The King: Bratva Blood: (A dark mafia romance)

by SR Jones

  Not finishing his thought, he lets me go and steps back.

  “You might have been so much fun, and now I’ll never know.” The smirk is back, and seeing him smile like this flips a switch in me.

  I always knew that one day my temper would be my downfall, but I never imagined it would put me in quite so much danger.

  Not thinking, unable to think, I pull back and slap him hard across the face, then I do it again.

  He stares at me. He doesn’t do anything to stop me. He simply takes the two hard slaps I deliver and stares. Then his smile widens, and he laughs. He laughs at me, as if I’m nothing but a silly little child having a tantrum. So I do. I scream in rage and launch myself at him, my hands raised as I slap him again and again.

  “Fuck yes, more,” he says, laughing.

  What the hell? He’s crazy. A psychopath surely.

  I push at his chest, and this time, instead of the flat of my hand, I go at him with my fist. He catches it easily, big hand around my slight wrist, and he twists us, then flips me backward.

  I’m falling, but something soft catches me.

  I land on my back on the bed, and Konstantin lands on top of me.

  His weight is crushing, and he doesn’t lift himself up to let me breathe easily.

  Hot breath whispers over my ear.

  “Do you know what I am, sunshine?”

  “A pig,” I gasp.

  He bites my earlobe before licking where he bit. I shiver, my body reacting to his touch despite myself.

  “Well, they call me the King, so pig’s new.”

  “You’re a filthy pig.”

  “No, gorgeous, not a pig. If we must go with the animal metaphors, get it right. Pigs eat what they find, they’re scavengers. Me, I’m a predator. Nothing excites me more than someone fighting me, or fleeing from me, so by all means, keep this up.”

  He shifts his position, and I freeze as his very hard, and large, penis digs into my hip.

  “Christ, you turn me on, Cassie. If my life weren’t a shitshow of epic proportions right now, I’d fuck you into this mattress.”

  “I’d say no.” I try to buck him off, but I can’t move him at all.

  “Not sure that would stop me,” he muses as if wondering about the weather.

  Oh, God. His words terrify me. I might find him insanely attractive, but no woman wants to be taken against her will. Not for real, anyway. Maybe as role play in a fantasy, but not for real.

  He bites my ear again then lifts himself from me. Staring down at me, he grins. “Think before you slap me again, Cassie. It only turns me on.”

  Then as if to prove his point, he ostentatiously adjusts himself in his pants.

  “Write the list of things you need for Derek. Play nice with Liza; she’s a pain in the ass, but she’s eight months pregnant, so can’t be stressed too badly. And don’t give my men the sort of lip you give me; they won’t take as kindly to it. Eat what you want. There’s food prepared daily for the whole house to take as they will. Salads, fresh meats, and cheeses and fresh baked bread. Fruit too, and if you want something hot, simply ask Mrs. Dannivon. She’s the housekeeper. Oh, and use the pools, outside or inside.”

  Pools, plural? The flashy fucker.

  “I don’t have a swimsuit,” I say. Not sure why that’s the thing out of all this crazy I choose to focus on.

  “Skinny dip if you want. If not, put one on the list.” He emphasizes those last words as if I’m super stupid.

  He leaves without looking back, and I curl in on myself until I’m laid in a tight ball, arms around my knees.

  My head hurts, my stomach is sour, and worst of all, my core aches.

  I still want him.

  I still want that bastard, pig of a man, and I hate myself for it.

  They call me a king, he’d said. Who? His stupid minions, Denis and Vasily. Denis is so dumb looking I’m surprised he can walk and talk at the same time. God, Konstantin is a prize prick. My self-loathing at my desire for him reaches a peak, but I hate him more.

  If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make him pay for the repeated ways he’s humiliated me.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Cassie

  I avoid nearly everyone for the next two days by staying in my room. Konstantin came to see me once, and only once. He brought me a phone and told me I could use it only to call my grandparents. Their number was programmed in. He said if I used it to call anyone else, he’d take it away, and I’d lose the privilege of speaking to them. Yep, I’m a prisoner alright, and he’s a bastard of a warden.

