Owned by the Badman (Russian Bratva #1) (35 page)

Nevertheless, it is something I have to do. For Brentlee, my one and only sister. My
little
sister. Four years younger than me, at only nineteen years old, she’s getting married. I feel like the spinster-sister standing next to her, even though I am only twenty-three.

I suck in a breath and open the heavy boutique door—plastering on my sweetest smile. I notice immediately that all of the witches are present and accounted for.

“You’re late,” my mother scolds as soon as I walk inside. Well, I have
one
foot inside.

“We’ve been waiting around
forever
. Brentlee insisted we wait for
you
,” Missy, my sister’s best friend and future sister-in-law, points out, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I was working,” I offer with a smile that looks somewhat apologetic, even if I’m not in the slightest.

They knew I had to work today. I am lucky to even be off this early. I had to beg for the early release from the menial receptionist job I hold.

I am a receptionist and gofer at a local real estate office. I am always given the assignments that nobody else wants—showing rentals. They are appointments that provide income for the company, but no commission for the agents. Therefore, I show them for my regular hourly wage. At night and on weekends.

“
Work
? You need a man.” My mother waves her hand in the air, and inwardly I roll my eyes.

“I’m never going to work. It’s pointless. I want a husband who can take care of me the way I deserve,” Missy pipes up.

My mother pats her thigh with a smile
.

If Missy were to meet a man to treat her the way she deserved, she’d be living in a box down by the river.

My mother married my father,
a doctor
, and quit her job the next day. Then she produced my brother, approximately nine months later, me, four years after that, and then my sister, four years after
that — s
ecuring her role as the doting stay-at-home mother and wife.

By the time we were all in school, I don’t think my father could function without her taking care of
everything
, including
him.
He never mentioned her working outside of the home again. My sister and I were expected to do the same, marry a man to take care of us. My brother is already in his residency to become a doctor – just like our dad.

Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind being a stay-at-home mother if the opportunity presented itself, but I’m not going to date dollar signs just to accomplish that task. I want to meet someone,
fall in love
, and get married.

Too bad I am too much of a homebody to ever actually
meet
anybody. My previous two relationships were failures—
in a huge way.
I am still licking my wounds from the last one. I’ve closed myself off from most of the dating world after him.

“Jason and I just broke up, mom,” I whine.

She shakes her head. “That was months ago, and he was a loser. You need to see if Scotty has any cousins for you,” she says with a wink. I scrunch my nose.

“Our family is chalk full of successful businessmen. Honestly, I don’t know if you’re any of their type,” Missy sneers.

My mother pretends not to hear her.

Scotty is my sister’s fiancé, and he makes me gag. He is just
too
perfect—his hair, his smile, his manners, and the fact that he is preparing to take the
BAR
exam to become an attorney.

Scotty seems perfect but he lingers too long when he gives me a hug, he stares at my breasts, and he's always –
always
– putting Brentlee down in such a way that she’ll strive to be even better than she was before. He has given me the creeps from day one. He’s manipulative and, frankly, a tool.

Scotty is also nine years older than her; not that the age thing bothers me, it’s just that Brentlee is young and beautiful and should be having fun instead of settling with such a giant douche. Brentlee, to me, is perfection personified. Together, they
look
like perfect robots, designed in a lab or something. It just feels all wrong.
Always
has
.

“Dress number one.” Brentee’s voice floats through the boutique and we all turn around to watch her come through the dressing area with a wedding gown on her slim lithe body.

“It’s so gorgeous,” everybody gushes.

I have to admit, it is very pretty. Long lace sleeves, a sweetheart bodice with lace coming up into a high collar. It is A-line and very Princess Kate like. It is perfect and demur – nothing like my flashy sister.

“Kentlee, what do you think?” she asks looking up through her long, chocolate brown lashes.

Brentlee and I are night and day in the looks department. Brentlee has long dark hair. She’s tall and thin, her skin almost olive in complexion, and she also has chocolatey brown eyes. She looks so much like our dad, with his Italian roots.

