Nikolai's POV
-Before Hunt-
I stepped out of the car as the sea of guards parted for me. They were in a foreign territory, so this much security was understandable.
As I walked through the sea of men, they all bowed slightly in pure respect and fear. Their eyes down, none dares to look me in the eye. I don't blame them. They've seen the demonic side of me, so fearing me comes naturally to them.
I bet they were happy I didn't take much interest in our family business. Facing me every day would've caused them stress. They've tasted that before; they might not want it again.
I stepped into one of the finest mansions my family owns, and there he was at the bar in the humongous lounge. My brother Lazar.
Upon seeing me, his eyes lit up, and we approached each other as he hugged me. "Brother. I missed you." Lazar said, handing me vodka. Pure Russian style.
"You should've come sooner," I said, ruffling his hair. His men saw me, saw what I did to their boss, but none dared to pull out their guns. If it were anyone else, he'd be six feet under the ground by now. But I'm Nikolai Volkov. Lazar's elder brother.
"I tried, but things were hectic back at home, and I had to wipe clean some moles from the bratva. It took some time," Lazar said, sipping his vodka.
"The ones who were against you?"
"Yes, brother. They are all gone. I've been eliminating all of them since I became the pakhan, and finally I can say, there's no enemy left in my people." Lazar said confidently, and I couldn't be prouder.
"Do you like what you do?" I asked him as we walked to the sofa and sat on it like true kings, and we felt like that all the time because it was in our blood and royalty ran in our veins.
"I do." Lazar accepted truthfully. I felt good about such people who accept their diabolical sides and relish in it, unlike the liars who pretend to be good but are nothing but fake bodies.
"You like it too, brother." He pointed out, his gray eyes shining. Where I have light brown hair, sharp features, and stormy gray eyes, Lazar has blond hair and dark gray eyes. He resembled me, but not much. I often heard a lot that I'm intimidating, whereas Lazar was found attractive and approachable at first glance, if not for his tattoos.
"That's the problem, Bratushka (little brother)." I sipped on my vodka as I swirled the drink, my eyes fixed on the circles that the liquid made in waves.
"I enjoyed it a bit too much," I murmured, my voice low and distant. He heard it. And a smirk donned his lips. "No wonder everyone is terrified of you," Lazar mused.
After my father's death, I took the seat of a pakhan and ruled for five years; my name was enough for terror to seep into my enemies' veins. Those were the most ruthless years in the history of our bratva, but when I noticed Lazar was old enough to handle the responsibility. I backed off. Not for others, never. But for myself.
I was becoming a monster by all means. I'm aware I'm a monster, but I wanted to hold onto the tiny streak of humanity in me that wasn't there, though, but I wanted to believe it.
I relocated to New York. Away from my world, and brought my degree to use and became a professor. It was boring, I often had an urge to kill, but I'm restraining myself and wanted to see how far I can go.
"Why are you here?"
"So I could form a treaty with a Yakuza from Japan. Sicilian Mafia is a f*cking pain in the ass. Once I get the Yakuza on my side, I'm going to rip the Sicilian Mafia to shreds," Lazar gritted, his rage visible. I don't blame him.
Those f*ckers were powerful. Spanish and Italian Mafia in one. And those f*ckers were ruthless too. Just like me. That was why they were still strong and unbreakable.
"You know where to find me if you need my help," I said, and he chuckled. "Of course, brother." He said, lowering his gaze for a fleeting second.
"Mother misses you. You should come visit her sometimes," Lazar said, and a sudden ache tugged in my chest.
"I will," I said as my phone vibrated.
It was the hunt invitation and had the list and pictures of all the participants. I joined this top-class sadistic club, but never participated in any of the hunts. But my eyes zeroed in on a specific picture. Those hazel ocean eyes, small button nose, and that beautiful smile.
How could I not recognize that? Isabella Martinez, participant number 7, color black. 5'4, hourglass figure, inexperienced, first hunt, taste-mild. Without a blink, I marked her, and my participation was sent.
My heart beat accelerated just at the thought of hunting her down as I chugged down my drink and placed the glass on the table, I almost slammed it, luckily it didn't break.
Lazar must've noticed the change in me as he narrowed his eyes, smirking. "Brother, your eyes are shining. What got you so f*cking excited? A free kill perhaps?" He mused as I chuckled, still in disbelief, as I got to my feet, shoving my phone in my pocket.
"I need to go, I'll meet you again," I said, because I need to get to that place fast; I barely have time.
"Of course, Nikolai. Enjoy." Lazar winked as I tipped my head and left.
F*ck!
Why the f*ck was she participating in such a thing? How the hell did she find out about such a place? What the f*ck was going on in her pretty little head? Why did she elaborate on her body shape? What was wrong with her? And then there she goes on becoming a saint in front of me.
I shook my head as a dangerous smirk caressed my lips, my eyes glinting, heart pounding as I pushed the accelerator.
Little Dove doesn't even know what was going to hit her, and when I'm done with her, she'll crave for more because I ain't letting her go.
"Let the chase begin," I grinned.