  At least I can speak to my grandparents, though, which is the one thing in this keeping me going. I had a long chat with them and had to tell them a fairy tale about why I couldn’t see them because of my marvelous job, and I think they bought it. Afterward, I cried for an hour.

  The only time I’ve come out of my room is to eat, and even then, I call down and request stuff if I can, or I go forage and bring the food back to my room, not wanting to see anyone.

  Today, though, is day three, and I feel a little crazy staring at these four walls. The idea of seeing Konstantin makes me sick, but I can’t sit here any longer or I will go insane.

  Two days ago, I wrote a list of things I needed and handed it to Derek, and this morning I got it delivered to me. I had made it simple and listed two pairs of jeans, two t-shirts, a summer dress, a nightdress, underwear, and some sneakers. Along with a swimsuit and toiletries, as well as a few books.

  What’s arrived today is not what I requested. I’ve received four pairs of designer jeans, and they all fit me perfectly. Three t-shirts. All plain, one in white, one in navy, and one in black. Then there are three t-shirts with prints on them. They are all Versace. They’re not my taste at all, but I bet Liza would love them. I have a sundress from Ralph Lauren. A slinky evening style dress from Dolce and Gabbana. And where the hell does Derek think I’ll be wearing that particular item? One of the things I do love is a pair of sneakers from Stella McCartney. They have a platform and are wicked cool. A pair of low-heeled sandals from Tory Burch, with a gorgeous pattern on them if I do say so myself, finish off the shoe side of things. Accessories include sunglasses from Chanel. Two bags from Gucci, and a huge hold-all from Louis Vuitton. Not my style at all. Just nope. I wouldn’t dare touch the bags, and they’re so girly. Not the hold-all, that’s pretty cool and looks sturdy and well made, but the bags? They’re all gold chain straps with gold G’s on them, and that’s not me. Plus, where am I going to go to use bags? The whole thing is weird.

  Then there is the underwear. Where do I even begin! I requested white panties, a pack of six, and two plain cotton bras.

  I have received four black thongs. Two pairs of red lacy panties. Two black bras that are balconette style with discreet padding, which give me a ridiculous cleavage. I never wear padded bras as my boobs are too big as is. I tend to wear bras that flatten things down up top, not accentuate it. Another bra that is red, and like something out of a saloon bar, or so I imagine, with its frills and lacy bits. And then there’s some sort of slinky bodysuit thing that I’ve not done more than glance at before putting it back into the soft tissue it came wrapped in.

  To finish everything off, I’ve been given a hundred percent silk nightdress and soft cotton pajama bottoms with a matching strappy top. The swimsuit is black, which is good, but it’s by Gucci too, and it has a low slit at the front. Still, it’s all there is, and I don’t think it’s polite or kind to make Derek go back and buy me a new one. He’s the one, after all, who is doing this grunt work, not Konstantin.

  Oh, and I got the three books I asked for and one that I didn’t. The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoyevsky. Inside it is written:

  This is a great Russian novel. I don’t think you’ve read this one.

  K.

  I still hate him. The gift shows me nothing more than this man is a changeable monster who thinks he can threaten me, use me, play games with me, and then buy me a book and make it all okay.
Does he think it’s that easy? Does he care?

  I have no idea how his mind works. I think he’s maybe a sociopath, or at the very least not normal. Not in the way most of us are. I investigated him, before he brought me to his lair, and I know he had a hard life growing up in post-Soviet Russia. There was an interview with him in a Moscow business magazine, which with Google translate, I got the gist of, where he talked about how tough it had been when his father left, and they had no money.

  Boo-hoo. We all have our crosses to bear, but we don’t all go around fucking over women, other businesspeople, and whole nations simply to enhance our personal wealth and ego.

  My stomach rumbles. I could call the extension for the kitchen, or Derek’s mobile, from the phone in my bedroom and order some food the way I have done the last few days, but I need to get out of this room. If only the phone in the bedroom could be used for calling outside, but it can’t. I could ring Suzy, tell her to send help.

