The Bobrov Bratva Series by Shandi Boyes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

The Bobrov Bratva Series by Shandi Boyes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Wed, 16 Aug 2023 21:45:29 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png The Bobrov Bratva Series by Shandi Boyes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Deadly Intentions (The Bobrov Bratva #4) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.books2020.com/deadly-intentions-the-bobrov-bratva-4-read-online-shandi-boyes Wed, 16 Aug 2023 21:45:29 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/deadly-intentions-the-bobrov-bratva-4-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: The Bobrov Bratva Series by Shandi Boyes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >113

Matvei Ivanov is everything his reputation perceives.

Arrogant. Untouchable. Deadly. He is a man who knows what he wants, and for some unfathomable reason, he wants me. But I am not a free woman. I’m on the run, and have as many secrets as the domineeringly mysterious stranger, though you’d never guess that when I toss caution to the wind for a deal too good to be true. I refuse to be bought… but being wholly consumed by someone convinced I deserve better doesn’t come with a price tag. It only turns costly when I learn more than my heart is on the line

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

NATALYA

Polina:

Drinks at Rule’s Taproom? 10 p.m. Entertainment is on me ;)

After following Polina, my friend and boss, to the SUV my bodyguard imported to Russia like they don’t already have emasculating cars, I type a message to the man Polina assumed I was contacting when I seconded her cell phone.

Polina is “dating” Vasily Cabanow, a seedy business owner who busts a nut every time a female under the age of twenty-five enters Polina’s boutique clothing store. I use the word “dating” loosely because despite her assurance she has a “thing” for Mr. Dishonorable, I know her better than that.

We’ve become close over the past six months. She wasn’t given much choice on her army of foot soldiers when everyone she cared about abandoned her within days of each other, but whatever. If I can forget she’s as old as dirt, she can look past the fact I’m a bad influence.

I won’t lie. It’s been a fun few months. Polina’s worldliness has matured me a smidge, and I’ve reminded her that thirty isn’t anywhere close to ancient.

Polina:

Going out with Nat. Call you when I’m home safe and sound and snuggled in my bed with nothing but my pillow between my legs.

My fake gag about Polina’s jaded love life turns real when Vasily’s reply pops up on the screen of Polina’s phone.

Vasily:

I’ll meet you at the end of Novaya Avenue at ten.

Polina:

In the morning?

Surely he can’t mean tonight. By the time we reach the entertainment district of Kronstadt, it’ll be time for Polina to go home. An early dismissal could ruin plans I’ve been ruminating over all week.

Polina will never admit it, but she’s a lightweight. After a couple of glasses of wine, her lips could sink ships. That’s how I know she isn’t with Vasily because he makes her kitty purr. She might have everyone in her now minuscule inner circle convinced she’s a virgin, but I know the name she moans when she’s ringing the devil’s doorbell.

It isn’t Mr. Anal, who kills my mojo more than the micro dick I’m confident he shoves into his trunks each morning.

Vasily:

Funny. See you soon.

“Probably just enough time for you to remove your tongue from the ear of the latest fool you’re schmoozing,” I gabber under my breath while plonking my scarcely covered backside onto the leather seat next to Polina and across from Taylor and Millie.

“What was that?” Polina asks, making me realize I said my statement out loud.

“Um…” Taylor, my roommate and best friend, gives me a sympathetic look when my nose screws up. Thinking on the spot will never be my strong point. “I said your hair looks pretty.”

If honesty were graded and this were my final exam, I’d have a big fat F marked next to my name.

Don’t get me wrong. Polina is gorgeous. Her face is timeless, her body rocking, and she has tits that seem to defy gravity, but her hair hasn’t worn its voluptuous waves in months.

The last time was a couple of weeks after the day she thought dark storm clouds would keep her consumers away.

I wasn’t meant to be working that day but had put away enough funds for a sexy little number. I got more than I bargained for when I attempted to sneak in via the back entrance of the boutique.

Polina was being taken hard and fast against the outside wall of her boutique.

This is the part of the story where I’m meant to say I walked away and gave Polina and Yev the privacy they deserve.

I can’t say that if I don’t want my grade to drop below an F.

