Debase (Elite Bratva Brotherhood Book 1)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  I glared, felt my jaw click as I ground my teeth. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re playing with fire.” Phoenix stood. “Trust me, I wrote the book on it, fucking still living with the feeling of dancing with the flames.” He reached for Bee’s hand.

  She grinned up at him like he was a god.

  And then she stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his neck.

  He locked eyes with me. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Alice was at the bar, bending over so far that I could almost see all the way up her dress. I shot Phoenix a pained expression. “I think for once. I don’t know whether to run or fight.”

  “Maybe,” Bee piped up. “You do a little bit of both.”

  I tilted my head at her, my vision blurred a bit before I shook it off and stood. “I can’t imagine that going over well.”

  “You never know,” she said softly.

  The rest of the group walked off just as Alice approached with a drink in hand, it was clear and had a lime twisted in it.

  “So.” Her cheeks bloomed with color as she sat down on the empty couch, I slid in next to her, overlooking my kingdom while people drank, danced, partied, and left through the side door to get high off whatever product my family had brought in over the last week.

  I had pot readily available for every customer.

  Cocaine if they needed to stay awake.

  Molly when they wanted a shared sexual experience.

  But I drew the line at heroin.

  I wasn’t a complete monster.

  I told myself I only gave them good drugs.

  I lied on a daily basis.

  I ignored the feeling in my chest, of Alice seeing what was beneath the surface of my calm facade.

  I started tapping my foot again.

  And then her hand was on my thigh.

  I stilled. And slowly looked up at her. “Something on your mind, dorogaya?” I was having a hard time focusing on her, an even harder time looking away from the expanse of leg as my vision continued blurring.

  She seemed to think about it and then leaned back.

  I rested my arm on the back of the leather couch and motioned for more shots from the waiter.

  I wasn’t near numb enough if I could feel the heat of her body on my fingertips, if I could still taste her mouth on my tongue.

  “Phoenix, he just said some things.” She stared down at her hands.

  “Phoenix likes to talk.”

  “What if he’s right?”

  I snorted. “What if he’s wrong?”

  She sipped her drink through a black straw.

  I felt nothing but rage for the plastic that was touching her lips. Before I could stop myself, I reached out and grabbed the straw from her drink and very slowly lifted it to my mouth.

  Would I taste her there?

  I licked my way down the straw and winked at her. “Beefeater Gin?”

  Her jaw dropped. “How’d you know?”

  “Can you keep a secret?” I teased lowering my voice.

  I ignored how damn adorable she looked when she nodded her head with big wide eyes and scooted closer.

  I crooked my finger.

  Another scoot.

  And then I purposely grazed her ear with my lips and whispered, “I own a club.”

  She stilled and then burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

  I couldn’t stop smiling.

  Either the vodka was doing the trick.

  Or I was insanely drunk off her laugh.

  Both were a probability.

  “Okay, I deserved that.” She turned to me, then, lifting the cool glass to her mouth and drinking deeply.

  I flinched.

  Ready to grab the glass.

  To pull her across my lap, punish her for making me want her so violently that the only way I was keeping my hands off of her was through keeping my hands on vodka shots.

  I was in control.

  Barely.

  Another tray of shots was placed in front of me.

  I checked my watch. It was closing on midnight.

  I needed to question Elena in the morning, and in my current state, I was already questioning all the alcohol I’d consumed.

  Alice yawned, her eyes fluttering closed a bit before she set her glass on the table. “I’m going to go to bed.”

  She stood, swayed a bit on her feet. I wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion or drunkenness. God knew I wasn’t one to judge. How long had it been since I’d actually drank more than a shot or two? Especially with all the Italians?

  She was messing with my calm.

  With my business.

  With everything.

  I stood with her, waiting for the room to right itself as Ax approached with a grin on his face. “Calling it a night, boss?”

  “Make sure nobody dies,” I said in a bored tone, and then I wrapped an arm around Alice. “But if they do, only disturb me if the body count’s higher than three.”

  Alice stiffened beneath my arm.

  I almost rolled my eyes.

  A loud chime sounded.

  Shit.

  I’d completely forgotten.

  All the tattooed women slowly moved through the room in a sea of red dresses, and then they went through the open black door as my men waited on either side.

  Alice looked up at me. “What’s going on?”

  “Bidding hour,” Ax answered before I could get a word out.

  “Bidding.” Alice scrunched up her nose. “Like a silent auction?”

  Ax’s lips twitched.

  I shook my head slowly.

  I narrowed my eyes as a few De Lange men made their way through the crowd, including Alice’s brother, his lips swollen and expression sullen. Clearly, missing part of his tongue was not a huge impairment. Maybe once other parts were missing…

  “Who let them in?” I clenched my teeth as Ax followed my gaze. “I want whoever it was, fired.”

  “They’re paying customers,” Ax pointed out. “And you always keep your enemies close.”

  Alice shrunk next to me, like she wanted me to shield her body.

