The Hacker (Chicago Bratva #5) Read Online Renee Rose

Categories Genre: Crime, Mafia, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
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“I…have to disagree. I think she’d be overjoyed to know you’re both alive. You may not be proud of what happened in the past, but I think she could see beyond it. I mean, I don’t know what you’ve done—and I don’t want to know—” she adds quickly, “but no matter what it is, I know you’re both good men.”

“How do you know this thing, Natasha?”

“I just know.” I hear that note of stubbornness in her voice, and it makes a smile tug at my lips.

Natasha gasps, lifting her head and gripping my forearm.

Every muscle in my body tenses, the need to protect her a white-hot scream, but then I see what she does.

A doe.

A beautiful, big-eyed doe staring straight at us.

Natasha’s fingers tighten on my forearm to convey her excitement. “Dima,” she breathes, barely making a sound.

We hold perfectly still, watching our forest friend as she dips her head and bites a tuft of sweet grass. When she lifts her head again, she slowly chews it, pinning us again with her beautiful gaze.

“I love her,” Natasha whispers. “I love her so much.”

It’s a funny thing to say. Not that she loves seeing a deer, but she loves the doe. The one she’s only known for thirty seconds.

This is what makes Natasha special. Miraculous. One of a kind.

Every moment that passes it feels like she’s pulling me into the world of the living—falling in love with animals. Calling my actions sweet.

None of that feels wrong.

Our doe turns and majestically walks into the forest, and only when she’s out of sight do we turn and look at each other.

“That was amazing,” Natasha sighs, a little smile playing around her lips.

I kiss her forehead. “You’re amazing.”

I’m starting to wonder if she could be right—that Nikolai getting shot wasn’t the most horrible thing that’s ever happened.

Even though I don’t get to keep Natasha, I get this.

I had this moment with her.

And it feels like a gift.

It’s not enough, but I’ll take it.

We won’t be here much longer. Dr. Taylor, the vet, said Nikolai can start to get up and move around now when he wants, and Natasha took his IV out today. Another day or two is all I have with her.

Another day or two of exquisite torture.

And then maybe I can sleep at night without fucking my fist for an hour to stop thinking about her.

Maybe we can stay friends until she leaves for naturopathy school.

But no. Even as I think it, I know I’ve pushed this thing between us way farther than it should go. Even though I’ve been honest about not being available for a relationship, we’re developing one.

And to let it go on would be a cruelty to both of us.

15

Dima

I’m in the hot tub with Natasha. Just as friends. We’re in the hot tub, watching a movie together, her legs tangled over mine, her head leaning on my shoulder.

It’s a horror movie, and she cuddles closer and closer until she’s on my lap, her soft wet ass nesting over my junk. And then it’s not the hot tub anymore, it’s the couch, and I have my hand between her legs, running my middle finger along her juicy slit. She starts moaning and arching, and I penetrate her… but then I hear Alyona’s voice. She’s in the cabin—in my room talking to Nikolai.

I need to get Natasha off my lap, except I can’t seem to move her. I keep trying, keep remembering I need to stop touching her, need to push her off my lap, and get up, but I can never seem to get up.

I wake with my heart racing and a boner the size of the Spasskaya Tower. Guilt coats the inside of my mouth, turns my stomach sour.

Beside me, Nikolai groans as he lurches to his feet to go to the bathroom on his own. Dr. Taylor gave him the go-ahead to get vertical again, if he’s feeling it.

“Need help?” I ask in Russian.

“Nyet.” He hobbles slowly, killing me with his sharp breaths, but I’m not going to hover. Nikolai’s not a baby, and he doesn’t want my sympathy.

My dream made me crabby as hell. I don’t need Carl Jung to interpret it for me. All my dreams since I got here have been pretty fucking obvious. My sins mashed up and rearranged for me to review, to remember what an utter piece of shit I am.

I can’t touch Natasha again. Not a chaste kiss. Not a cuddle. Nothing.

No more sunset walks in the forest. No watching movies together on the couch at night.

I need some fucking distance.

In fact, I’ll call Ravil today to ask if he’s okay with us coming back to the Kremlin. I don’t think we need to hide out anymore—it’s been six days, and nothing’s happened with Alex, other than his visit to the Kremlin, which seemed more off-the-job than FBI sanctioned. Seems like he would’ve come with a partner if it was official FBI business.


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