What? I bet you never turn a blind eye to fireworks, and neither do I.

I didn’t stay for the final bang, but I watched long enough to get the adrenaline running through my veins as potently as it does when Saka, my bodyguard, makes good headway with the traffic.

We arrive at the nightlife district of Kronstadt with almost twenty minutes to spare.

Yev’s apartment is further away from this part of town than Polina’s boutique, but my message would have any red-blooded man interested. It was provocative yet tasteful. My personality to a T.

I’ve only just stuffed Polina’s cell phone into the middle console with Taylor’s, Millie’s, and mine when she says, “Hold on. I want to see what Vas said before you store my phone away.”

The gags keep coming, but only as long as it takes me to come up with a lie. “He said something about cruising by later and to have fun.”

My last three words ruin it for me. With her brow arched in silent interrogation, Polina confirms, “Vasily Cabanow told me to have fun?”

My nod is weak and pathetic and sees me called out as a liar in under a nanosecond.

“All right,” I yell while re-snatching Polina’s phone out of her hand.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >113

Advertisement Devious Intentions (The Bobrov Bratva #3) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.books2020.com/devious-intentions-the-bobrov-bratva-3-read-online-shandi-boyes Tue, 20 Jun 2023 02:21:23 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/devious-intentions-the-bobrov-bratva-3-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Suspense Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: The Bobrov Bratva Series by Shandi Boyes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >95

I had everything until I had nothing… Before his brother’s murder, Yev was playful, confident, way too young for me, and domineering enough to utter three words no man was game to ruminate much less speak. Crawl to me. Loving him was reckless. It scared the shit out of me, so you can imagine how hard the task became when an addiction was the only thing capable of swallowing his grief. He’s a shell of a man he was once was, but not all his devious tendencies center around his brother’s murder. Most are because of me. I’m the reason he returned to Russia, his sole purpose to continue breathing. Except I’m betrothed to another, and unless I want everyone of importance in my life to slip through my fingers as they has Yev’s, it must stay that way. This isn’t a fairytale. There is no guaranteed happily ever after, but I’d be a liar if I said one look into Yev’s pained eyes didn’t have me wanting to wage a war. I’m certain he’d protect me as well as I’d protect him even with him being the one I need protecting from the most.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

YEV

“Knees. Now.”

You have no fucking idea how hard it is not to bang my chest when a woman as effortlessly refined as Polina Kotova immediately follows my command. Her flawless face, dick-aching body, and knee-weakening smile made her my first official spank bank inductee eight years ago, but now not only do I get to sample everything she has to offer, but I also get to boss her around.

The remembrance makes my dick leak with pre-cum, which doubles the hungry gleam in Polina’s icy blue eyes since her kneeled position puts her in direct line with my erect cock.

We’ve been fooling around for the past few weeks. It wasn’t meant to be anything serious, simply the release of the bottled-up tension we were forced to lock away for years when her older brother requested I follow his girl to Sicily.

Don’t misconstrue what I’m saying. Alek isn’t a complete fucking tool. He knew what I didn’t want to acknowledge at the time.

I had no right chasing a woman like Polina.

I had nothing to my name, attitude in abundance, and was way too fucking young to realize why those two points were my biggest issues.

I would have fucked everything up, so Alek nabbed the opportunity before I could.

I hated him for it the first couple of weeks in Italy, but as all the bullshit artists say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. It also matured me, stuffed my bank account with enough funds to impress a woman with tastes as honed as Polina’s, and ensured I knew after smearing the sheets with perfection not to go searching for her replacement before the sheets had gone cold.

I’m not saying I would have stepped out on Polina if she had given me a chance all those years I’d chased her like a lost puppy, but I can’t offer any guarantees, either.

What can I say? I was a dick.

I still am now, but luckily for me, Polina craves dominance in the bedroom. She is a princess on the streets but a whore between the sheets, and I fucking love that I get the privilege of seeing both sides of her.

Lust hangs heavily on my vocal cords when I demand, “Now crawl to me.”

A throbbing surge pulses through my dick when the quickest flare of defiance gleams through her eyes before she slowly crawls my way. Her luscious blonde locks swish around her gorgeous face as her knees—that don’t look like they’ve been scuffed by hard work once in their life—redden from the thick carpet pile digging into them, but the need in her eyes keeps my cock firm enough to bounce a nickel off.

