Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5) (15 page)

Roksana

“I believe the punishment should fit the crime,” I say, circling the man as he dangles there, pointing his toes as he struggles to maintain contact with the floor.

“Fuck you, bitch!” he gasps. The look on his face is one of utter contempt. I’m beginning to wonder if this son of a bitch has a problem with women. Too bad for him; I abhor misogynistic men. Any man who can’t respect a strong woman is no man in my eyes.

I tutt at the sweaty man who’s looking at me with pure hatred. “Do you have a problem with women in positions of authority? I bet those aren’t the positions you prefer them to be in, are they? Head down, ass up, isn’t that how it goes?”

When he attempts to mouth off at me again, I just shake my head and cut him off. “No, no, no -- you know what your problem is? You have a big mouth.” I take the prod and place it against his lips as I hit the trigger. They instantly begin to swell when the streak of blue electricity hits them.

The puddle of urine at his feet lets me know just how much pain he’s in. The sight of it excites me more than his screams. The body has more than one way of crying out for mercy and the release of the bladder and bowels is a sure sign of distress. Yes, we have our enemy in agony, and that’s when they begin to talk. It doesn’t matter who it is, a person can only stand so much pain before they would rat out their own mother just for a little relief.

Most pray for their end to come with a bullet between their eyes so they can go quickly. But a trip to a secluded spot like this can mean hours, even days, of agony and torture before the sweet release of death.

I’m not after this guy for information, although I’ll take what I can get from him; mostly, I want recompense. This man has done what any Bratva soldier finds unthinkable—he’s spoken against the Pakhan. He has only himself to blame for his current circumstances because he invited a curse. I. Am. That. Curse.

“I love my father very much. Hearing you talk about him like he’s a washed up old man really pissed me off. That’s right, you’re spending quality time with the Pakhan’s daughter.” I lean in and whisper conspiratorially, “I had to exercise a lot of patience in that alley, you know. Everything in me wanted to blow a hole through your fucking head.”

“Why didn’t you?” His tone is pensive as if he wishes I had, and in all reality we both know he probably does. “I’m sorry,” he whispers with an air of sadness.

“That’s sweet, but too little, too late, I’m afraid. You’re sorry because you got caught. You street thugs have no respect. My father…he’s the real deal. Bratva, baby. But you? You’re nothing more than a weak-ass replica of the real thing. You don’t have the brains to be a real gangster.”

I turn to Anastasia with instructions, “You and Dmitriy get the incinerator fired up.” Their footsteps echo across the floor as they get to work. The man’s eyes follow their progress and he begins frantically shaking his head as a tear rolls down his cheek. I waggle my finger in his face, reminding him, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

“You really are going to kill that bastard for something he said,” Dmitriy observes with some surprise. You’ve
got
to now, you just referred to me by name.”

I roll my eyes at Dmitriy. Seriously? As if I would ever let someone speak against my father and not demand justice for such disrespect.

“You know it. This ain’t my first rodeo.” I smile and bat my eyelashes in his direction. “Speaking of names,” I say with a frown, turning to our guest, “what’s your name? No, forget it, I don’t care. You won’t need a name after tonight.”

“What do you mean, incinerator?!” the offender shrieks, panicking as he looks at each of us in turn, as if deciding where to best direct his pleas for his life. “Man, you can’t do that shit. I have to be buried.”
Ahh, criminals; superstitious right to the end
.

I lean in with a smile of pure hatred. “You should have thought of that when you were shit talking my father, hmm?”

Oleg approaches the guy and the combination of his feral expression and predatory body language causes my inner walls to clench with a surge of liquid heat that takes my breath.
I’m already slick and ready for him. Oh, the fucking is going to be so good tonight
.

“She’s not a man. I am.”

“I don’t think he meant it literally, Oleg,” I chuckle, directing my attention back to the man who’s now standing in his own piss. “You know,” I begin dramatically, using the deepest masculine voice I can muster, “electricity and piss don’t mix, so this is probably going to hurt. Time for you to man-up.”

I circle him and let the tip of the prod graze his body as I move, smiling at his writhing efforts to elude it. I let this go on for a while, knowing how Oleg enjoys it. Eventually, the guy exhausts himself and his body dangles in utter stillness. I point the prod right at his crotch, ignoring his whimper as I slide the tip inside the front flap of his briefs. The fabric is drenched in urine and clings to his flesh, so the outline of his flaccid dick isn’t hard to find. I press the prod against his limp flesh, lazily stroking the end of the implement up and down his length. Not that there’s much going on there, and really, who can blame him? But the human body instinctively seeks relief in any form when it’s in distress, and eventually I can see the telltale signs of an erection pushing against his piss-drenched briefs.

