Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5) (32 page)

Oleg

There’s only one more loose end that needs to be taken care of: Maricel. As far as I’m concerned, we’re doing the girl a favor by taking her out. She hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep since the day she got on Roksana’s bad side.

“I want to deliver the death blow,” she announces from the passenger seat.

“She really didn’t do all that much wrong. She just made the wrong friends and picked a shitty job. You know, she didn’t really want me, she was just trying to make a buck.”

“Feeling sympathy for the enemy? Oh, please,” she drawls in disgust.

“Compassion has nothing to do with it. You know me better than that,” I say, bristling at the thought that she’d accuse me of such a thing.

“Don’t feel sorry for this woman, Oleg. She had more than one chance to get away from the people who tried to fuck us over; and it wouldn’t have mattered if she had. Once an enemy—always an enemy. My father needs a clean slate for his new business. The last thing we need is this bitch causing us problems later on. For all we know, some kid she has years from now could come back for us. I say, the deader, the better.”

“I can see you’ve been talking to Dmitriy. He studies this shit.”

“As well he should. You know how deep family loyalty goes in our line of work. Now let’s go take this bitch out and it’ll be one less thing to worry about.”

I grab the Grim Reaper mask, looking forward to one last mind fuck. “I can’t very well threaten the girl with meeting the Grim Reaper and not deliver.”

“You’re one sick fuck, Oleg.”

“What does that say about you? You’re marrying me.” I lean back against the headrest and pin her with a stare. “And you are, you know.”

The silence lingers, then she lifts her chin and meets my stare serenely. “Yes. I am. And you’re marrying
me
.”

“Damn straight,” I reply, grinning at what, for us, is a pretty fucking romantic moment.

We take careful steps around to the back of the house. As we approach the living room window, I’m curious to see if she left the Grim Reaper statue up on her shrine. The atmosphere is heavy, the sense of dread almost like a living, breathing thing surrounding us. I understand why when we get close enough to look inside.

Maricel kneels in front of the shrine, rocking back and forth. The Malverde statue is still bowed down before the Grim Reaper. Miguel’s beer bottle still sits on the small table beside the shrine. The beer he spilled has long since dried but left a dark stain on the cheap wood.

“She either lives like a pig or she hasn’t moved since the last time we were here,” Roksana mutters under her breath.

“She hasn’t moved,” I declare with absolute certainty and Roksana looks over at me with a frown.

Maricel has come to terms with her fate. I can respect that. She looks up at the shrine with tearstained cheeks. Her hand trembles as she lights first one Our Lady of Guadalupe candle and then another. Slipping the mask on, I step out of the shadows and into her psyche. She blows out the match and sets it down carefully, then resumes her prayerful posture -- head bent, hands clasped. After several minutes of utter stillness, she straightens and stares straight ahead, her eyes unfocused as if she’s lost in thought. She slowly turns her head toward the window...and I know she’s been expecting me.

Her marathon prayer vigil appears to have put her in some kind of altered state. Her eyes reveal no fear, just a peaceful recognition of a now-familiar face and, perhaps, her own demise.

She rises to her feet slowly and walks toward the window, toward me. Her steps are halting at first as her stiff muscles struggle to do as they’re told. When she’s maybe five feet from the window, I notice the gun in her right hand. My eyes widen in surprise briefly before I steel my features beneath my mask, keeping the expression in my eyes inscrutable.

“What the fuck—” Roksana hisses and starts to step forward, then stops abruptly. On some level, she seems to understand that this moment does not involve her.

Maricel doesn’t move, simply stares at the mask. She steps closer, until she’s less than three feet away from me and the only thing separating us a thin pane of glass. The eye contact between us is real, unexpected, and more than a little unnerving. I will confess to finding this uneasy communion strangely compelling. There’s no rush, though so I let her take it at her own pace. She’ll get there.

She slowly places her left hand on the glass and stares into my eyes, waiting. I match it with my right hand. She shifts her gaze to my black leather glove against the glass. Lifting her eyes back to mine, she smiles—an oddly peaceful, almost beatific smile – right before she shoves the barrel of the gun into her mouth and blows her brains out.

Roksana

He’s different. There’s an ominous, darker energy about him that I don’t understand. I’m familiar with his ruthless, sadistic side but I don’t know what to make of the soulless malevolence that surrounds him now.

The ride home is strained, at least it feels that way to me as I steal glances at his grim profile. With each passing mile, my thoughts spiral downward to match his somber mood.

We head straight to our suite of rooms where I undress us both. He accepts my attentions, his eyes unfocused and distant as I remove his shirt. When my hands brush across his groin as I reach for his belt, he starts to come back to me from wherever he’s been. I seek out his eyes with each garment I remove, silently taking my cues from him until there’s nothing between us.