Christ, she makes my dick ache.

Pure.

Fucking.

Dynamite.

As Polina stops at my heel, kneeling in front of my erection standing tall and proud, I picture the many ways I’ve taken her the past four weeks—in my car, in the dressing room of her boutique clothing store, and in the dusty lot of one of the underground fight circuits I’ve frequented since my return to Kronstadt.

I’ve fucked her seven ways from Sunday and still can’t get enough.

I’d almost given up the chance when weeks of chasing resulted in nothing but blue balls, but I got there in the end—eventually.

Thank fuck for weather events not even God can control.

It gave me an in and saved me from months of torment.

Every painful jab my cock endured when I faked how good she’d feel wrapped around it was instantly worth it the first time I took her against the wall of her boutique. A typhoon was raging, but it set the backdrop for a romp that can only be classified in two ways.

Perfect and bewildering.

Just like her.

I’m a cocky fuck who knows he has the world at his feet, but my underhanded acknowledgment that I’m bedding a girl way out of my league rings in my voice when I ask, “Do you want to swallow my cum now, Polly, or after I’ve stuffed my cock in every hole you own?”

She’s miffed about the nickname she hates, but she’s on her knees, inches from my dick, so her lips only part for one reason.

To suck my cock.

“Mouth it is.”

While swiping the glistening crown across her red-painted lips to gloss them up more, I recall the time Alek found her in a room with a low-ranked member of his crew. Polina’s brother is a take-no-shit Russian gangster who ran the streets long before I started living on them. When he put an official do-not-touch order on his baby sister, he meant it, so picture his response when he found Polina semi naked in the bed of a bottom-dweller.

Pavel’s face didn’t have a smattering of bruises like I’m confident mine will when I confess to Alek that I want more than messy sheets from his baby sister.

It didn’t fucking exist.

Alek beat the living shit out of him, and I would have backed up his campaign with my gun if Feo hadn’t dragged me out of the party before I commenced digging my grave alongside Pavel’s.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >95

Advertisement Sinful Intentions (The Bobrov Bratva #2) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.books2020.com/sinful-intentions-the-bobrov-bratva-2-read-online-shandi-boyes Mon, 01 May 2023 20:22:28 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/sinful-intentions-the-bobrov-bratva-2-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Dark, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: The Bobrov Bratva Series by Shandi Boyes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >92

Sometimes you believe the only way you can protect the ones you love is to let them go. It’s a lie. Four years ago, the only woman I’ve ever loved left me after a ton of heated words and a gut-wrenching promise to never return. I should have chased her—when Ana runs, I’m meant to catch her. It’s how we operate—but a war was erupting, and I no longer believed I was the right man to protect her. That changes when she returns to Russia to repay her father’s massive debt. More than money is on the line, and I refuse to make the same mistake twice. Anastasia is mine, and I’ll take down any fool with an opposing opinion. Sinful Intentions is an age-gap mafia romance. Although it is part of the Bobrov Bratva series, it can be read as a standalone. It does have some triggers, though not quite as many Wicked Intentions.

Check author’s website for TWs.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

ALEK

My knuckles pop when I follow Kirill and two of his men into a seedy strip club on the outskirts of Kronstadt. Kirill is a piece of shit mafia leader I’d never heard of until my ride-or-die brother stumbled onto his lineage.

Ghost was unnamed, unaged, and on the fast track to juvie when we became friends shortly after my ninth birthday. Everyone called him Ghost because his hair was as white as a snowflake the first ten years of his life before it was dirtied by the lifestyle we were forced to live to keep food in our stomachs.

The boys’ home we lived in until the day I turned fourteen provided a roof over our heads, but if we didn’t want to go hungry and wear holey shoes handed down from the boys older than us, we had to get the rest ourselves.

It wasn’t done legally.

Don’t paint me with the same dirty brush that darkened Ghost’s hair. We were more the Robin Hoods of Russia. We stole from the rich and gave it to the poor.

We just so happened to also be the poor who benefited from our criminal ways.

