Bratva Vows Complete Box Set: A Dark Mafia Romance

by SR Jones

  His face pales, and he gives what looks like a shiver of horror.

  I’m confused. I don’t know what this is, and the panic isn’t abating.

  “I don’t want to fuck you.” He sounds so incredulous. Horrified. “Didn’t you hear what I said? You remind me of my sister.”

  I shrug. “Plenty of men say similar things, right before they screw me or make me suck them.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” He looks about to murder someone. “Pack up your things.”

  “I don’t have any things. I can’t leave with you. I can’t, Madam won’t allow it.”

  He tilts my chin once more. “Listen to me … what’s your name?”

  “Justina.”

  “Okay, Justina. Listen to me. I’m not here to fuck you, or fuck with you. I’m not joking, and I’m not playing mind games. You’re here against your will, so I’m getting you out.”

  “All the girls are here against their will,” I say.

  “Yes, but I can’t do anything about that right now… I will, though. Right now, you’re getting out of here. I’ll have to keep you with me for a few days until I can get you papers, but you’ll be safe with me. And let’s get one thing crystal clear. I am not buying you for sex. I am buying your freedom because you look like someone I loved very much.”

  Even with my hazy, foggy brain, I notice the past tense. So, he lost his sister, and I look like her. I look like the dead sister of a man who is most definitely dangerous as hell, and possibly a killer.

  Weirdly, I think this is my lucky day!

  Chapter 3

  Justina

  THEN

  Andrius takes me by the wrist once more and leads me back downstairs. My mind is whirring at the possibilities. What if he’s lying and he’s going to take me and hurt me?

  On the way out, he bangs on the doors of the rooms and shouts at the men he is with to hurry up, there is a situation.

  Holy hell, they’ve paid to screw and they aren’t going to be happy to have it cut short, and I’m pretty sure he works for them, not the other way around. He’s the hired muscle, or worse, in this scenario for sure.

  We get into the lounge, and Madam looks up.

  Her face tightens as she sees Andrius holding me by the upper arm, and she shakes her head.

  “What did you do?” she asks me.

  I don’t know what to say. I could be in so much trouble now if he doesn’t take me. I had thought of trying to stay because of the whole he’s-a-killer aspect of this, but Madam will have my skin if she thinks I’ve upset this man.

  “How did you get this girl?” Andrius asks.

  Madam’s face changes, and she turns to Andrius plastering a smile on her features. “I don’t know what she’s been telling you, she has a little drug problem, and she makes things up, gets addled.”

  “You gave me a girl on drugs?” Andrius says, voice deadly quiet.

  Madam clearly doesn’t know what to say next.

  “I fucking hope she’s clean.”

  I snort because come on, as if the people here use condoms and care about whether or not we are clean.

  Madam’s hand shoots up when the snort leaves my mouth, and I flinch, bracing for her hard slap. It doesn’t come. Andrius snakes his free hand out and coils it around her wrist like a whip, holding her arm immobile in the air.

  “Don’t. Unless you have a deathwish, do not touch her.”

  The thugs Madam always has with her take steps nearer, but she waves them off with her free hand, keeping the smile plastered to her face.

  I’ll give her due, the bitch is calm under fire.

  “What the fuck?”

  One of the mob guys with Andrius arrives in the room, still tucking his shirt in and panting. “This better be good, Andrius, I was about to blow my load.”

  “This is my cousin.” He raises my arm, his hand still gripping me.

  Madam’s face pales.

  “We’re not on our territory, Andrius,” the man mutters. “I’m sorry about that, but we can’t get into a war over this.”

  Andrius turns to Madam. “She’s not going to be of use to you much longer, is she? Either she’ll catch something that makes her truly sick, gets injured, or simply stops being picked by anyone but the most depraved.”

  I want to claw his eyes out for talking about me in such a way, but I see Madam look at me speculatively. I’m picked a lot less these days, and she’ll have noted it.

  “I’ll pay you for her.” Andrius reaches into his pocket slowly, letting go of me to raise his other hand so the goons can see what he’s doing.

