Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5) (7 page)

Roksana

“Come on, babe, let’s do this.” I grab his shirt, buttons flying as I rip the fabric apart. I kick my shoes off and yank his shirt down his arms, tugging it off and letting it fall. “I’m buzzing with so much adrenaline, I haven’t had this much fun in for-fucking-ever!”

He grabs a fistful of my hair, turning my head from side to side as he studies me with a scowl. “I won’t be letting you out alone with her. You two feed off each other.”

“You have to admit, she handled it like a pro,” I pant as I unzip his pants and reach inside. When his erection falls heavily into my hands, I begin pumping him from root to tip, my hands sliding and twisting together over his rock-hard shaft.

“She also killed someone your father didn’t order a hit on,” he says in a valiant attempt to sound unaffected by the impromptu hand job. 

“That was just self-preservation, baby. I can’t blame her for not wanting to leave any witnesses, can you?”

“It wasn’t her place to make that call. Fuuuuck,” he groans, avidly watching my hands working his cock. “If the Pakhan wanted the woman eliminated, he would have…found her…and neutralized her.”

“Father will understand. We weren’t counting on him being there with his wife.” I pause in my ministrations to make a point. “And that woman was no angel either. She’s been acting as the equivalent of a drug mule, just with precious gems instead. Who knows how many girls are gazing at their engagement ring right now, and have no idea that their perfect diamond was smuggled into this country inside that woman’s cunt? If we had left her alive, the bitch would have built her husband’s business back up. This way,” I say as I run my thumb over the slick pre-cum glistening at the tip of his shaft, “the competition is annihilated. We just come in and take over.”

“Do you always talk this fucking much while you’re getting me off?” he mutters.

His mouth locks down on mine in a fierce, claiming kiss. As our tongues battle for dominance, I reach up and release his ponytail, humming hum in pleasure when the ends of his hair tickle my jaw. I love being the only one who gets to see him raw and wild like this.

He pushes me back onto the bed and lifts my dress over my head, tossing it over his shoulder. His hands are rough and demanding, asserting his dominance in no uncertain terms. I know he wants to exert control over me in and out of the bedroom, and I understand why. It’s more than just a power trip; he believes that if he can control all of my crazy, he can save me from my worst enemy—myself.

“You’re in so much trouble. And I’ve got you right where I want you.”

“Fuck you, Oleg.”

“From where I’m standing it looks to me like you’ve met your match. You and that girl together are trouble. Don’t let her get between us or it’ll be me putting a bullet between her eyes.”

“You, of all people, know I won’t let that happen. So this is payback?”

“Damn straight it is,
devotchka
. All those times you taunted me, rubbing that tight body up against mine and knowing I couldn’t do anything because of who your father was. You never counted him catching on to what you were doing.” He forces my legs back, never taking his eyes off mine, and powers into me with an agonized groan. The sensation of him filling me with his thick length in a single, brutal stroke is almost more than I can bear. It’s like he’s taken every space within me, yet I know he still wants more.

“Feels good knowing this sweet pussy is mine for the taking, whenever and wherever I want. You’ve gotten inside my head and that’s a dangerous place for you to be. You have no idea how deep my darkness goes.”

“Shut up and fuck me, Oleg, hard.”

The last thing I want to think about right now is how pissed off my father’s going to be about Anastasia killing an unspecified mark. My father expects assassinations to be executed with precision. He’s going to view tonight’s mayhem as her acting impulsively. She hasn’t proven herself to be ready for that much latitude, and Bratva has no room for daredevils.

The Pakhan is all about control; he respects discipline. Anastasia crossed a line when she took matters into her own hands tonight. I hope he doesn’t kill her.

Anastasia

“Get up.”

I open one eye, hoping that maybe I’m just dreaming, and immediately close it with a sigh of resignation. Above me, a frowning Roksana pokes at my shoulder insistently, intent on waking me up. She looks worried. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s four in the morning.

What the hell could be going on this early? Do these people never sleep?

“Get used to it, buttercup. My father likes to question people when they don’t expect it – like, say, when they’re half asleep. He’s convinced sleep deprivation gives them loose lips.”

“You don’t say,” I grumble as I sit up and scrub my hands over my face. “Can I at least get some coffee?” I stand and venture into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar so I can hear what she’s saying.

