Trained by the Bratva Prince -Prologue

Author’s note: This prologue takes place IMMEDITATELY after the events at the end of Taken by the Bratva Prince. It contains spoilers for Taken. Although Trained by the Bratva Prince is a standalone book it exists in the Bratva Prince world and the books are BEST enjoyed in order. Starting with Bound to the Bratva Princess - which was a bridge book linking Savage Security to the Ismailov family…

Prologue:

“I don’t want to complain, but it feels so good to get out of the house.” Jessalyn smiled as she watched the desert scenery whip by through the darkened windows of the SUV.  

“No, I totally get it,” Hannah said. “I was going a little crazy myself. It was even worse before you arrived. When it was just me and Rurik. Not even security or staff stayed in the house.”  

Jessalyn’s brows scrunched together in the center of her nutmeg-colored forehead. Strange way to describe a honeymoon. But she still hadn’t figured out what was going on with the couple. “All the better for newlyweds, right?”  

“Right,” Hannah replied. Okay, that wasn’t helpful. It had been two weeks since she’d taken the tutoring job. Every cell in her body still screamed and shrieked with warnings. No one paid thirty-thousand dollars upfront to have a grad student teach an independent study course. The university didn’t even allow it. Hannah missed the end of the last semester, without turning in her final assignments or applying for an extension. She should have received an F. With her otherwise good academic record, she could have made up the class later. Instead, the dean of students, the freaking dean, called and asked Jessalyn to take this assignment. He hired her to proctor Hannah’s courses and help her complete two final assignments to receive a make-up grade. What the what?  

It was more money than she’d ever dreamed she’d earn in one semester. A godsend that saved their house from foreclosure after her mom had fallen behind. Using the little money she earned as a home health aide to help pay for Jessa’s school expenses. Taking out a second mortgage and falling behind on that as well.  

So, even though her cop DNA was screaming and yelling, she muted it. Her father, who’d died in the line of duty when she was fourteen, was probably turning over in his grave. Not just turning, spinning like a dreidel. But Miguel Hernandez was dead. It was her uncles finding out that kept her up at night. His police brothers had stepped up and in after his death. Taking his place in everything from father-daughter dances to fatherly advice on boys. Dragging her from the dojo to the gun range, insisting she learned how to defend herself.  

Uncle Mike’s rule on boys was simple. “Don’t trust them. Not one. If you find one you think you can break that rule for, bring him to me. I’ll run a background check.” His gruff voice had growled out the instructions while his cold blue eyes had handcuffed hers until she nodded.  

She grinned at his square face stone visage. Familiar with the teddy bear hidden inside the grizzly. “You want fingerprints and DNA samples, too?”  

“Damn right. But I won’t need the DNA because you’re not having sex with him. Or anybody, until he gets the clearance and after you’re married.”  

She rolled her eyes at that one. Would there ever be a day when they didn’t see her as their baby? Jessa had to leave the house to lose her virginity in her dorm at twenty. It was awful. Not Chuck’s fault. The guilt trip they’d run on her messed her up. The three of them were worse than the group of Catholic nuns in the parish school she’d attended. Of course, her near-rape at thirteen hadn’t helped either. Despite the less than adequate sex, she’d hung on to Chuck. Enjoying the companionship, and the warm snugly feeling when they held hands. But the sex, ugh. Not good. And was it supposed to last only a few minutes? That was the advice she’d needed. According to every book she’d ever read, no. But books got a lot of things wrong.  

Jessa stared at the scenery again, letting Hannah ramble on about shoes and purses. Something was off about the whole situation. Why so much security? Armed security. Two armed drivers for a simple girl’s shopping trip. Uncle Lou’s advice was not to watch the person as much as the environment. “Take in everything. Don’t miss a detail. People can fool you with what they say. But the environment will show you. The alley, the lighting, the time of day, the others at the bar. Watch everything around you. And especially the route. Always know where he’s taking you and how you’re supposed to get there. Never trust some asshole’s ‘this is the way’. Know your own way.”  

So even though they had drivers, she had the route mapped out on her GPS. Hannah chatted about fashions from the latest style magazine she wanted, while Jessa discretely checked her phone. Damn Lou, that’s why she didn’t have many friends. Too freaking paranoid and suspicious. There was no mute button for that.  

She raised her brows when her phone vibrated to show they’d missed their turn. Her spine stiffened, and she looked around. Nothing greeted her gaze other than the unwelcoming barren haze of endless sand. Perfect place to bury a body. Shit. “Okay, stay calm.” Uncle Brendan’s voice whispered. Check your phone. She paged through the directions, on her lap. Was there an alternate route? Hell no. It was the freaking desert not another turnoff for twenty miles. Which would take them miles away from their original destination. Shit.  

“Hey, was that our turnoff back there?” Danyael asked the driver. Petur, that was his name. He had the hard, ruthless look of his boss, Sanyet. Thick Russian accent, tattoos on the tops of his hands, and markings on each finger. Full neck tattoo that dropped under his collar. Slight nick in his left brow. Old scars on his knuckles. He’d seen a lot of fights, while Danyael’s hands were clear and his fingers smooth. He would not be of any help in a fight. Great.  

