Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5) (24 page)

Oleg

Patience always pays off, one way or another. When we’re watching an enemy it’s not much different than cops doing a stakeout. It can get boring. We’ve been out here for hours and everyone is ready to get to work. I know our perseverance has paid off when people start leaving in groups. Finally there’s only one person left, the owner of the house. She just happens to be Roksana’s arch-nemesis -- the hands-y bleach blonde from the strip club.

I quietly head to my vehicle and grab a couple of things I’ll need. Might as well begin terrorizing her tonight while she’s home alone.

“I want to go with you,” Roksana murmurs from just over my shoulder. I keep a locked case in the back of my vehicle for any job that might arise, including a change of clothes. It isn’t uncommon for me to wear something once, only to have to burn it because somebody puked all over me at the sight of their own blood.

I learned to expect the unexpected a long time ago. The old adage ‘
fail to plan, plan to fail’
has always served me well.

I straighten and take a deep breath before telling her what she surely won’t want to hear. “You can’t let your temper get in the way this time.”

“I won’t,” she answers, a little too quickly for my peace of mind.

“I’m serious, Roksana. Don’t fuck up. I will never lie to your father. Never. But it’s about more than that; a real man speaks freely to his Pakhan and does not have to be careful about what he says.”

Something that might be regret passes over her features and I decide she’ll be fine going with me to the woman’s house. She really does feel bad about putting me in the middle between her and her father. Roksana’s not the type to feel remorse so it means something to me to be one of the people she gives a shit about.

“Come along, then. But stay out of the way and just watch what I’m doing.”

“Scout’s honor,” she says, making the pledge sign with her fingers.

I can’t help but smirk. “You, young lady are no Scout. The only thing you’ve got in common with them is that you’re always prepared – unfortunately, you’re prepared to cause trouble. I don’t think they have a badge for that.”

“What can I say? Trouble just follows me.”

“Well, tonight…you’ll be following
me
.”

“You know me, always the docile submissive.”

“Yeah, right.”

We head down toward the house. By the time I’m finished with this bitch, she’ll be so paranoid she won’t be able to function.

The thing is, I want to get even with her too. I don’t like anybody putting their hands on me -- anyone but Roksana, that is.

Roksana

I dutifully stand behind a tree with no argument. This is one time giving in will be well worth it. There’s no way I’m missing this. Watching Oleg terrorize this woman is going to be hilarious, and I want to be up close and personal when it happens.

She stands in her bathroom at the mirror, moving through the bedtime ritual every woman understands: brush teeth, floss, wash face, moisturize.

I beam with pride when Oleg steps from the shadows and his genius is revealed. He’s outdone himself. His face is concealed by a Grim Reaper mask and he holds a small axe in his gloved hand. It isn’t the traditional scythe of the notorious Grim Reaper but it works. Oleg’s black tailored suit and white button down shirt add elegance to his sinister persona.

At first she doesn’t see him. She washes her face as the Grim Reaper stands outside her window, silently watching. She straightens to reach for a towel, her eyes closed. As soon as she begins patting her face dry, she opens her eyes and sees him in the mirror. She screams and covers her face with her hands, obviously doubting the evidence of her own eyes. But he’s still there when she opens her eyes. At last, she seems to finally believe he’s real and not a figment of her imagination. In the time it takes for her to scream again and race over to the window, Oleg steps back into the woods.

As she cups her hands to peer through the glass, she seems to be again questioning whether she really saw someone. She backs away from the window and yanks the blind down. In a matter of a few moments, Oleg has set the stage for the ultimate mind fuck, and I had a front row seat.

By the time we’re through tormenting her, she’ll doubt everything and everybody—even herself. She’ll begin to question her own sanity. It’s a pretty messed up way to persecute an enemy, but we never claimed to be merciful in our tactics.

Most people associate torture with physical pain, but mental and emotional distress can serve to exacerbate physical pain when applied in the right measure. Torture is an art, a lifelong learning process to be studied and savored. Our shared love of torture in all its forms was what brought us together in the first place.