“Nope, the kitchen knows not to make deliveries in circumstances like these. Now, it’s really important that you listen to me and do exactly as I say,” she says solemnly, pausing for effect. “My father’s unpredictable when he’s mad. Look him directly in the eye when he speaks to you. He won’t like it, but he’ll think you’re hiding something if you don’t. Don’t talk unless he asks you a direct question. Listen carefully to what he says. No, no--” she says impatiently when I open a dresser drawer and search for a t-shirt. “Don’t change your clothes. Go as you are; that will reinforce the impression that he’s caught you completely off guard.”

“Roksana,” I say, tilting my head to the side as I stare at her. “I’m wearing boy-shorts. I’m hardly going to go to an audience with the Pakhan with my ass cheeks on display.”

“Oh,” she murmurs with a scowl. “I can see your point. I can promise you he wouldn’t even notice, but you don’t want to piss my mother off. Fine, then, put on some pajama pants or something.”

I’m sliding flannel pajama pants over my hips and stepping into some flip-flops as she continues, “His thought process always goes deeper than you’d expect. Knowing that up front will help you understand what he’s
really
asking.”

“Okay, okay. Maintain eye contact even if it pisses him off, don’t speak unless spoken to, and listen carefully because what he’s asking isn’t really what he’s asking. Got it,” I huff as we start walking down the hall, away from my room.

“Oh, one more thing,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. “Ignore Novak, he’s an instigator. He feeds off starting shit. He particularly enjoys antagonizing my father when he’s already worked up so don’t give him any ammunition. You can do this; I’ve got your back.”

“He wants to know why I killed her.” Men like Glazov don’t just want to know the
what
of things, they want to know the
why
. Motive’s everything and he’s going to want to know mine.

“He wants to know you respect the Pakhan; that you’re not some lone wolf who’s going to go off the grid and do whatever you want rather than following simple orders.”

As we approach Glazov’s office, I struggle to breathe normally and my feet feel like lead. The urge to run like hell to anywhere but here is almost irresistible.

Roksana stops a few feet from the door and turns toward me with a grim expression, her lips pressed into a hard line. “No matter what he asks you, do not lie. Most of the time, he already knows the answer and he’s testing you. It’s about two things with him,” she hisses, counting each thing off with her fingers. “Trust and obedience. You’ve already fucked up the whole obedience thing. You’re walking a thin line, girl. My father isn’t a patient man.”

She starts to raise her hand to knock but stops short and slowly shakes her head when he barks out an order for her to come in. As she opens the door, she mutters under her breath, “Every…fucking...time…”

He doesn’t say anything in greeting, just waves us in. I sneak a peek over at Novak. He’s slouched in a chair, slowly rolling a coin between two fingers, his indolent gaze sliding over us before returning to where Glazov sits behind his massive desk. Even from a distance, I can see that it’s a beautiful coin, some kind of Russian medallion, maybe. It must be a habit because he handles it effortlessly. He’s still dressed in the same clothes and is sporting faint smudges under his eyes. Looks like someone hasn’t been to bed yet.

I wonder if they stayed awake all night after we did the hit. How much does he know? Does he know I killed three people and not two? That I stole an ambulance to escape the scene of the crime?

The guy’s got more tattoos and piercings than I’ve ever seen on one man. His wife is the polar opposite. She’s always dressed in business attire, looking more like a lawyer than a mobster’s wife. I look straight ahead, prying my eyes away from the distraction that is Novak, and find Glazov glaring at me impatiently.

“Who’s running things, girls?” Glazov asks without moving a muscle, his voice so soft that at first I’m not sure he’s actually spoken. I close my eyes briefly and exhale a shaky breath when Roksana answers for me.

“You are, my Pakhan.”

“Really. Well, that’s funny, because I’ve been wracking my brain – all fucking night – and I don’t recall giving the okay to kill an innocent bystander.”

“She was a witness. We knew you wouldn’t want her telling any tales.”

I jump when he slams his fist down on the desk, his malevolent stillness of a moment before abandoned in favor of barely restrained rage. I’m surprised the papers on his desk don’t go flying. Okay, now I’m scared. If I fucked up, it’s not right for Roksana to take the heat for it.

“Sir,” I say, trying unsuccessfully to suppress the urge to gulp as my garbled speech draws his searing attention. “I never meant to disrespect you—in fact, quite the opposite. Roksana’s correct; I didn’t want to leave any…loose ends.”