“Change of plans.”  

Shit, shit. Jessa took a deep breath. Remain calm. Hannah had leaned forward, asking “Is everything okay?”  

“Everything is wonderful.” The sound of his laugh prickled every hair on the back of her neck. “We’re taking a slight detour.”  

Hannah’s eyes widened and her lips trembled, but she forced the words out. “To where?”  

“Your father would like to see you.”  

Hannah’s dusky complexion paled from the golden sun to the frothy white of sea foam. But she hardened her eyes and balled her fists. Good, at least she had one other fighter on her side. Would Danyael assist? Didn’t seem like he was in on whatever Petur planned. “I do not feel the same. Please take me back to Rurik.”  

Petur laughed again. “Do you like serving in his bed so much then? Good, because I’m taking you where you will serve many men. Your father lost a lot of money when you ran off with the Ismailov. Now you will repay him. On your back.”  

Keep him talking. Jessa felt around in her purse, searching for the lipstick knife Uncle Brendan had given her when she left for college. “Most women are useless with guns unless it’s at a distance. Too many times the gun gets taken away and used on them. Believe me, you don’t want to give him a weapon he doesn’t have. But a knife is for close contact. If he gets up close and personal with you. Then you get up close and personal back. You’re only going to get one chance though so make it count. Juglar vein or straight in the heart. That’s it. You don’t hesitate, full force, and while he’s dying out you take off. And for God’s sake don’t make sure he’s okay. Who gives a fuck? Not you, okay.”  

Brendan had just come from a gruesome rape scene and her limbs were still shaking from the details he’d given. Details she didn’t want, not with her own nightmares still haunting her sleep. He handed her the knife she’d originally refused. “Use it. Fucking use it.” He crushed her fingers around the lipstick barrel. The same barrel burning in her palm.  

Hannah’s phone pealed breaking the silence. “Do not fucking answer it,” Petur growled. Hannah’s eyes locked on Jessa’s. Jessa nodded. They had to at least open the line. Someone had to know what was going on.  

Hannah took the call. “Sanyet…”  

“Hang the fucking phone up.” The harsh command tightened Jessa’s grip on the lipstick barrel as she slid it out of her bag.  

“What are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Rurik will kill you…” Danyael interrupted.  

Petur pulled a gun from his holster and aimed it in his direction. Holding the car steady with one hand and the gun in the other. It was now or never. No hesitation. There was no way he could control both and fight them off at the same time.  

“I warned you to stay home. Told you I could handle this alone. But you were too busy sniffing behind that black bitch.”  

Hold up, was he talking about her? Her nostrils flared, and she rolled the lipstick in her hand. Inching forward and toward the center console. Wait for it…  

Danyael protested. “Rurik, insisted. He said one person was not enough to guard her.”  

Petur shrugged. “He was right.”  

“No, no.” Hannah cried out, too late.  

Danyael’s next argument ended when the bullet burrowed into his head, shattering the window on its exit.  

The sound reverberated in her ears accompanied by Hannah’s high-pitched scream. Or was it hers? But Hannah didn’t wait. She leaped forward, using the crook of her arm to grab Petur’s neck. Twisting it. Shit, the car swerved, snaking wildly, across the highway. Shit. Shit. She raced for the gun. Knocking it out of the way when Hannah didn’t release Petur even as the car itself swerved, as if the vehicle tried to shake her loose. Jessa reached around the struggling couple to grab the wheel. No, not the wheel! The car spun her back into the window and she clawed forward again. Fighting the wild momentum. Grab the gear shift, stupid. She wrenched the stick nestled between the two front seats. Slamming the car into park. Ignoring the squealed protest of brakes and wheels.  

Petur’s fist pounded the octopus grip of Hannah’s arms. His other hand searched the seat. Shit, the gun. Hannah wouldn’t be able to hold him much longer. But she couldn’t reach the gun. Not without getting out of the car. Shit. She wouldn’t leave Hannah. She ducked down to grab the lipstick. There it was by her foot. Petur’s fist had given up the search and turned instead to slam into the side of her head. Hannah’s head whipped back, and Jessa saw the stars even if Hannah didn’t when he clipped her. Damn that fucker was strong. He focused on Hannah and turned in his seat to grab her again. His mistake. His throat swung around slicing itself on her knife as she reached to stab him.  

Stab, not slice. Shit, her mistake. His eyes swung to hers as they widened in shock. His hands grabbed his neck to staunch the flow of blood. Shit, he wasn’t bleeding enough. And she lost the knife again. Ripped out of her hands when he’d swung around. Got to get the gun.  

Couldn’t leave Hannah. “C’mon girl,” she shouted at her dazed student. Pulling her out the side door away from Petur who also stumbled out of the car. She needed that fucking gun, but it was on the front passenger floor. Or at least that was the last place she’d seen it. They ran, keeping the car between them as he chased them. Holding his neck and kicking up sand.  

“Fucking bitches.”  