I meet Oleg’s eyes over the guy’s shoulder, knowing he’ll be furious with me. He gives me a searing look that promises a raucous fuck session later. Making a sexy show of biting my lip, I press the cattle prod against the guy’s scrotum and hit the switch. Oleg’s groan of pleasure echoes off the walls as the swinging body lights up like a Christmas tree. Eventually the carcass stops twitching, leaving us with only two things to do: incinerate his ass and call
the cleaner
.

Oleg

The job went well. Any time you get away with murder it’s a good day. That son of a bitch deserved what he got. These young wanna-be’s have no respect. His disappearance will send a message to the rest of his boys. They need to stick to dealing cocaine and leave the diamonds to the Glazovs. They also need to shut the fuck up when it comes to talking about things so far out of their league.

I clear my mind of such thoughts and focus instead on my woman, who’s pinned beneath me and still putting up one hell of a fight. She’s twisting and turning on the bed as I straddle her and enjoy the view as her flat abs tighten and her tits bounce under her silk blouse. Holding her wrists in one hand, I use my free hand to poke the tip of my knife into her creamy porcelain skin, just enough to bring her to heel and get her undivided attention.

“I don’t like it when you touch another man, even if it’s only to prepare him to die. This knife and the prod should have been the only things touching him.”

“That knife was the only thing touching him until I socked him in the balls for running his mouth.”

“And now the only thing it’s touching is
you
.” I slowly trail the razor-sharp edge up the front of her silk shirt. “He got hard for you.” I slice through her bra until the fabric flutters open to expose those gorgeous tits. Her creamy skin is the perfect contrast to her flaming red hair.

“He got hard for the prod, not for me,” she replies breathlessly.

“I looked your name up once,” I murmur, entranced by how her nipples are getting hard without me even touching them. I lean in and swirl my tongue around one before continuing, “Roksana means star of magnificence and Rufina means woman with red hair—it fits you perfectly.”

Her eyes are locked on the knife in my hand. She shows none of the fear that asshole displayed earlier tonight, only fascination and, yes, pleasure.

“We’re natural born killers, you and me—we’re meant to be together,” I remind her as I have so many times before. She wriggles beneath my blade as if there’s no danger of it slicing her open. I lay it to the side and relieve her of her tight jeans. “If these weren’t skintight I’d be cutting them off too.”

“Scared you’re going to
cut
me? When has a little bloodshed in the bedroom ever bothered you?”

“I’m not the one who should be scared. You know how I like frightening you. You get so slick and taste so sweet that way…”

I pull at the ends of the tiny pink bows on either side of her white lace thong. As the fabric falls away, I press her knees far apart and stare down at her slit that already weeps for me.

“I must taste your fear,” I rasp just before I dip my tongue inside her.

Roksana

Sex with Oleg is always so good, always different, always off-the-charts amazing. The only thing that remains the same each time is the brutally sexual beast that quietly resides inside him. It’s always there, waiting for me. It’s the beast that drives his tongue so deep inside me now, laving my inner walls with forceful, lush licks, driving me wild as he tastes me from the inside out.

He pulls away and I squirm, trying to get his lips and tongue back where I need them to be. He chuckles as his mouth trails lazily up and down my inner thigh. I’m unable to manipulate him by the dance my body is doing so I do something I’ll never do for any other man—beg.

“Please, baby, I need to come. Run that tongue of yours over my clit and quit fucking around.”

“I do love to hear you beg me for what you need. You’re too proud to beg anyone else for anything. But with me, you beg and cry for my mouth, for my fingers, for my cock.” He bites down on my shoulder, hard, and then meets my eyes as he whispers against the broken skin, “When I break you down like this, that’s when you are the most beautiful to me.”

I hear his words but feel disconnected from my body, as if I’m somehow hovering over these two people as they consume each other, a silent witness to their most intimate moments.

He assaults my senses with the perfect mixture of licking, biting, and sucking. His long fingers stroking and exploring deep within me take me where I so desperately need to go—over the fucking edge.

He rises up on his haunches and pushes my knees back until they are resting by my ears. My helpless position gives him unfettered control over when and how he’ll penetrate me. His face flushes as he bears down with no warning, seating his massive cock to the hilt with an animalistic grunt, in one powerful thrust, filling me with his breathtaking mixture of pleasure and pain.

I rake my fingernails down his back, inviting him to annihilate any sexual boundaries I may still possess. As he grinds relentlessly into me, my hips rise up to meet his unforgiving rhythm, and he soon has me shuddering with another orgasm. He follows me over and comes with a shout, our bodies merging, bleeding together as one.

It’s only as I hold him and stroke his back, whispering filthy words of praise in his ear, that I notice something: our hearts are beating in time. We live as one. I can’t help but wonder if we’ll die as one.