Bratva Vows Complete Box Set_ A Dark Mafia Romance - SR Jones Page 0,3

her up in a flat, and didn’t touch her until she reached nineteen. Then he used her for these last few years. Same as the girl before her. Although, she only held his interest for two years before he let her go with a nice payoff. Mistress/whore, it’s a hard distinction to make. It seems he likes serial monogamy, though, so far as any affairs go. Doesn’t like to fuck around with lots of different women, and I think I know why.

The man is a germaphobe. I once saw a waitress in tears after he sent his cutlery back twice for being dirty, when it was spotless. He always uses a hand gel whenever he sits at the table, and I’ve seen him inspect his glass carefully before drinking from it, holding it up to the light and turning it around and around.

Maybe that is why he likes virgins.

I can be a virgin for him.

I practically am. I’ve only had sex twice with my childhood sweetheart, the one who told me I sucked, before life went to shit. I gave up sex along with everything else. What with tampons and the vigorous sports young girls do today, virgins don’t always bleed. Allyov won’t have any reason to believe I’m not untouched, even if we get that far, which if I have my way, we won’t. I’ll hopefully get what I need before sex has to happen.

I go to my locker and take out my bag. It’s a simple rucksack, nothing fancy. I don’t have the money to own designer bags or the finer things in life, which is fine by me. Those things are nice, but they aren’t a necessity. Right now, my life is all about necessity and getting the task done. The one I set for myself after my father died.

“Hey, Violet, I hear the mysterious Andrius had words with you tonight?”

I turn to see Martha, who is one of the few people here I chat to. She’s pretty, with a wicked sense of humor, and a taste in clothes I wish I could get away with. She’s about five-feet-nine with a lean, toned physique that lends itself to her biker chick look.

Me, I don’t know what my look is. Between growing up with a paranoid father who kept me hidden away, then losing dad, losing the house, and struggling to survive; I’ve kind of missed those years when you experiment with fashion and sex. Nightlife, drinking, and drugs. It’s all passed me by.

“Yeah, barely two words,” I laugh as I speak. I don’t want to let on to her how much my short interaction with him bothered me.

“God, I wish he’d say two words to me; he’s gorgeous.”

He is, but he’s far scarier than he is hot. Any semblance of sexiness is wiped out by the cold look in those cool eyes of his, and the knowledge of what he does with his hands.

“I’d give anything for him to give me a glance. I bet he’s an animal in bed; he’s got that thing about him, you know?”

I don’t, and I look at her, intrigued. “What thing?”

“An attitude, one which only a few men exude. A quiet confidence that tells the whole world he’s hard as fuck, can take on all comers, and is hot like a thousand burning suns. He’s got a big dick; you can tell.”

“You are obsessed,” I tell her.

“I’ve not mentioned him before,” she pouts.

I laugh. “No, I mean with sex. You need to get laid.”

“I do; it’s been a long dry spell.”

I can’t imagine why. She’s gorgeous. Her hair is cropped close to her head, and the only makeup she seems to wear is a hot pink lipstick, which looks amazing against her ebony skin. Right now, she’s pulling on a black t-shirt with a glitter skull on the front, with dark skinny jeans, and her biker boots. Her waitress uniform of a white shirt and black skirt is stashed in her locker.

“You ought to go to a rough dive and find a biker to have sex with,” I tell her.

“You trying to say I need to slum it?” she asks.

“No, not slum it, but you hang out with all those towny types who go to trendy bars, and I think you’re more of a biker girl.”

“Maybe.” She cocks her head to one side, a devilish glint in her eye. “I’ll go if you’ll come with me?”

Oh, no. I’ll end up drunk and doing something stupid. I don’t tolerate alcohol. I get