  I knew if we walked back to the apartment they’d see her.

  “Shit.” I hung my head. “Guard my bidding room. No one comes in, knock twice once they’ve had their drinks and are seated in the auditorium.”

  “Right away.” Ax nodded.

  “Come on.” I led Alice to the room I’d brought her to days ago, the one with the red and green blinking lights, the one that exposed her to the truth.

  My truth.

  A sickness washed over me as I unlocked the door and gently shoved her in then locked the door behind me.

  It was dark except for the single light on in the auditorium.

  All of the women in red waited in the middle, standing on the concrete like goddesses.

  Lights flickered.

  And then a single woman stood there, head held high.

  I didn’t know her name.

  The number flashed above her, six thirty-six.

  Alice gasped.

  “Don’t look…” I said through clenched teeth.

  “This,” She touched the bulletproof glass. “How often does this happen?”

  “Every night.” I walked up behind her, thankful that nobody could see in, wishing that we couldn’t see out.

  I didn’t want her to look.

  Damn it.

  I flipped her around and kissed her shoving her body against the glass, my mouth tasting hers as cheers erupted around the auditorium.

  She didn’t see the blood splatter the glass next to us.

  She didn’t see the trail of it running down the cement mixing with the woman’s tears.

  Another light flashed.

  Alice pulled back from me, her eyes locked on mine, and then she very slowly turned, even though I gripped her tight.

  The woman was dead, her throat in the process of getting slit after she was shot in the head, execution
style.

  Alice gagged and covered her face with her hands. “What was she guilty of?”

  “Existing,” I whispered lifelessly. “Breathing.” I shrugged. “Take your pick.”

  Alice shoved against me. “I need to get out of here, I need to leave, I need—”

  “Shh,” I tugged her back against me. “You’re hysterical. Running out of this room gets you put in that auditorium. You want to know how you get a tattoo? By not choosing me!”

  “Great!” she roared. “So, I either suffer at my brother’s hands, or you get bored with me and throw me down into the auditorium!”

  “Have I even touched you?” I shoved her against the glass, my hands on either side of her face, pressing the glass so hard that my fingers hurt. “Have I fucked you?”

  “N-no.” She lifted her gaze to mine. “But you want to.”

  The denial built up in my throat.

  And never came out.

  Her face grew harder. “And when you finally do… is that what happens to me?”

  “No,” I rasped. “Never.”

  “And yet you let it happen to others. To women who have done nothing wrong!”

  “Raise your voice at me one more time,” I seethed. “And I’ll lock you somewhere nobody will hear you scream.”

  She slapped me.

  Hard.

  I jerked back in shock. Nobody touched me without my permission. And nobody struck me more than once.

  Nobody.

  My nostrils flared as two knocks sounded on the door.

  I had her by the wrist and out the door in a flash, dragging her down the hall.

  She screamed.

  And I let her hate me.

  I let her scream at me.

  I let her curse me to Hell.

  I let her.

  Because it was like throwing cold water over my burning body.

  She was right.

  I wasn’t hers.

  She wasn’t mine.

  This wasn’t a fairy tale.

  I killed innocent women.

  I’d always killed innocent women.

  And she was right.

  I would tire of her once I took her, just like my father had tired of his women; I was his son, after all.

  She’d revealed my biggest fear without even knowing it.

  That I was just like him.

  That once I had sex with someone, I would need more and more until it turned violent like it had for him.

  Until I needed them younger and younger.

  Until I needed more.

  Always more.

  I jerked open the door to the apartment and shoved her in, then locked them, and stomped past her.

  “Andrei—”

  “Six thirty-two,” I interrupted without turning around.

  I could have sworn I felt her heart drop to the ground and shatter at my feet as she sucked in a sharp breath.

  She was nothing.

  Just a pretty thing I would destroy.

  Something I would take off the shelf and mar with my darkness, she might as well be Pandora’s box.

  I would open her once.

  And be lost forever.

  Tragic.

  True.

  I hung my head. “Get some sleep. I’ll have Phoenix grab you in the morning. I’ll provide a strung-out stand in for the Italians. You can take your clothes; I don’t want them here. Take the shoes, the purses.” Take my fucking soul. “I don’t want anything in here that would ever remind me of you.”

  It hurt to say out loud.

  More than I thought it would.

  My chest was tight as she hurried past me with a whispered “I hate you.” On her lips.

  And when the door slammed, I hung my head and said. “Good.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Alice

  My tears stained the pillowcase. I felt irrationally angry over him sending me away. All I’d ever wanted was my freedom.

  And he was giving it to me.

  I should be thankful.

  Giddy even.

  He was going to give me a fresh start.

  I’d been in his presence mere days, and the thought of not having him looming after me, arguing with me, kissing me, made me physically sick.

  That’s how demented this whole thing was!

  Falling for Andrei was like mental warfare.

  I knew it was wrong.

  And yet touching him always felt so right, I’d never felt more safe in my entire life.

  I thought back over the night.

  Over what Phoenix had said.