We got busted a handful of times, but sometimes that was the point. We still had to fight for a share of the food in juvie, but it was done in the mess hall instead of icy back alleys that could kill a man standing up if you didn’t keep moving to stop your blood from freezing in your veins.

Our summer months were spent implementing the plans we made while locked away.

Well, except for that one summer.

Her hair is as blonde as the first whore Kirill picks to take home for the night and her tits as sweltering as his second pick. I’m lost for similarities with his third, and I am honestly clueless about why he wants her. I’ve always been a one-for-your-mouth, one-for-your-dick kind of man. A third will only get lost in the process of being so fucking exhausted you’ll spend the day in bed.

“He’s done for the night,” I murmur into the cell phone I recently squashed to my ear. “His picks are made.”

Ghost sounds as peeved as I feel, but it has nothing to do with his girl being married to Kirill and everything to do with his baby sister and niece being disrespected in front of our competitors. This strip club is owned by Maksim Ivanov, a badass gangster who has no issues bringing a woman to her knees with a stern backhand slap, but unlike Kirill, he is a one-woman man.

Despite the miscommunication of my above comment, I’m the same way. When I am snowed under—by a woman, not coke—I don’t fuck around. When you’re my girl, I’ll pretend the only multitasking I can do is choking you out while fucking you from behind so hard and fast you’ll be searching for your uterus for a week.

When Kirill slips into the back of the SUV in the middle of a long line of many, I push my cell closer to my ear so I can hear Ghost’s answer over the thumping music booming around the club-like atmosphere when I ask, “Want me to stay with Kate?”

I’ve kept an eye on Katie since her consignment slip landed on my desk over seven months ago—approximately a day before Ghost asked me to. I don’t know what it is about her, but she’s had me acting like I did years ago when I stumbled onto my first girl not born for the grittiness of my life.

My feelings aren’t sexually motivated this time around, though. Not only would Ghost have my nuts on a platter within a second of sniffing out any type of romantic feelings, but my heart also still only pines for one girl.

She wasn’t a picture of innocence like Katie—and the worst headache I’ve ever fucking faced in my life—but my desire to protect her was immediate, and it wouldn’t quit for anything.

I’m drawn from thoughts that’ll see me strung out for days when Ghost asks, “How many did Kirill pluck from the limited pool at The Penthouse?”

While straying my eyes around the hundred or so topless women keeping the clientele at The Penthouse entertained with tasseled breasts and sparkling G-strings, I laugh about his wrongful insinuation before replying, “Three. All blonde. His preferences are as bland as yours of late.”

That fucker hasn’t been laid in months, and I have no intention of letting him forget it. Before Katie arrived on the scene, he sought hiatus from his miserable existence with whores as much as me.

Now you’d swear he’s on a sabbatical from sex.

Ghost doesn’t take a nibble at the bait I’m dangling in front of him. That’s proof Katie has his balls in her purse. I knew it months ago, but my failure to light his short fuse tonight confirms it, let alone what he says next, “Nah. She’ll be removed from his watch soon enough.” Sparks of the cocky prick I fought and lost for the top bunk years ago shine bright like a diamond when he adds, “And from what I heard circling the crew, your knob is overdue for a polish. Some shit about it getting as rusty and corroded as the ship you last got laid on.”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >92

Advertisement Wicked Intentions (The Bobrov Bratva #1) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.books2020.com/wicked-intentions-the-bobrov-bratva-1-read-online-shandi-boyes Thu, 30 Mar 2023 14:03:27 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/wicked-intentions-the-bobrov-bratva-1-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: The Bobrov Bratva Series by Shandi Boyes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >113

I’m a ghost.
A monster.
A man without a soul.

Then I saw her. Again.
Katie Bryne had been missing for four years, presumed dead until she was paraded for sale at an auction days after her eighteenth birthday.
Her endeavor to escape caused the bids to come in hard and fast, so the last thing anyone expected was for her to be held captive in a windowless room for an additional four years.
When freedom finally presented itself, it wasn’t as either of us expected. I bought her for myself, but after lowering her to her knees, I was once again forced to alter my wants.
A Bobrov heir is more vital than my wish to bed the red hair beauty, so no matter how long I’ve craved her, I can’t touch her.
Until the temptation proves too much…

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

KATIE

Fourteen years old…

An annoying ‘woo, woo, woo’ drags me from my unconscious state. I’m groggy, my head is pounding, and my mouth feels like it is stuffed with cotton wool. I can’t remember the last time I was this thirsty. I drank at some point today, I’m sure of it, but you wouldn’t know that with how dry and scratchy my throat feels. My eyes are also burning, but there’s no chance to lubricate them since they’re covered so firmly with a rough, itchy material that blinking seems impossible.