  He takes out a wallet. “Good money, I’ll pay more than she’s worth, and you let me walk out of here with her, no harm, no foul. I’ll even turn a blind eye to what you’ve done to my family.”

  “You are just a boyevik,” she tells him. Meaning, he’s only a soldier, no one important. “You come up from the streets, and now you’re a lowly soldier and think you can tell me what to do?”

  “He’s not a boyevik,” the man who arrived a moment ago says to Madam.

  “Oh, so you’re higher up on the food chain? A brigadier maybe? You still don’t get to tell me what to do.” She juts her chin at Andrius.

  “I’m not a brigadier. Your mistake is to assume I have a title,” Andrius says, deadly calm.

  “But if you’re not anything within the family of these men.” She points to the guy Andrius came with, just as the other one arrives, also out of breath and looking less than happy. “I assume you’re not under their official protection, and therefore have even less sway here.”

  Andrius smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “All you need to know about me is that … for you, if you don’t let my cousin go, I’m certain death.”

  She flinches, and the man who just arrived in the room laughs. “I’d listen to him if I were you. If you have his cousin here, you better let her go.”

  I can see her thinking about this, the wheels turning, and then the newly arrived man says something else. “This is Andrius.”

  The woman pales.

  Holy hell, who is this guy who claims to want to rescue me? The man only said his first name, and Madam looks about to pass out.

  “Oh … okay. Erm, we can possibly come to an agreement,” she stammers.

  “Good,” Andrius says. “Shall we?” He points to a room just beyond the salon area where we are displayed.

  He turns to me. “You stay with John here.”

  John? How Westernized. I try to smile at John who takes my arm and leads me to the sofa where we sit and wait as Andrius goes off with Madam.

  “So, you’re Andrius’ cousin?” he asks.

  I don’t know what to say so I simply nod and look down at the floor, praying that Andrius will be back soon. John takes the hint and thankfully stops talking.

  It doesn’t take long before my dark and deadly apparent savior appears again and marches over to us. He grabs me and pulls me up. “We’re going, come on.”

  I trip and stumble as I rush to keep up with him. As we leave, I glance at the other girls, and tears fill my eyes for them, for what they’re still going to be subjected to.

  As we get out into the fresh air, Andrius turns to the men. “I need to sort this out, call my family and make arrangements to get her back home.”

  He doesn’t even look at me, and I’m doubting myself yet again. I turn back to the door of the brothel, squinting in the bright light of day that I’ve seen so rarely for months now.

  An overwhelming urge to run back into the dark seizes me, but Andrius still has a vice-like grip on me. He’s watching as the men grumble and mutter about it being a pain in their ass, but then one takes out a phone, saying he’ll call a man named Grigori to come meet them.

  Andrius heads to one car, and the two mob guys to the other. One of them now has the sleeves on his top rolled up, and I can see some of the tattoos. I wonder if Andrius has them on him, the marks of the bratva?

  Shit. I could end up
dead here. Then again, wouldn’t I rather be dead than spending anymore days being used and degraded?

  Andrius gets into the car and swears under his breath. “We have to leave here now. This town. It’s not safe. Those men aren’t our friends when it comes to this. I’ve acted way above my station, and the only reason I got away with it is my reputation.”

  “Where will we go?” I ask him.

  “North. I need to get you papers, and I know a man who is high up in the FSB. He can help.”

  North? “So … you’re not part of their cell?” I point to the car the other men have gone to.

  “No, I’m not part of any cell, not really. I do my own thing.”

  I’ve not heard of him, but Madam had. And he scared her. “Is your thing killing?”

  He glances at me briefly, his eyes a flash of silvery gray in a harsh but handsome face. “Yes. It is.”

  Wow, okay.

  “Buckle up.” He points to my seatbelt, and I laugh. I don’t know why it strikes me as funny, but it does. This killer who has rescued me from a brothel where I was used and abused wants me to put my belt on.

  He smiles back at me and says under his breath, “You even laugh like her.”