Right back at you, motherfucker. But she kept her lips slammed shut. Had to focus. Could they get in the car and lock the door? Maybe get the keys?  

A car raced up the highway and slammed to a stop. Who?  

They stopped their mulberry bush chase at the same moment Sanyet torpedoed Petur.  

Thank you, God. Thank you, Uncle Mike, and Lou, and Brendan. Thank you, Rurik. Even Thank Sanyet. Oh, the list was long. But she couldn’t stop. Thank the car. The desert, the brakes. Her chest curled over the car as she took deep racking breaths in and out. She braced her forearms on the hood and rested her head.  

The blast of a bullet shot her head back up. And she dropped to her knees looking around. What the fuck? Were there more? Hannah sat in the highway car facing her with Rurik kneeling between her thighs. Okay. It wasn’t them. She peeked around the rear fender.  

Shit! Petur’s knee was a blob of blood streaking white tissue and bone on the side of his leg. On the freaking side of his leg. On the ground. Not on his body. Her eyes didn’t blink. They couldn’t move. Her mind shifted into insanity. Sliding like the gears of a car. Gear one, normal. Gear two, odd. Gear three, a little nuts. Gear four, fucking insane. Bat shit. Get the shock therapy paddles ready as it tried to process the unbelievable. Did it look a little like Petur was sitting with a strawberry sundae by his leg? Yes, that was it. A giant ball of vanilla ice cream and red streams of strawberry syrup cascaded over it. It was insane but shit.  

She shook her head. “Wrong answer. Who the fuck sent you?” Sanyet growled. Boring his gun into Petur’s eye until more crimson cried out.  

“Please Sanyet, I have children.”  

“Then tell me what I want to know so I don’t visit them after your death.”  

Petur gurgled some more, but Sanyet only shook his head and blew off another knee. Shit. Her eyes almost popped out of her head before she ducked back behind the car. Shit. Shit. Peter howled like a man being castrated. Babbling more incoherent pleas for mercy as he lost another body part. Damn Petur, just tell him. Minutes passed along with three more shots before he cried out the answer. Begging harder than before.  

Sanyet was silent. No more questions. She stood up. They could go home. Thank you, G—  

Another blast blew Petur’s brains across the desert. The skin and flesh sizzled when it hit the burning sand. Like meat being laid on a grill. That’s all it was. Meat being laid on a hot skillet. She’d knelt back down, and her eyes froze on the macabre scene. Parts of the splatter had landed inches from her face. She held on to the tire still burning from traversing the desert asphalt and met Sanyet’s eyes before bending over and puking. Her body violently ejecting everything she’d eaten for the last week.  

She retched until there was nothing left except air and organs and still her stomach heaved to reject that too.  

She stood up, keeping her eyes on the killer facing her. The two of them squared off, feet away from each other. His eyes blinked and softened for a second. Before he blinked any softness away like a desert mirage. His lips pressed into a firm line. “Ah, dove. I’m sorry you had to see that.”  

Jessalyn stood up, she didn’t need her uncles to tell her to never turn her back on a predator. Easy prey instinct. But damn she wanted to turn and run. Needed to. Her legs trembled with the effort to stand still and not startle him. She raised her hands to the surrender position, but uh, hell no. There had to be a way besides begging because the brains cooking on the desert floor told her how well that worked.  

“Sanyet, I didn’t see anything…”  

He cocked his head. “You saw enough.”  

Her eyes held his with the same death grip Hannah had used on Petur while her foot tiptoed back. His brow arched. He cocked the gun. She raised her hands to block. Instinct took over from logic and screamed, “No.” Closing her eyes and wincing before the bullet hit.  

But then a gust of wind blew by, and Hannah stood between her and Sanyet. Her mousy mysterious student turned into a lioness. Shielding her with the armor of her body. Followed by Rurik, her husband. The two of them arguing and fighting to position themselves in front of her. With Rurik trying to shove Hannah back.  

No words registered over the frantic beating of her heart. Fuck them all. She had to get away. There were two cars. Both with open doors. Which one offered a better chance? She was just about to make a run for Rurik’s still running car. When Sanyet dropped the weapon and smiled.  

Fucking smiled. Did he think it was a damn joke? She wanted to knock his head off his shoulders, but before she could finish the thought. Rurik handed the gun to Hannah and did it for her. Dropping his brother with one hit. Her mouth dropped at the same time his body hit the unforgiving desert sand.  

Jessa collapsed to her knees. Her eyes swirled around taking in bits and pieces of conversations and sights. She gasped in a gulp of air and gagged on the smell of flesh already rotting in the sun and mixing with the smoky dust of gunpowder. Her mouth filled with saliva. Desperate to spit the wretchedness back out. She closed her eyes, running her hand over her forehead. She needed to close her eyes and blackout. But apparently, she wasn’t that kind. She wasn’t a swoon and faint girl. Apparently, she was a gag, puke, and hyperventilate girl. She shuddered again. Looking around and waiting for the scene before her to make sense. But the only thought that kept looping through her mind was from a classic movie. Judy Garland’s warbled voice repeated in an endless loop. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”