the loony bin. One of them held the door open for me and stared at my ripped fishnet tights while I entered the bar. Even though it was still early, the stench of alcohol and various bodily fluids was overwhelming. However, I admittedly also had an exceedingly sensitive nose.

They took me straight to Chaps’s office. After a curt knock, they opened the door and more or less pushed me over the threshold.

“Jack,” Chaps said in a friendly tone that didn’t seem to match his expression or the bloody gash above his eyebrow. “Sit down.”

I knew when to keep my mouth shut and obediently sank into the scuffed leather chair in front of his desk. Although I didn’t have the slightest idea what he wanted from me, I tried to brace myself for… anything.

“How long have you been working for me, Jack?” Chaps propped his elbows on his desk and looked at me expectantly.

“Um…” I swallowed, and my stomach seemed to be filled with ice. “For three years?”

“Has it already been three years since your father passed away?” He whistled through his teeth. “Seems like yesterday.”

I preferred to stare at the floor. Chaps didn’t need to remind me that he’d killed my father before forcing my brother and me to work for him. I saved as much as I could, taking small jobs when I was sure Chaps wouldn’t notice so I could run off with Brodie, but so far, I hadn’t managed to scrape the necessary funds together.

“Why don’t we think of this as an anniversary gift?” He opened one of the drawers at his desk, pulled out a jewelry box, and slid it across the table in my direction. “For you and your three-year anniversary.”

I stared at the box because it might as well have been a bomb. Never ever would Chaps just give me jewelry. Unless…

My stomach tightened even further, the cold swallowing me whole. Was this Chaps’s way of telling me that I would no longer be working as a fortune teller in a hairdresser’s back room but had been “promoted” to one of his whores? Maybe even his own personal whore? That was what jewelry meant, wasn’t it?

“What’s the matter? Don’t you want your present?” The way he looked at me reminded me of a shark—but less friendly.

“I... uh... I…” I pressed my lips together, not knowing what to say.

“Don’t worry. I don’t want to fuck you. And I can’t imagine that anyone else is into skinny goth chicks either. Is your makeup supposed to be that pale? I’ve seen dead bodies floating in the ocean with a healthier complexion.”

It probably wasn’t his intention, but I relaxed a little at his words. It wasn’t that I was intentionally disfiguring myself, but ever since I realized that Chaps and his men despised my goth style, it had become some sort of defense mechanism, and no hairstyle, no makeup was too freaky for me. It was my version of a bulletproof vest, and aside from that, I had always been a lightweight. There were worse things than being considered “not fuckable” by Chaps and his men.

Nevertheless, I was on my guard when I lifted the lid off the small box. Rightfully so, because inside was a finger. A cut-off pinky. My stomach rebelled, and I could already feel the acid rising.

The feeling gave way to sheer panic when I recognized my brother’s school ring.

“What does that mean? Where’s Brodie?”

“Your fucking brother lost my merchandise. He claims he was robbed. By one of the gangs below Waring Avenue—but I don’t believe him. The way I see it, you guys owe me a shit ton of money.”

Ice water rushed through my veins. “What do you want?” My voice was devoid of any emotion.

“I’m so glad I can always count on you, Jack. You’re so goal-oriented and there are never any problems with you.”

Chaps pulled out his cell phone, tapped away on the screen, and then showed it to me. I stared in total confusion at an old-fashioned painting in an even more old-fashioned wooden frame.

“Your dad taught you everything he knew about security systems and locks, didn’t he?”

I nodded slowly.

“I’ll give you the address of a house, you break in and get the painting for me. You don’t have to worry because the owner of the house has been missing for quite a while. It’s a simple task—just get in and get out.”

“Okay, I’ll need a couple of days to scout the area and get an idea of the security arrangements.”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“What?” I stared at Chaps. That was exceedingly sadistic, even by his standards.