“He-hello,” I call out, my voice as weak and pitiful as I feel.

I’ve had the same group of friends forever, so my life experiences are limited, but even with me attending an all-girls school, there’s no missing the scent surrounding me. Their deep, husky breaths are telling enough, not to mention the grubby, mannish aroma in the air. They smell like my older cousins when they leave the track after an event—stinky and sweaty.

“Wh-where are you taking me?”

I cower when my question is answered by a painful backhand to the head. With how much my skull rings in the aftermath of their assault, I can’t say I wasn’t struck with a fist. The throb of bulging knuckles against my temples announces I was hit with the back part of their hand. I’m just unsure if they had their hand closed or open.

“Замолчи,” snarls a deep, heavily accented voice.

When I bob my head again, ducking out of the firing zone before I’m hit for the second time, the sleeve of my shirt drags up the material hindering my vision. It isn’t enough to announce to the men surrounding me that my blindfold is slipping, but enough to disclose that I’m lying on the floor of what appears to be a van of some type. The metal floor is scuffed free of paint, dotted with blood and housing over a dozen pairs of boots.

Oh God.

My stomach gurgles when my eyes land on my bound feet. The fact I’m tied like an animal isn’t the shocking part. It is recalling why I’m wearing the hip-hop sneakers my mother gifted me for my birthday. I’m not meant to wear them out so they won’t get wrecked before my dance concert at the end of the year, but I snuck them out today so I wouldn’t look like a dork who attends a girls’ school while walking to the local store with Blaire, my best friend.

Oh my God, Blaire!

I sit up so fast, there’s no chance the return of my vision won’t be announced.

Quicker than I can be pulled down by a brute with an ugly face tattoo, I scan the cab of the van, seeking Blaire. We were walking to get an ice cream, not a rare occurrence for girls our age who don’t live in a town that’s seen a surge in gang-related activities over the past two years, but something new for us. My father works in insurance, and along with increased premiums came a stringent set of rules.

No boys.

No non-school activities.

And definitely no wandering the streets alone.

I thought my father was being ridiculous.

I’m almost an adult, but now I feel like a fool.

The matching neck tattoos of the men surrounding me warrant his worry, not to mention the memories that flood my head when a white cloth is placed over my mouth and nose for the second time today.

I’ve been kidnapped by men with foreign accents, and I have no clue if my best friend escaped the carnage or if she is in one of the seedy white vans following us.

By the time I wake, the ‘wooing’ rotation of tires over asphalt is replaced by a much sterner and more deafening roar. It reminds me of the trip my family took to Cabo last year, except I’m in the cargo carrier with our dog, Pebbles, instead of in the main hull of the plane with my family.

Not wanting to be drugged again, I keep my head slumped while pricking my ears. We’re definitely in a plane. My ears have the same weighted feeling they get every time I forget to chew gum during takeoff, and there’s a cold, too-high-in-the-sky briskness in the air.

I was out longer than I thought, or we’ve stayed on the East Coast because before I can roll up the bottom of my blindfold with the sleeve of my shirt, a familiar giddiness hits my stomach as the plane commences its descent.

I love the rush of takeoff, but landing makes me queasy.

It is fortunate my stomach is empty, meaning nothing but ghastly-tasting air bubbles escape my mouth during the quick descent.

Worry burns my esophagus when our landing is quickly followed by me being yanked onto my feet by an abrupt tug on my arm. Black military boots aren’t the only shoes peeking out the bottom of my blindfold. There are several pairs of running shoes, high heels, and one lady is wearing a pair of red- bottom stilettoes. I would assume she was a ringleader if her knees and shoes weren’t as scuffed as mine.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >113