Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5) (19 page)

Roksana

Even though I’m sure the guys will do their job, I have no intention of sitting at home watching TV while they do it. But there are a few things I’ll need first.

Anastasia accompanies me down to the basement and I can’t help but laugh when she sees The Dungeon for the first time. I let her peek inside as we pass by, the spartanly furnished room with his manacles and other restraints obviously making a big impression on her. It’s sometimes used as a holding cell when we have unexpected ‘guests’, and it’s been known to be used for more prurient activities as well. It’s got something for everyone, I guess.

“That’s not even the best part,” I say as I continue down the hall and unlock the next door. I step back and let Anastasia get the full effect. With its oversized furniture and rich fabrics, this room is reminiscent of an elegantly appointed Victorian-era drawing room – until you look closer and discern the room’s true purpose.

As Anastasia steps inside and takes in her surroundings, her slack-jawed, ‘deer in the headlights’ expression says more than words ever could. Me? As always, I’m awestruck and feel no small amount of…pride. Nothing but the best for Alexander Glazov – especially when it comes to my mother. They are devoted parents who make no secret of their desire to be grandparents, sooner rather than later, thank-you-very-much. But my brothers and I have always understood that the foundation of our family is the visceral, tempestuous, all-consuming connection my parents share. This room is the physical embodiment of my father’s relentless obsession with his wife. His
Ptichka.

He’s created his very own BDSM Shangri-La, complete with manacles bolted to the wall, a spanking bench, a St. Andrews Cross, and an impressive display of riding crops, canes, and birches. In the far corner a massive antique armoire conceals a series of drawers containing…well, I’m not sure exactly what’s in there but I have a few ideas and I suspect it’s far darker than anything you’ll find in the most intense BDSM novel. But it will likely remain one of life’s mysteries; the armoire is always locked and Father has the only key.

The centerpiece of the room, though, is the swing. I circle it, openly admiring the craftsmanship. Again, nothing but the best. Not some cheap-ass thing hanging in a doorway. This swing is the Big Daddy of sex swings, built for comfort and suspended securely from the ceiling. The room is impeccably maintained between their visits, so I can’t suppress a smirk as I pass by a loose ankle restraint hanging, unsecured, from the central frame.

I glance over my shoulder at Anastasia as I explain with a grin, “My father has a kinky side. We weren’t allowed down here as kids and we’re really not supposed to be in here now, but I think you’ve already figured out that I’m not beyond sneaking around to get what I want.”

“What exactly do you want?”

“Covert listening devices and tracking devices, of course. We’re going to work our own surveillance mission tonight.”

“Why would he keep things like that down here in his, um, private playroom?”

I lead the way down a small hallway at the back of the room that leads to a large storage room. The door’s unlocked so I walk right in. “Oh, this is my Father’s private stash. Now, like I was saying, he’s kinky as hell. He still tracks my mom and kidnaps her and shit--”

“What?!”

“Oh, yeah, he’s quite the predator where my mother is concerned, always has been. The start of their relationship was…unconventional, even by Bratva standards. There are more supplies upstairs in his office for his guards but I can’t get to those so I’m hitting up his private stash down here.”

“In other words, you don’t want your father knowing what you’re doing. Oh, Roksana, there’s never a dull moment with you.”

I grab a black leather bag and toss it in her direction. “Just hold this open.”

She opens the bag and I begin filling it with the items we’ll need. The first thing on my list is my favorite listening device.

“I prefer the trusty gHost series because it can be attached to a car.”

“How are you going to know which cars to bug?”

I stop what I’m doing and narrow my eyes at my trainee. “If I didn’t already know that you’re naturally inquisitive and if I didn’t see that as a strength, I’d be real leery of you. Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

“After all the Glazov family has done for me, I would never do that.” The sincerity in her eyes is genuine. She has managed to do what no one beyond our inner circle has ever done: become my friend. That won’t stop me from killing her if she ever betrays me. I honestly don’t think that day will ever come, but…

“The employees park in the back. The regular customers park on the street, but the gangbangers like to show off. The tricked-out cars parked in front of the building or in the private parking lot in the back all belong to the gangbangers. They don’t want their cars getting scratched or keyed. Plus, we’re going to be doing some spying of our own.”

“Girl, we kinda stand out if you haven’t noticed.”

“Good point. We’ll use black hoodies and tennis shoes while we’re keeping an eye on things, and if we need a diversion we’ll lose the hoodies and put the heels back on.”

“You’re relentless, I’ll give you that.”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.” I close the bag and grab the hoodies and tennis shoes. It’s time to get out of here before anyone figures out what I’m up to.

“What’s the deal with all of you driving black SUVs?” she asks me when we’re in the vehicle and on our way.

“This is my
work
SUV. I drive this when I’m
up to no good.”

“Which is all the time.”

“Exactly. I just don’t get it, trouble seems to follow me,” she says oh-so-innocently as she bats her eyelashes at me.

“I think you just need a side-kick to watch your back.”

“I’ve got Oleg.”

“We both know no matter how close you are to a man there’s nothing like having a girlfriend to cut loose with.”

“Ha ha, ‘girls just want to have fun’, right?”

“You know it. I guess that’s why I’m not really interested in having a man right now; they’re too controlling.”

Now it’s my turn to give her the side eye. “Do I look like a woman who’s going to let a man control me? The only place I’m going to be dominated is in bed, honey, and that is by choice.”

“Sounds like you might have inherited your father’s penchant for kink.”

“No… I just love to antagonize the shit out of Oleg until he fucks me to death—it’s fun.”

“You like playing with fire.”

“Don’t forget the explosives. I like playing with those too.”

