My Russian Beast: Standalone Billionaire Romance (16 page)

F
our years
ago

M
isha Grachyov
absently walked down the hallway, his gaze trained on the medical journal he was reading. Tall, dark-haired, and silver-eyed, he made head turns whenever he went, and with his imposing height and hard-hewn body, he looked more like a Cossack warrior than anything else.

Or at least Cossack warriors who also happened to wear glasses and a lab coat over his school uniform.

“Hey, Misha.”

“Hi, Misha.”

“Good morning, Misha.”

Both male and female students he walked past were eager to greet the town’s hottest nerd, half out of sheer admiration and infatuation, the other half in hopes of exploiting a friendship with any of the Grachyov brothers. The Grachyovs were the wealthiest family in this side of California, and everyone knew that each son was slated to inherit at least a billion dollars from their Russian magnate father.

Misha walked past all of them without a glance.

Everyone silently sighed in disappointment, all of them having secretly hoped they’d be the one to break Misha’s legendary concentration. A moment later, the sighs turned into scowls and glares when they saw their target slow down in front of Room 1C.

They had hoped the rumors about the Grachyov brothers weren’t true, but now that Seri Devereaux was in high school with them, there was no escaping reality.

Misha Grachyov had a sister complex.

S
eri rushed
out of her classroom the moment she saw who was waiting outside. What was he doing here?

A small group of girls had formed a circle around Misha by the time she reached him. They were all fawning over her brother, flirting with their gazes and cooing words, but Misha appeared oblivious to them all.

She tapped Misha on the shoulder. “Hey, Misha.”

He looked up right away, as if her voice was the only sound his ears recognized, and Seri could feel the other girls glaring harder at her back.

“Seri.” He smiled down at her. And then he blinked, as if only seeing the girls around them for the first time. He smiled at them, too, and the girls sighed.
Out loud.

Seri mentally shook her head. Misha was so clueless. If he weren’t her stepbrother, she would have thought he was faking it. But because she had known him since she was five and had lived with him and the other boys since she was eleven, Seri knew it was real.

Misha was the hottest and most clueless nerd there was.

Ever.

“So, umm, what are you doing here?”
Aside from ruining her plans of becoming anonymous
, she added silently. She had hoped high school would be different, and that maybe – just maybe – no one would know she was the Grachyov’s little sister. She had even left home ahead of her brothers, opting to walk to school rather than sharing a ride with them.

But all her efforts were useless now of course.

She wanted to get mad at Misha, but how could she, the way he was ruffling her hair with a fond smile on his face?

“Do I need a reason to see my little dove?” Misha teased.

Seri mentally cringed, knowing his pet name would just make the girls more jealous of her. She opened her mouth to tell him that he wasn’t ever to call her ‘little dove’ in public, if he still wanted her to live, but then she saw the affection in Misha’s silvery gaze---

Seri said weakly, “”I’m happy to see you, too.” She could feel the number of glares that was being sent her way doubling as she spoke.

Yup,
she thought morosely.
I’m definitely going to get bullied again.

He raised his hand, lifting something up at eye level. “I also came here to give you this.”

Guilt singed her cheeks when she saw what he was holding. “Sorry,” Seri mumbled as she took her lunchbox from Misha. She knew how much work Fyodor put in every day, personally preparing her lunch, and this despite the fact that her stepfather had a full-time chef in his employ. It was a probably a Russian thing, the way they took deathbed promises a little too seriously. As part of his vow of being both Seri’s Mama and Papa, Fyodor had committed to doing everything Marianna used to do for her daughter.

Like,
everything,
to the point of even taking online classes for the art of bento making.

“I’ll text Papa later, I promise,” Seri told Misha.

He patted her head. “Don’t forget your lunch next time, da?”

She nodded, hoping that would be the end of it.

But unfortunately, it wasn’t.

Misha actually leaned back against the doorframe, looking like he didn’t mind spending forever with her.

Which was great and all
, Seri thought, if there didn’t happen to be scores of other girls in the same hallway, all wanting a piece of Misha…as much as they wanted to tear
her
into pieces.