I, however, am short and curvy with ass and tits that I think are just
too
much
. Unfortunately, I can’t lay off of the
FroYo
to save myself, so the ass and tits are probably forever going to stay. I keep my hair long, past my elbows, and am naturally blonde, like our mom, with pale skin. My eyes are a deep blue, almost black.

Most people don’t believe we are even related, let alone sisters.

“I think you look really elegant, Brent. I think it’s beautiful,” I admit.

I am telling the truth, but she could wear a trash bag and still look gorgeous. I wish that she would sex it up. She always dresses super sexy and I don’t think her wedding day should be any different, but it isn’t my place to say anything – so I don’t.

“This is it. Scotty is just going to love it,” she gushes.

Then, my mother and Missy gush as well. I smile politely and wait until I can leave. I don’t gush; it isn’t in me. The gushing is
too
much. I am totally not that jumping up and down with excitement kind of girl.

“Okay, Kent, don’t forget—
Saturday
is the bachelorette pre-party. Just a little bridesmaid’s get together, dancing and cocktails. We’ll start planning the bachelor and bachelorette parties. Then we can talk about my bridal shower.
Squee
.” She actually says the work
squee
and I try so hard to keep from rolling my eyes.

I deserve a fucking medal right now
.

“Saturday night, yeah, I’ll be there,” I nod, tapping it into my phone’s calendar. Though, I’m not quite sure why. It isn’t like I really have much of a social life these days.

“Try not to look homeless,
please
,” Missy snaps.

I pray to Jesus to give me patience before I slap the shit out of this little bitch.

“Cool,” Brentlee grins, ignoring her bitch of a friend. I smile back at her.

Once she changes out of the white gown, she comes right for me and starts to speak in a low tone.

“You’re really okay not being my Maid-of-Honor?” she asks me for the fifteenth time.

Truthfully, Brentlee
had
surprised me when she “
broke the news
” that I wasn’t to be her Maid-of-Honor, and that it would be Scotty’s sister, instead. It had hurt my feelings that she didn’t want me right next to her, helping to plan her showers and parties. I understand it, though. Missy is not only her best friend, but her future sister-in-law, too.

Brentlee and I used to be best friends. Somewhere around high school, she blossomed into one of the popular girls and had a whole gaggle of girlfriends, whereas I stayed more of a loner. I dated and I had friends, but I was definitely never in the ‘
it’
crowd. Brentlee was the damn leader, even as a freshman. Scotty’s sister had been her sidekick from the age of fourteen, so I wasn’t really shocked that she wanted her to take the coveted title of Maid-of-Honor. It stung, nonetheless.

“You’ve been friends with Missy since you were fourteen years old and you’re marrying her brother. It’s cool, Brent,” I say, plastering on my fake smile. She smiles back—genuinely, I’m sure.

After an hour of wedding talk and harping from my mother, I am finally free. I almost skip down the street toward my car, I am so excited. But I am dressed in my work clothes, a black pencil skirt and satin camisole with five inch, black high heels, so I decide against it.

I hear a rumble from a distance, and then, suddenly, it feels as though a million bumble bees are surrounding me. I let out a gasp. my eyes widen, and my step falters as I watch the group of motorcycles pull up next to my sporty little black, convertible, Camaro.

My Camaro is the reason I work weekends for a real estate company, as well as several evenings a week, showing rentals to perspective clients of my boss. He hates showing rentals and I want a cute convertible. It works out for both of us in the end.

“Nice ride.” A deep baritone voice rumbles from next to me as I try to quickly open the door and slide into my car, without being noticed.

“Thanks,” I mutter, looking up and simultaneously losing my breath.

The man behind the sexy voice is…
well
… the sexiest man I have ever seen. He is tall. His arms are crossed over his chest and the sheer size of his biceps makes me whimper. They are the biggest I have ever seen—
in real life
.

My eyes travel down to his middle and I almost purr. He has a firm, thick torso, with jeans that hang low on his hips. And his thighs?
Tree trunks
. He is big everywhere I can see; and probably everywhere I can’t see, too.

The sexy stranger clears his throat, and when I look up into his handsome face, mine turns bright red. He caught me ogling him and a shit-eating grin curls his mouth. He has messy dirty blonde hair and light gray eyes—his jaw strong and chiseled. I know by the smirk on his lips that he thinks he’s every bit as sexy as I do.

Cocky bastard.

“What’s your name, sugar,” he whispers, deep and husky. I shiver and his lips quirk even more.

“Kentlee,” I say as I slide into the driver seat of my car.

I try to close the door but his hand shoots out to stop me. He quickly crouches down between the door and my seat. He is almost eye level to me, he is so long.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he grins. Then his hand comes out again, wrapping around the back of my neck.

“Why don’t you come down to the clubhouse and party with me tonight, babe?”

I blink at him.

I know what he is.

He is a
Notorious Devil
.

They are legend around our town.

The local outlaws.

Parents tell stories to their children to scare them away from the group, and rumors always go rampant in the adult circles about them—about their women
and
about their parties.

No way in hell am I going to be some innocent girl, lured into the lion’s den so they can pull a train on me.

I have read and heard enough about them, and other MC’s, to know the things they do.

No way. Not this girl.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I say quietly, trying not to rile him up. Just last week, three of the members were arrested in a bar brawl. Billy Smith, a guy I know from school, went to the hospital.

Granted, Billy is a giant dick and he most likely deserved it—but still.

“Why not, sugar?” he asks.

The hand behind my neck starts to massage lightly. I almost moan at the contact. His strong fingers digging into my neck, combined with the smell of grease, oil, and
man
is sending me over the edge.

I haven’t had sex in almost a year and I am horny as hell as it is.

“I’m not… I’m just not the kind of girl that should be at one of those parties,” I murmur, trying so hard not to offend him as I simultaneously try not to wrap my thighs around him and beg him to fuck me, right here –
right now.

“What kind of girls are at our parties, babe?” he asks.

I can sense an edge to his tone forming. My wide eyes lock with his and I tell him the truth.

“I’m a good girl. I don’t smoke, I don’t drink much, and I don’t sleep around… like ever,” I confess, my cheeks turning bright red and heated.

“Could tell you weren’t a bad bitch, honey. Still, you look smokin’ in that sexy secretary getup and I want to see more,” he grins.

Panties. Fucking. Melted
.

I open my mouth to answer him, though I don’t know what I am going to tell him, when another man steps up behind him and halts my voice. He is huge—round belly, long hair in a braid—and he is glaring at me with what I could only guess is hatred.

What I ever did to him I do not know.

“Prez, we gotta get movin’,” the burly man growls.

I shrink back a bit at his tone. The man’s hand around my neck squeezes gently before he releases me, ignoring the angry giant behind him.

“You want to come on out, you just come on out, sugar. You’ll be perfectly safe with me. Just tell the man at the door that
Fury
sent you, okay?”

I nod, even though I know there is no way in hell I am going to this man’s clubhouse.

I have seen most of the men around town, but this guy, he’s new—
different
. He looks to be around ten years older than me, but I have never seen him before.

Our town is fairly small and you tend to run into people. I even spot a few guys from high school standing by their bikes, part of the club now. But this man, he is a complete stranger.

Once he turns to talk to the big man behind him, I hurry and skedaddle the heck outta there. I have
FroYo
to eat, and I need to freak out—
alone—
in my little one-bedroom rental house.

When I am in inside my home, I lock the door and grab my coveted ice cream. Sitting down on the sofa, I realize I'm in complete shock. I look around the room as I shovel the chocolate into my mouth, trying to forget about what happened just minutes ago.

Long gone are the memories of my sister’s bridal dress shopping moment, and my brain is now flooded with the strange and sexy biker.

Holy shit, he was hot
.

I wish that I had some slut in me, because I want nothing more than to end the dry spell I am currently in and walk on the wild side of life.