  Chapter 4

  Justina

  THEN

  We’re in some run-down hotel, and have been for three days now. It’s faded but would have been grand at one time. It has a bed, but in the corner of the room is a long sofa bed, single, that runs underneath the window. Andrius has slept on that for the last two nights. He insisted. Said I needed to rest, get my strength up. Before this, we moved between two other hotels, Andrius seemingly paranoid at first about my safety. I think it’s been about two weeks since I got freed from the brothel. It feels longer, and at the same time, only as if it is a few hours. It’s odd. Nothing seems real, and time isn’t concrete but some abstract notion to me at the moment.

  The first week was hell! I had to come off whatever it was they’d put me on. Andrius got some doctor to come see me and prescribe some meds to help me through. I don’t know what they were, those first few days were a blur. Andrius gave me the meds when the time was right, and he held my hair when I puked. He talked to me while I shivered and twitched on the bed, curled in the fetal position. I don’t know what I did to deserve this dark and deadly guardian angel, but whatever it is, I’m grateful.

  Now that the drugs are out of my system, and I’m feeling somewhat more human, I’ve been able to venture outside once or twice.

  Yesterday, Andrius took me to a doctor, who said I had two sexually transmitted diseases. I felt so dirty, so ashamed, I cried when he told me. I’ve got antibiotics now, and the good news is both will clear up. He’s also done a blood test to check for worse things like syphilis and HIV, but I won’t get those results for a few days.

  Andrius is trying to get me papers, and I know I’m becoming a problem for him. It’s not easy getting me these papers. He’s spoken to the man in the FSB, who he says is also involved in the crime world, and he is helping. He didn’t tell him I was his cousin, simply said he’d got me out of a bad situation and needed papers for me. They should come in a day or two.

  He has said I can go home, but I told him I don’t have a home anymore. His face grew angry when I told him that. It scared me at first, but then I realized he was angry for me, not at me.

  Things seem to be moving for Andrius too. He’s been talking a lot with some Russian guy, a Pakhan I think from the conversation, the Russian mob version of a damned godfather. It seems this man is moving a lot of his business farther into Europe and will be based in Britain, and he wants Andrius with him. What this means for me, I daren’t even think about.

  I know Andrius wants me gone now, it’s obvious, and why wouldn’t he? He saved me, and now he can let me back into the wild like some wounded and rehabilitated tiger or something.

  Except, most of my wounds are internal, and I don’t think they’ll ever heal. I don’t think I can rehabilitate to normal life. Everything scares me. The crowds outside that I’ve experienced on the odd occasion I ventured out with Andrius over the last couple of days. The brightness of it all, the way the sun hurts my eyes still when it’s high in the sky.

  The only thing I like, and I don’t know why, is looking in all the shop windows at pretty things. Bags, shoes, jewelry and trinkets; they all seem to soothe me somehow.

  Maybe I can get a job in a shop. I already look better, healthier. That’s just from a few good showers, some new clothes, and some makeup and stuff. All of which Andrius sent some woman to buy for me. I don’t know who she is, but she did good. The clothes aren’t cheap, and I’m thinking he must have quite a bit of money.

  We haven’t talked much, but I know he’s ex Special Forces, Spetsnaz, and he also did some more … secret work for the state. Now, he seems to be working for himself, but with a lot of various mob families. Dangerous, if you ask me, and I am terrified some of them might want to take me again like what happened before.

  Andrius assures me no one is taking me anywhere. He says they daren’t cross him, and they also won’t want to cross this high-up boss he is doing more and more work for.

  He comes into the room now, after being out for a few hours. I’ve been trying to read, but to be honest, the whole time he’s gone, I tend to just stress and pace. It’s as if he’s become my security blanket, and I can’t bear it when he’s not here.

  “Hey, brought some food,” he says. “How are you feeling?” He comes over to me and looks me up and down, concern evident in his gaze.

  “I’m okay,” I lie. I want to fall to the floor and cling to his ankles and beg him to not leave again.