Clearing her throat, she asked, “Aren’t you worried you’ll be late for class?”

Misha only shrugged. “Not really.”

Right.
She had forgotten about the teensy weensy fact that Misha could have graduated high school at thirteen. Only he didn’t ---

“I wish the school would reconsider letting me sit in with your class,” Misha grumbled.

Because of that.

Misha had a huge sister complex over her, to the point that he had been okay with twiddling his thumbs in high school just to spend more time with Seri.

“It’s unfair that Sergei gets to teach your class while I get stuck with only seeing my cute little sister during breaks---”

She said uneasily, “Umm, Misha---”

“And Vassi’s the lucky bastard because---”

The school bell rang, cutting him off.

Thank you, Mother of Russia!

Trying not to show relieved she was, she said, “I gotta go, Misha. Class is about to start.”

Misha reluctantly pushed himself off the doorway. “Will you be meeting with your voice coach later?”

“Err, no. Why?”

“Great.” Misha’s grin had the girls behind Seri giggling.

“I can have lunch with you and Davey then.” The giggles stopped, and the intense scowling resumed, enough to burn a hole at Seri’s back.

He placed a kiss on the top of her forehead.

Derr mo.
That meant ‘shit’ in Russian.

“See ya, little dove.”

Srat.
This still meant shit.

Seri tried to creep back to her seat as inconspicuously as possible, but it was no use. As she got to her seat, another student deliberately shoved her from behind, snarling under her breath, “Die, you bitch.”

And so it begins,
Seri thought with a silent sigh, just another day in her not-so-ordinary life as stepsister to the Grachyov brothers.

F
irst period was Business Math
, something unique to their school because it aimed for its students to be responsible Fortune 500 heirs. It was, however, a subject Seri didn’t look forward to, and not just because she was abysmal with numbers.

Students rushed to their seats when Professor Alexeyev came in, followed moments later by his aide, the nineteen-year-old Sergei Grachyov. The two were nearly identical, being both tall dark-haired men with the same impeccable taste in suits.

“Everyone, open your book to page 15,” the professor said as he took his seat. Without looking up from his book, the professor continued, “Graded recitation for today.”

A cry of protest rose from the class.

He looked up. “What’s wrong? Did I forget to tell you about this?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I did, didn’t I?” He smiled languidly. “It’s a surprise then.”

The class groaned.

Professor Alexeyev glanced at his aide. “Sergei, call out the five students with the lowest scores in last week’s quiz.”

“Yes, professor.” Sergei took the clipboard from the desk. “Annabelle Raymond?”

A blonde girl sauntered forward with an exaggerated sway of her hips.

“Please answer the first question of Exercise 15.”

She fluttered her lashes at Sergei. “Which page is that, Sergei? Could you show it to me?” She leaned forward to show him her book, but everyone knew it was just a ploy to show off her cleavage. Annabelle had unbuttoned the first few buttons of her blouse, enough to have a hint of her lacy bra peeking out.

“Thank you, Annabelle. You may return to your seat.” Sergei started scribbling on the clipboard.

The girl’s jaw dropped open. “But I haven’t answered anything yet.”

Sergei looked up. “You don’t have to. If you can’t even remember instructions given by the professor less than fifteen minutes ago, I highly doubt you’d be capable of answering the question.” His smile and tone were both pleasant, but his dark eyes were chillingly dismissive.

Annabelle ran out of the class sobbing.

Sergei’s gaze returned to the clipboard. “Heather Tully?”

The brunette seated in front of the class stood up. “Shall I answer number 1?”

“Yes, please.”

She did so quickly, and when she was done, she sidled up next to Seri’s brother, practically rubbing her breasts against his arm as she asked, “Is it correct?”

Sergei glanced at the board. “Yes.” His tone became dry. “Unfortunately, the way you insist on flirting with someone who’s already turned you down several times is not.”

With an outraged gasp, Heather raised her hand to slap Sergei’s face, and Seri held her breath.
Dear Mother of Russia, was she really going to slap Seri’s brother? And if she did, wasn’t Seri supposed to stop it?

But Sergei didn’t appear bothered at all.

He only raised a brow, asking softly, “Are you certain you’d like to do that?” His voice lowered, and the rest of the class strained their ears to hear him as he murmured, “Just be warned that if you do, what little chance you have of dating me when you graduate will completely disappear.”

Heather lowered her hand.

Oooooh.
The class shook their heads in admiration as Heather skulked back to her seat, obviously unwilling to gamble said little chance.

“How appallingly cold of you, Sergei,” Professor Alexeyev said mockingly.

His aide only shrugged. “Garth Drummond?”

The boy wrote his answer for the second question, was corrected by the professor, and went back to his seat without fuss.

Sergei frowned.

Seri gulped. She had a bad feeling about this.

Her brother looked up. “Seri Devereaux.”

B’lyad.
That meant ‘fuck’ and right now, she was so fucked.

She slowly made her way to the front of the class with her book gripped tightly in her hands.

When she reached Sergei, she held her breath, wondering if Sergei would scold her for having one of the lowest grades in last week’s test.

But instead, her brother smiled.

Which was worse.

He took the book from her hand and flipped it open to the exercise they were working on. “We’re going to answer number 3, baby girl.”

And that was strike one for her,
Seri thought with an inner wince. If looks could kill, she would have died about thirty-five times by now, at the hands of each and every girl in her class.

“You know the answer to it?” Sergei was asking.

“Umm, no?”

Sergei drew her towards the board, saying easily, “That’s okay. I’ll show you how to solve it. That’s what I’m here for.”

Professor Alexeyev coughed, while people’s gazes began boring through Seri’s back.

Strike two,
she thought glumly.

Sergei wrote the equation and answer on the board in seconds. “That’s how you solve it. Want me to explain it for you?”

Not unless I want to die
, Seri thought and out loud, she said quickly, “No need, I, umm, get it now.”

Sergei had a concerned frown on his face. “Are you certain?”

She nodded vehemently.

He ruffled her hair. “If you say so.”

As she turned her back to return to her seat, she heard the professor sigh, “A little bird told me that the only reason you turned down the internship from Geneva was because you wanted to stick close to your sister---”

Seri jerked at the words.

Strike three.

“I guess it’s true.”

Someone suddenly stuck her foot out as Seri walked past and she tripped over it, falling painfully to her knees.

Before Seri could even cry out, Sergei was already next to her, helping her up. “What’s wrong?”

You are.

You all are.

But then she saw the concern in his gaze, and swallowing back the words, Seri shook her head, mumbling, “You know how clumsy I am.” Mother of Russia, she was such a pushover when it came to her boys, and they weren’t even emotionally blackmailing her.

T
hird period was P.E.
, and Seri finally had some time to be alone, seated at the top row of the bleachers while the rest of the class was below, yelling their lungs out for cheer practice. Lying down, she was about to take a nap when a shadow fell over her, and her eyes opened.

A startlingly handsome face with hair and eyes the color of silver greeted her.

“Vassi,” Seri gasped and sat up so quickly she ended up bumping her head hard with the guy’s chin.

Vassi grunted in pain, saying dryly, “I guess that means you miss me?”

“I can’t believe you’re here!” She threw her arms around him as he took his seat next to her. The youngest of the Grachyov brothers, Vassi was only a year older than Seri at fifteen. Even so, he still towered over her by a foot, and his lean frame was just as muscular as his older brothers.

He was also her favorite, and Seri had never made a secret of it.

Grinning at the bear hug she gave him, he teased, “You haven’t answered my question. Have you missed me, leech?”

“You know I did.” She hugged him even more tightly.

Pulling away, he smiled down at her and said simply, “I missed you too, leech.”

“When did you return?” she asked. “And how long are you going to stay? When’s your next project?” His last one had been a fashion shoot in Belgium, and she had thought he would be gone for at least another week for it. Being a Grachyov, he could miss as many days of classes as he needed and the school wouldn’t even blink.