Now we’re lying on our bed and I’m holding him in my arms, but I feel like I’m protecting him from himself.

I wish he’d say something. Anything.

I’m jealous of a dead woman. How ridiculous, even for me. All I know is that leading that woman into death has changed him. It’s as if somehow she’s clinging to him, mocking me – it’s the ultimate mind fuck.

I have to kill what’s left of her.

I rise above him and straddle his hips. Sliding my slick heat along the length of his shaft, I revel in the sensation of his cock hardening beneath me. I trail my hands up my torso and cup my breasts, pushing them together as I pull and tug the nipples into stiff peaks.

“What are you doing?” he rasps warily, scowling up at me.

“I don’t know, what am I doing?” I ask innocently, earning a throaty growl from deep in his chest. I lift and tilt my hips at just the perfect angle and push past the broad, mushroomed head of his cock, sheathing his length in one slow glide. I move up and down his gorgeous cock, riding him hard, bracing my hands against his chest so I can bear down on him even harder.

“You’ve bewitched me, Oleg,” I moan longingly, my hands sliding over his chiseled form, caressing every dip and angle of his torso.

“I know,” he rasps as he clasps a breast, rolling his thumb around the nipple as his other hand grips my hip to control my movements. “I know.”

“Every day I’m more consumed by you. We hover between life and death every day, you and me. Maybe she recognized that in you, I don’t know,” I groan. “Whatever it was, I don’t like it. If I could kill her again, I would.”

“You would, huh,” he grunts as his hands roam all over me, kneading and gripping my flesh almost desperately as his hips rise to meet me and his breathing becomes ragged. “You’d kill for me, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you?” he demands and slaps my ass, hard.

“Yes!” I gasp, savoring the sting, “I’d kill for you! I’d kill
her
for you, again and again. I want to come to you bathed in her blood.”

My macabre words send Oleg over the edge, his neck and jaw muscles clenching, hips bucking wildly. The sensation of his cock surging inside me is all I need to follow him over and take my own pleasure.

Sated and boneless moments later, I don’t resist when he rolls us over so that I’m beneath him. He drapes himself across my body and I’m content to be wherever he wants to put me.

“You belong to me, Oleg. Your body, your soul, your mind. It all belongs to me.”

My warrior-lover purrs with pleasure as I soothe him by trailing my fingertips in slow, lazy circles from his shoulders down to the dimples at the base of his spine. I’ve made my point.

Oleg

I roll over onto my back and pull Roksana with me. With my arms wrapped around her tight, I try to put my racing thoughts into words.

“I’ve looked death in the eye many, many times. But never have I had death seek me out as it did tonight, as if it…needed me.” Roksana stilled in my arms and I frowned as I recalled the course of events tonight. “She had waited for me. If I hadn’t come, I have no doubt she would have knelt there until she died.”

Tonight was difficult, but there are things to be said if we are to move forward together as the Pakhan has decreed. I savor Roksana’s warm, velvety skin under my hand as I trace the length of her spine and possessively grip the curve of her ass. “The woman was a means to an end, nothing more. You have no worries.”

“Neither do you,” she says archly, sounding quite pleased with herself.

“I should say not,” I drawl. “I have been well and truly claimed by my woman this night.” I continue, my voice solemn. “But this isn’t about me, it isn’t about you -- it is, however, about your father and his legacy. He understands that, typically, a Pakhan can expect a ‘career’, if you will, of twenty, maybe twenty-five years -- in terms of long-term risks, not age. Glazov is strong and, God willing, has many years yet to enjoy. But he knows he’s already on borrowed time.”

“That probably explains his fascination with grandchildren,” Roksana mutters. “He’s after all of us, you know, not just you and me. Did you know he’s been giving his sons sex tips?! Optimal positions for conceiving, timing, you name it.”

At my knowing look, her jaw drops and she gasps in horror. “You too? Seriously?! Oh…” She lowers her forehead to my chest as she groans, mortified. With a sigh, she rests her chin on her hand, eyes twinkling up at me. “You know, Logan can barely make eye contact with Father anymore, now that she knows what he and Kodiak have been talking about.”

“No doubt the Pakhan will have a houseful of grandchildren if he so desires,” I say with confidence. “For the moment, though, I have only one goal -- beyond marrying you, of course -- and that is to keep your father alive. Tonight was necessary; I will not leave any enemies or possible witnesses alive to come back later when we least expect it.”

“I know,” she says quietly.

“Tonight belonged to the Grim Reaper. What’s done is done. So,” I growl as I roll on top of her, “face the fact that it’s a new day and fuck me like there’s no tomorrow.”

Anastasia

I’ve made it through my first Bratva assignment, and I’m fairly certain that I did so as an asset and not a liability. More importantly, I survived.