  “I need to wash up, then we’ll eat.”

  It’s then I look at him properly and see the blood on his cut and scraped knuckles. I swallow and look away, not wanting him to notice me witnessing the violence he gives out. I’ve pretty much realized that my first assessment of him as a killer is correct. He’s a dangerous man, and not one I’d ever want to be on the wrong side of. I’m not, though. I’m on his right side, and as such it’s like having my very own trained Rottweiler to defend me everywhere I go; except my Rottweiler also carries guns.

  I want him to keep me.

  He’s in the bathroom now, the water running. The scent of food fills my nostrils, and for the first time in a long time it makes me feel ever so slightly hungry instead of simply sick.

  How can I make myself indispensable to him? He saved me because he felt duty bound to, said I reminded him of his sister, but he hasn’t mentioned her since. Maybe I don’t look exactly like her, just have a sort of resemblance. Maybe, now I’m looking healthier, better fed, I don’t look much like her at all? Is that why he’s talking more about sending me away? He’s realized that really, once the first glimmer of similarity hit him, that I’m not like her at all?

  Shit.

  How else can I make him keep me around, if he’s now realizing he saved someone who doesn’t actually remind him of his long, lost family member?

  I don’t have any skills and can hardly offer to join him in the beating and assassination business.

  I do have a skill, though, don’t I? I can fuck and suck like the best of them. Should I try to seduce him? Then I remember the STDs and wrinkle my nose. Ugh, no. He’d not want his dick anywhere near my disease-ridden vagina. To be honest, I don’t think I could let him anyway. Not even if it meant keeping myself safe. I don’t know if I can let another man in there ever again. I think I’d rather die.

  My mouth isn’t contagious, though. And I could suck him off, I’m sure of it. That doesn’t seem as bad to me. I don’t know why, in some ways it’s more intimate, but it is something I think I could do.

  Fuck. That’s it. I’ll give him such a good blow job, and let him know it’s on tap whenever he wants it. A nice bit of stress relief so he’ll keep me around.

  It takes another five minutes before he comes out of the bathroom and when he does, he walks over to t
he nightstand to take his watch off.

  This is my chance.

  My heart is pounding, and my palms are sweaty, but I need to do this, to show him he should keep me around. That way I’ll be safe. That way no one will dare to take me again and make me service stranger after stranger.

  One man I can do, right? This man especially. He saved me.

  As he fiddles with his watch strap, I sink seamlessly to my knees in front of him, and reach out with shaking fingers to undo his zip. I don’t bother with his belt, just go for his zip so I can take him out the quickest way.

  He stills, as if on high alert, whole body tense as steel, and looks down at me.

  “What are you doing?” His voice is cold. Colder than I’ve ever heard it.

  “Showing you why you might want to keep me around.” I lower my voice to make it seductive and sexy. “I’m good at this, you know, and I want to.” The lie is ashes in my mouth, turning it dry and useless.

  I don’t want to; the idea makes me scared and sick and ashamed, but I need him. I need him to keep me.

  He grabs my wrist, and his hold is hard enough to hurt a little. I wince, and he loosens his grip immediately.

  “Don’t do that ever again. What part of you remind me of my sister did you not understand?”

  I feel like crying but the tears don’t come. Instead, I stare up at him and wait.

  Wait for him to throw me out.

  Wait for him to hurt me.

  Wait for him to tell me I’m disgusting.

  Instead, he pulls me to my feet and gestures for me to sit on the bed. He sits beside me.

  Sighing, he turns to look at me. “Don’t do that again, not only with me, with anyone. Don’t think it’s all you have to offer. You’re capable of much more, and those fuckers who took you, they’ll get theirs; I promise. You need to find yourself again, and to do that you need to go home. I know…” He raises his hands. “Your family is gone, but you can go home and start a new life. It will be hard, but it won’t be impossible, and you have to do this. This is your next step. I won’t only have papers for you, Justina, but money. Hell, if you don’t want to go home, then you can move anywhere: Moscow, or even somewhere in Europe like Paris?”