  Then what? my rational mind supplies. Get murdered by Popov? No, I must stay here, for now, and take the nightmare that is my life. Until the threat from Popov has been neutralized at least, and then I never want to see Konstantin again.

  What if Konstantin kills you? Okay, I’m officially done listening to my rational mind; she’s a buzzkill. I try to push thoughts of my possible death out of the way. After all, I argue with myself, if Konstantin wanted me dead, wouldn’t he simply do it himself now, or even better let Popov have me? He brought me here to keep me safe, so he must care about my well-being to some degree.

  Or he simply doesn’t want you singing like a canary to his enemies. My rational mind is there again, being the Debbie Downer I don’t need today.

  I step out of my bedroom and say firmly to my inner voice, “Shut up, you depressing bitch.”

  Unfortunately, I say this out loud, and just as Liza saunters along the corridor. She smirks at me.

  “First sign of madness is talking to yourself, you know?”

  She goes into her bedroom, a couple doors down, and shuts the door with an added slam. I stand there and fume. And fume and fume some more. God, I hate her as much as I hate him. The devil who brought me here.

  I head downstairs and fix a plate of food, and am halfway through the delicious salad when Liza makes another unwelcome appearance. She hoists herself onto one of the breakfast bar stools next to me and watches me eat.

  Who does that? I hate being watched when I’m eating. Is she trying to psych me out?

  “Do you want something?”

  “You gone,” she says in an irritating girly voice.

  “Yeah? Me too, but we don’t get what we want, so here we are.”

  “He says you’re a colleague, but you’re more than a colleague.” She gets up, goes to the fridge, and pours some wine.

  “Erm, should you be drinking?”

  “One glass won’t hurt.” She sips at it and sighs as if it’s heaven in a glass.

  “I’m really not more than a colleague. Employee, if we’re being pedantic.”

  I think back to the book and wonder. But, no, he doesn’t care for me; it’s clear.

  “Well, something is going on with him. He’s a man of voracious appetites.”

  “Oh, god, please. I don’t want to hear about his bloody appetites. I’m trying to eat.”

  “I won’t go into details, don’t worry. Suffice to say, Konstantin likes sex a lot. He isn’t getting it. Not from me because he’s not come near me. Not that I’d let him, I’m in a delicate condition, but he’s not even tried.”

  “Maybe because, as you say, you’re in a delicate condition, and he isn’t an animal?” I say, wanting this convo done and dusted.

  “Oh, he’s an animal, trust me. The K of old, he’d have come to my room, propped me up on some pillows, and fucked me in the ass if the pussy was out of commission, but he hasn’t tried anything.”

  Fucked her in the ass? While she’s heavily pregnant?

  “Then he’d have slapped my ass for good measure and eaten me out until I came like a train. That’s what K would have done. But now? Nothing. And he’s not getting it elsewhere because for the last few days, he’s been here in this house all the time, holed up planning with his men in the basement.”

  “So? It’s like three days.” I roll my eyes.

  “K doesn’t go three days without. Or not the K I knew. So it got me thinking, and I called around some of his fuck buddies. The ones I knew he still saw now and again, even when he was with me.”

  “He cheated on you?” I stop eating to stare at her, feeling some sympathy for her for the first time.

  “I don’t think you can call it cheating when neither of you have claimed to be exclusive,” she replies with a shrug and another sip of her wine. ”We played games sometimes, wound one another up, but it was always worth it because the make-up sex was epic. He never promised me anything, and I never asked. I knew some of his girls on the side, and I asked them, and they told me the truth; that he still screwed them now and again. I called them now, though, and none of them have heard from him for months.” She fixes me with a stare loaded with meaning, except I don’t know what the meaning is.

  How come she gets to call outside and I don’t? Oh yeah, she’s the woman carrying his baby. He’ll give her a lot more leeway than me, I expect. Is that what you have to do with these men to be viewed as human? Be carrying their kid?

  “Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf. He’s going to be a father.” I don’t know why I’m carrying on this conversation, but I’m bored and achingly lonely after sitting in my room for days.