“I see,” he says, a small smile playing along his lips but not reaching his eyes. “And your joyride through the streets of Louisville in an ambulance that was actively engaged in an emergency call. What would you call
that
if not a ‘loose end’?”

Here’s where things get tricky because I don’t want to say Roksana and Oleg weren’t out front.

“Traffic was congested outside the club because of a medical emergency. It…interfered with logistics. There was a brief window of opportunity to avoid detection while the crowd was distracted. So I took the ambulance that was parked around the corner.”

“And ran it into the lake.”

Gulp. Maintain eye contact…

“Yes. Sir.”

He leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest, exhaling audibly, his lips pursed. After an uncomfortable silence during which I’m skewered between stares from both Glazov and Novak, the Pakhan issues his verdict.

“The only thing that saved your ass tonight was your quick thinking. The only thing saving it
now
is luck. Anyone keeping company with your mark would not be likely to cooperate with the authorities in the first place. She was, however, competition, a known importer of illegal diamonds; not a major player but, nonetheless, competition. I would have had to deal with her sooner or later. Now it’s not an issue.

“Taking the ambulance was, ultimately, a smart move. It got you the hell out of there while also keeping the focus off the shooting and buying you additional time. It also shows me that you possess an innate tolerance of and affinity for high pressure situations.”

He stands and rounds his desk, his steps slow and deliberate. He stops in front of Roksana and they exchange a long, cryptic look. The emotional connection between the two is palpable as they have an entire conversation without making a sound. His icy blues abruptly soften and warm for a brief instant, and curiosity leads me to look at Roksana. What I see causes my breath to catch in my throat. My badass partner in crime is gazing adoringly up at her father, her eyes luminous and her devotion on display for all to see. A glance in Novak’s direction reveals him to be suddenly preoccupied with a detail on the Russian coin face.

I turn back toward Glazov and shudder when I find him standing directly in front of me. Any remnants of the paternal warmth of a moment ago are long gone. His forbidding, autocratic presence is back in full force.

“All in all, not a complete disaster,” he says, his tone curt. “However, I do business in this city. This is our home and, therefore, I have connections here. Connections that I’ve cultivated over the years with a great deal of time and money, in the form of bribes that keep the authorities off our backs, and generous financial support of civic and charitable causes that help keep the good people of Louisville amenable to our presence here.

“I don’t like your reckless destruction of the ambulance. While collateral damage is sometimes unavoidable, this was gratuitous. Messy. It could interfere with the safety and care of Louisville’s citizens.”

Novak breaks in, ignoring the Pakhan’s icy glare in his direction. “What my cousin is trying to say is that some of our political acquaintances might connect the dots between the bloody scene in the VIP section and the wayward ambulance. They know better than to pursue their suspicions, of course.” He leans forward menacingly and raises his voice with each successive word as he snarls, “But it makes him look like an asshole!”

“
Brat.”
Glazov silences his cousin with a slight shake of his head, the word spoken in a firm, low tone. Novak leans back in his chair, but his expression remains menacing.

Returning his attention to me, the Pakhan continues smoothly, “A sizeable, anonymous donation is being made to Louisville’s Emergency Medical Services. It will be more than enough to cover the cost of a state-of-the-art ambulance -- a replacement for the one you trashed tonight. With that said, it is my expectation, going forward, that you don’t redefine the parameters of a hit. Ask questions, anticipate variables. If nothing else, you’ve got a fucking phone -- use it. And no more grandstanding. I have no patience with exhibitionists. They cost me money.”

“Yes, sir. Once again, I meant no disrespect and it will never happen again.”

“Good. If it does, you won’t be driving an ambulance, Anastasia; your next joyride will be in the back of a hearse.” He gives a curt nod to Roksana, again with that brief, almost imperceptible flash of humanity in his eyes, and then returns to his seat behind the desk. “We’re done here.”

Roksana grabs my arm and practically drags me out the door and down the hall.

If luck did save my ass, then why don’t I feel even a little bit lucky right now? The only thing I’ve got going for me at the moment is that I’m lucky enough to, I hope, still have Roksana as an ally rather than an enemy.

She doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who’s quick to make friends, but somehow we make sense. I don’t plan on doing anything to fuck that up.