When the bathroom window goes dark and Oleg is certain she’s left the room, he gestures for me to follow him along the side of the house. We peek through the blinds at her bedroom window as she pulls back the covers on the bed. When she steps over to close the blinds, Oleg picks the perfect moment to step from the shadows. This time she screams loud enough to, well, wake the dead. She throws her entire body into it, fists clenched and eyes squeezed shut. When she opens her eyes, he has already stepped back into the shadows and out of sight.

In a matter of seconds, the front door opens. We crouch down behind the shrubbery under the window as she peeks around the corner, tentatively searching for the faceless specter of death that keeps appearing from out of nowhere.

“Is someone out there? Why are you doing this to me? Is that you, Miguelito? Quit fucking around, asshole. Is it you?” In her mind, assuming her two-timing boyfriend is pulling a prank is preferable to the prospect of more torment. If only it were true, it would be the answer to all her problems. She’s in our grip now and there’s no promise of salvation, no answers to her questions, and no deliverance…only death.

The cloud-covered sky offers no escape from the darkness. Its inky depths obscure the heavens and drop like a shroud around the woman who will soon wish she had never crossed paths with Bratva.

Anastasia

By the time Oleg and Roksana return to the vehicle, Dmitriy and I have packed up the equipment and are ready to go. As they describe what they did to the poor girl, I almost feel sorry for her. But I can’t allow myself to sympathize with the enemy—ever.

“If I didn’t think you’d put a bullet in me I might feel sorry for the girl,” I say with a laugh.

“It’s good to know we’re on the same page, Anastasia,” she replies. “Mercy leads to betrayal, always. It’s the first rule of the game: never sympathize with your rival—they’ll just use it against you. Your survival depends on your ability to separate your emotions from the work that must be done. The enemy will always look for a chink in your armor—let your guard down and you die.”

“But you let your guard down with me.”

“Different situation.”

“Why?”

She turns to me with eyes that are flat, emotionless. “I always have you under my control. I’ll never make the mistake of underestimating you or becoming complacent. Under the right circumstances, anyone will betray you.”

“Then I won’t bother trying to convince you I won’t.”

“Wouldn’t do any good anyway.”

“Cut her some slack, Roksana,” Dmitriy says good-naturedly. She only turns away and glares out the window. These people take intensity to a whole new level. Roksana’s always coming out of nowhere with sucker punches—doses of reality that hit me between the eyes and leave me reeling.

I breathe a sigh of relief when we pull into the long driveway leading up to the massive house that has quickly become home to me. The conversation was getting too strained for my liking.

“We’ve still got surveillance to do, who wants to listen in?” Dmitriy asks.

“I do,” Oleg replies, his voice low and menacing. He obviously expects something really bad to happen to these people – and he ought to know.

I notice Roksana’s eyes looking up so I lean in to see what’s captured her attention. Glazov is watching us from an upstairs window. Somehow he seems to be able to read my mind. It keeps my nerves on edge, and I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants.

We manage to reach the surveillance room without being summoned to the Pakhan’s office. Dmitriy doesn’t waste any time getting computer monitors and speakers up and running. We still don’t have visual, but up until now we haven’t needed it. It appears we’re right on time; the woman is arguing with her boyfriend on the phone and, as luck would have it, she has the call on speakerphone.

“Miguelito, maybe if you’d been here instead of with your side bitch, you could have helped me.”

“You expect me to believe that the Grim Reaper is watching you from the woods?”

“I know what I saw.”

“You know what you
think
you saw.”

“Man, I’m telling you, I called my
abuela
and she says we need to make an offering to the patron saint of drug dealers, Malverde.”

His contemptuous laughter rings through the air. “That’s your problem, girl… When you came from Sinaloa, you brought all of your family’s superstitions with you. Didn’t you get the memo? You’re not in Mexico anymore, you’re in America now.”

Her voice is solemn as if she’s speaking a sacred truth. “It doesn’t matter where I go; the supernatural always finds me. And now my sins have brought the wrath of the underworld upon my soul.”