  She gives a harsh laugh. “He’s made it quite clear that while he is here for this baby, he’s most certainly not here for me. This isn’t working out as I’d planned. I need to get out of here.” She sips at her wine, and then to my shock throws the whole glass down her throat and gets up with a huff and pours some more.

  “You really shouldn’t be drinking that amount,” I tell her.

  “Bitch, I’ve got troubles. I can’t think clearly, and I need to think. I’m in trouble.” She sighs and nibbles on a long fake nail.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Oh, no, now that would be telling. And don’t whisper a word of this to K, or I’ll tell him you kicked me in the stomach.”

  Moments later, the man in question comes into the room. He does an exaggerated double take at us both sitting together. “Wow, ladies, you’re playing nice.”

  “Bet you love this, King K with his posse of women, like some lion with his females.” She sips the wine.

  “Neither of you are my women,” he says as he grabs the wine and pours it down the sink. “Once more, Liza. You drink one more glass of wine, and I’ll make you regret it.”

  She doesn’t say anything, but I see it, a flicker of worry, fear in her gaze as she looks away first.

  “Did you get the clothes and the books?” he asks me, his tone casual.

  “Yes, the clothes are…”

  “What?” He’s impatient.

  “Not me,” I say.

  “You two are the most ungrateful women I’ve ever met.”

  “Maybe because we’re prisoners,” I snap.

  He stalks up to me and puts his fists on the breakfast bar, either side of my plate, making those insanely muscular forearms of his bulge.

  “I have a room in the basement where I can let you spend your time, show you how a real prisoner lives. If you’d prefer?”

  I try not to eye-fuck him as I answer, “No thanks.”

  He’s looking extra gorgeous today somehow.

  I dial down the aggression for one moment. “I like the book. Thank you.”

  He smiles, briefly. “You’re welcome, Cassie. You’re so much nicer when you play nice like this.”

  Liza makes a puking sound in the back of her throat. “You two are disgusting. You’re flirting up a storm, like pathetic school children.”

  She calls this flirting? She really is loopy. Thankfully, she gets
off the stool and heads out of the room, hand on her stomach. “She tried to hurt the baby,” she says to Konstantin as she saunters out.

  God, she’s fucking unhinged. I can’t believe Konstantin saw anything in her. Then again, he’s unhinged, isn’t he?

  He looks at me, and I think he might be about to say something or do something, but he just shakes his head.

  I shake my head too, and eat my salad. He leaves the room without another word, and I contemplate how crazy the people in this house are. The world is full of people so fucked up, us mere mortals can’t even begin to imagine the depths of their fucked-upness. I thought I was a mess, but I’m a well-adjusted normal soul compared to the people in this house.

  Later that day, I decide to use the swimsuit and get some exercise. Not wanting to swim where I’ll be seen, I eschew the outdoor pool and head to the indoor one, which is in the basement but a separate part to the bit where Konstantin carries out business. He showed me which stairs to take the first day I arrived.

  I put on my swimsuit, look in the full-length mirror, and wince. It’s like titty central. I look like a cartoon of myself. Ugh. I cover it with the robe hanging on the back of my door and grab a towel from the fluffy pile in the bathroom. This place is like a hotel, not a home. It’s sumptuous, but cold. A bit like its owner, I think.

  I creep through the house, trying to avoid everyone, and thankfully succeed.

  There is no one at the pool, and I shrug off my robe, distinctly uncomfortable with how much cleavage this swimsuit shows. My god, who buys Gucci swimwear? He could have got me something from Primark, and I’d have been happy.

  This thing is high cut on the legs, with a neckline that plunges almost down to my belly button, but somehow doesn’t gape or show much more than a strip of flesh between my boobs and toward my stomach. It is beautifully made, I have to say, but it’s not me. I’m a high neck navy blue Speedo kind of girl.

  I execute a perfect dive into the pool and start doing lengths. I’m almost done when the door opens and closes with a soft click that echoes in the tiled room.

  Shit.

  I glance up and see Vasily. He’s wearing swim shorts, and his body is big and brutal, full of lean, defined muscle and ink. He sees me and smirks.