Dmitriy and I are in the surveillance room, taking down some of the equipment and prepping it for storage until it’s needed again. I steal a glance at him, but, as always, he’s one step ahead of me. Those dark eyes of his are trained on me as he finishes boxing up one of the monitors. Sexual awareness thrums between us and my cheeks heat as I shift in my chair.

“You made it through your first assignment. Well done. You even managed to get along with both of your mentors, which is not so easily done. The fact that you’ve connected with Roksana will keep you alive. The fact that you’ve bonded with
me
will, no doubt, cause you problems.”

“Oh, really. How so?”

“You’ve made the mistake of attracting my attention. I’m intrigued with you.” He grins at me as he lays a strip of shipping tape down the length of the box. “Can’t get you off my mind, actually.”

“You’re just fascinated with serial killers.”

He leans in, turning the full force of that masculine energy on me as he sets the box aside. “In the beginning, perhaps. But not now. You see,” he purrs as he takes my hand in both of his, “after seeing how you handle yourself, after working with you day in and day out, I know what I want.”

“You do.”

“Oh, yes. I want you,” he whispers as he slides his thumb along my wrist, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. My pulse leaps against his skin and the slow, sexy smile on his face tells me he feels it too.

“So,” I stammer, deciding a change of subject would be a good thing. “Um, how much more do you suppose we need to do here?”

“Depends on what you have in mind,” he says, his voice a soft, husky murmur as he continues, undeterred. “I see no reason not to make my intentions clear – to you and everyone else. I think about you all the time. The thought of you with another man infuriates me. You’re in here,” he says softly, tapping his temple. “But I want you
here
.”

Shit, he’s pointing to his heart. I’m not ready for this. “Look, Dmitriy, it’s not you, it’s me.”

“Oh, how fucking cliché is that, Anastasia? We both know you’re scared. I don’t blame you, after that douchebag you were married to. You don’t know what you want. You’ve never had a real relationship. Not with a real man. Not with me. You’re still getting to know who you are. I get that. I’m just saying, let’s find out together.”

“I hate to break up the love fest, people, but Father wants us in his office,” Roksana’s sarcastic drawl breaks the spell and I waste no time yanking my hand from Dmitriy’s grip. She and Oleg stand in the doorway, looking at us speculatively. I have no idea how long they’ve been there or what they overheard, but I’m sure I’ll hear about it later.

“Your father picks the oddest times to call us on the carpet,” I say, standing up in a hurry as I wipe my suddenly sweaty palms down the front of my jeans.

“He enjoys the element of surprise. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s a night owl,” she laughs over her shoulder as we all fall in line behind her.

Oleg puts his hand on her shoulder and whispers in her ear, no doubt reminding her that he’s going first in case there is any danger. You’d think Roksana would be safe in her own home but she gave up that expectation when she was born a Glazov. We all know she’s a commodity to our rivals because she is precious to two powerful men. If she were ever captured, Glazov and Oleg would stop at nothing to get her back. Then again, she’s a killing machine; I doubt she would need to be rescued.

As usual, Glazov calls us in before we have a chance to knock. The atmosphere is somber and quiet as we step through the door. We line up in front of his desk and wait.

“I trust you’ve annihilated our enemies?”

Oleg is the first to speak up. “Yes, the last one was taken care of earlier tonight.”

“How so?”

“We’ve been employing psychological tactics,” he begins, but is interrupted by Novak.

“You’ve been fucking with her head. Well played.”

“The Venezuelans are superstitious,” Oleg continues. “We capitalized on that and convinced her she was seeing the Grim Reaper. I used a mask and appeared to her a number of times.”

Novak smacks his leg and roars with laughter, “You? The Grim Reaper? Fucking epic!”

Even Glazov has a twisted, sinister smile on his face. “Do go on,” he says as he leans back in his chair, as if settling in for a while.

“The Grim Reaper had appeared to her a couple of times in recent days. Last night, I showed up at her window in the mask. She had been holding a vigil at a shrine she had created. When she saw the Grim Reaper at her window, she picked up a gun and blew her brains out.”

“Like I said, fucking epic,” Novak grins, shaking his head incredulously. “I don’t know that many people who can say they actually drove someone crazy. Damn.”

Oleg’s face shows no remorse. He remains, hands down, the coldest man I’ve ever met. He shrugs and voices what his dead eyes are already saying. “It was necessary.”

Damn. This is Roksana and Oleg’s idea of fun? Drive someone crazy and watch them blow their brains out, up close and personal? Wow. Just wow.

“Yes. No loose ends, right?” Glazov says with a chuckle, but his eyes are solemn as they meet Oleg’s. “You have done well. Now, all of you, relax and prepare for a formal dinner I have planned for tomorrow evening. We have much to celebrate.”

With a curt nod from the Pakhan, we are dismissed.