  Andrei would give me everything.

  But what if it wasn’t enough?

  What if by taking the last part of him… I created an even bigger monster?

  Was I really debating this?

  I threw off my covers and walked across the room, opened my door and stared across the hall at his.

  Everything about Andrei was too big, too unreal.

  Too much.

  I raised my hand to knock, changed my mind, and just opened the door.

  His bedroom was beautiful, just like him and eerily different late at night. Dark navy was offset by shades of white and pale blue, with understated accents in creamy tones. Subtle, classy. A few art pieces hung on the wall, all abstracts with hues echoing the room itself. A chaise of slate gray leather sat in a nook that looked… cozy, inviting. The mahogany bed with a plush mattress was topped by a snow white duvet. In stark contrast, a black fur blanket lay folded across the foot. Everything was high-end but… comfortable, lived in. Not a red, black, or gold in sight. This room was a sanctuary except for the large flat screen TV in the corner.

  A roaring fire blazed in the fireplace.

  And the man who I hated.

  The man who I couldn’t stop thinking about.

  Was on his knees in front of the fireplace.

  He was wearing a pair of black pajama pants, silk.

  And he was staring at the fire like he knew what it felt like to let the heat singe him.

  The flames licked higher and higher.

  His gloves were off.

  He didn’t acknowledge that I was in the room, but I knew he heard me, sensed me, could have killed me in less than three seconds if he wanted.

  I was out of my element.

  Funny how the hero in my story should have been my own family, my brother, my father.

  But because of that mistrust, because of the twisted way they showed love, I’d fallen for the dragon that protected the castle.

  I’d fallen for the beast.

  I’d fallen for darkness.

  Preferred it to light.

  I’d fallen for the devil himself.

  “Don’t test my self-control, not tonight.” His voice was raspy, deep. If I closed my eyes I could hear the slight Russian accent, just like I could feel the warmth from his body even though he wasn’t touching me.

  When I finally made it to him, my knees buckled.

  He was kneeling in a pool of blood.

  “Andrei…” I dropped in front of him, searching for the wound, only to see that his left hand, the one with the star tattoo, was completely mutilated. “What happened?”

  “He’s in me,” Andrei whispered. “The devil himself.”

  “No.” I reached for his bloody hand. “That’s not true.”

  “In my blood.” He stared straight ahead. “At least I can cut the reminder from my skin, cut the tattoo away from my bone and pray it’s not a premonition of things to come, the final star in the dynasty, falling…”

  Maybe he was still drunk.

  “That would be the cruelest trick of all you know.” His eyes watched the flames behind me. “My father, he’s laughing from his Circle of Hell, watching, waiting, mocking me.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I ran to the adjoining bathroom, grabbed a towel and ran back, then wrapped it around his hand, shocked he let me touch him.

  Angry that I’d slapped him when he’d never lied about who he was.


  Angry that I’d want him to be something other than the man kneeling in front of the fireplace bleeding out his truth.

  “Listen to me.” I held the towel against his hand. “Just because you’re his son, doesn’t mean you’re like him.”

  “Lie,” he whispered, finally locking eyes with me. “I am exactly like him.”

  “Prove it,” I challenged.

  He blinked slowly, his eyes landing on my mouth. “I’d rather prove you wrong than prove him right. You have a big day tomorrow. Go to sleep.”

  “No.”

  He scowled. “Could you for once listen to me the first time?”

  I smiled. “No.”

  He stared me down. “One day, dorogaya you’ll have beautiful children. They’ll laugh, they’ll be free. When you close your eyes, you’ll be thankful you ran away, thankful that you started fresh. For some of us, it’s too late, but for you?” He pressed his good hand against my cheek, his hand was alarmingly warm, soft. “You will have a beautiful future.”

  “And if I choose an ugly present and uncertain path?”

  “You were never mine.” He said it like it killed him inside to admit. “Your name was never written down in the book here at the club, you weren’t purchased, you’re free. This is the part where you say thank you.”

  “If you bought me, would you let me stay?”

  He swore. “Do you hear yourself? Is this what three days in my presence has done to you? Degraded to the point of being an object for fucking sale?”

  “Answer me!” Tears welled in my eyes.

  “Dorogaya” His voice was thick. “I’m a very rich man, but even I couldn’t afford you.”

  I gasped.

  He leaned in and spoke the word against my lips. “Priceless.”

  Our foreheads touched then, they pressed together while tension built between us.

  “Go.” I flinched at the pain in his voice, the sheer vulnerability of the way he said such a simple word, like releasing it into the air between us felt like stabbing himself in the heart. “Please.”

  I didn’t kiss him.

  Kissing wouldn’t fix this.

  Fix him.

  Me.

  I was traumatized, broken, I’d suffered by those who loved me.

  And the problem between us.

  He had too.

  We were abused by those who were supposed to protect us. Its unnatural for a parent to go against instinct, so it’s only natural that the object of their hate, of their hurt, turns to darkness for peace.