“How could I forget? You strapped me down with them when you sent me to my make-believe doom. Speaking of that, you could have told me they were props.”

“Absolutely not. It’s all about trust in this game. We needed to know if we could trust you. There were plans in the making that the Pakhan forbid anyone to inform you of. Your life – your
new
life – depended on it. Always remember, sometimes ignorance really is bliss. You can’t tell the police, or anyone else, what you don’t know.”

I park a block away from our destination. Before we get out of the car, I turn and look at her solemnly. “In this business you’ve got to listen to your gut. You could be having coffee with someone you’ve been dealing with for years and outwardly nothing seems out of the ordinary. But something’s off. You can’t put your finger on it, but it’s in here”—I point at my stomach—“in your gut, you know something isn’t right. It’s just a feeling, like something is just not right. Then two seconds later you’re a dead man, or woman, as the case may be. Of course, while that’s obviously not good, when you get killed like that—before you ever know what’s hit you—it’s a blessing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… you don’t ever want to find yourself in the hands of the enemy. You’ll end up in
their
warehouse and they’ll use an acetylene torch like you’ve seen Oleg do.” I unbuckle my seat belt and prepare to get out of the car. ”I can’t decide which is worse: to have the information they want or not. When you know the answers, it’s hell because you know you can’t tell them. Even the most loyal person’s strength is tested during torture. Answer them and your death is usually quicker, but you die with the taste of shame in your mouth. But if you don’t know, it’s still hell on earth because you know they won’t stop trying to break you and there’s nothing you can do about it, so death will be slow and there’s no way to speed it along. Trust me, convincing men like Oleg that you don’t know the answers to their questions is nearly impossible.

“And as women, we face other horrors, things that will make you wish you were dead even if they do let you live. Trust me, leaving Emily Finley behind and starting your new life is a good thing. When it comes to our enemies, the lower you are on the Bratva food chain, the less danger you’re in.”

Anastasia – so hungry for knowledge -- hangs on my every word. She’d better, because in her new life, it could very well mean the difference between life and death.

Anastasia

I’m captivated by Roksana’s impromptu Bratva wisdom. For me, time stops and nothing exists beyond the bubble we’re in right now. The spell is broken when she opens the car door and announces it’s time to get to work. She reaches up to deactivate the interior light before she gets out. Hmm. Another detail to file away for future reference.

I follow her as she ventures down alleys and side streets—even backtracking at one point to ensure we aren’t being followed. It’s obvious she has these back streets and alleys memorized like the back of her hand. She had her route planned out in her mind long before her feet hit the pavement.

We slip into the back parking lot of the strip club and crouch between cars, almost crawling as we move from one to another. Some of the cars she puts a device on and some she doesn’t. I decide to ask her later how she knows which ones to target. I’m not satisfied with the answer I got earlier so I’ll try and get her to tell me more. She’s used to me asking questions, she’s already made that clear.

When she seems satisfied that she’s put trackers on all the gangbanger cars, she motions for me to follow her and we edge up to the side of the building. Latin music poured from the nightclub, the pulsing rhythms reverberating on the concrete under our feet.

My senses are on high alert. There’s no high like an adrenaline high. Roksana places a finger to her lips when we hear raised voices out front. She holds her hand up to keep me out of sight as she peeks around the building to see what’s causing all the noise. I can tell the man yelling at his girlfriend is so caught up in what he’s doing that he doesn’t notice us, so I look and listen too.

He has his girlfriend backed against a bright orange Dodge Ram that is totally tricked out—right down to the gold spinners on his tires and the Venezuelan flag in the back window.

“Bitch! What are you doing out here? Get your ass back in side and keep working that California surfer guy and the Mexican dude he’s with.”

“I just came out to get some cigarettes,
papi
.”

“Well, you’ve got them. Now get back your ass back to work.”

“You know I don’t want any man but you. I wish you wouldn’t make me do this…” she whines as he follows behind her and I can only assume he’s making sure she does what she’s told.

Roksana motions and I follow her to the back of the building. She waits until two girls come out and we slide through the door before it swings shut. We are at the head of a short hallway. A few tentative steps and we’ve landed in the strippers’ main dressing room. My heart thunders in my ears, but there’s no one in here but us.

Roksana slips around a corner using the dark lighting in the hallway as camouflage. There are two doors; one is labeled “Main Stage” and other “Back Room”.

“Which one do we want?” I ask quietly.

“Are you kidding? The back room, of course.”

We enter the back room and hide in the shadows as several cycles of strippers come and go. Usually there are three going at a time, one working it on the main stage and the other two twisting themselves into pretzels on their respective poles. Apparently, pole work is a full contact sport, much to the glee of the big spenders in the front row, several of whom manage to get a hand full or face full of luscious curves before their stripper heads backstage.

Roksana pays very little attention to the onstage action. She silently watches Oleg and Dmitriy at their corner table, where they have been joined by two blondes. I can’t help but think
Please don’t go over there, Roksana...
Even if she does, I meant what I told her about having her back. I’m in this all the way; even if she does something crazy.

Oleg pointedly holds up his left hand and Roksana gasps as he shows Bimbo #1 the wedding band on his left hand.

“It’s the same bitch that was out front by that orange truck,” Roksana hisses.

The blonde immediately turns her attention to Dmitriy, who picks up the slack by being charming and attentive to both women. I can’t help but watch him work his seductive magic. His sultry Latino sexuality has the women captivated. All the while, Oleg remains his usual stoic self.

Roksana nods in my direction and we leave the same way we came in. I can understand her being jealous. What I don’t understand is…why do I feel a tinge of it too?