It’s funny, really, how much and how little we have in common. I love to fuck. The more the merrier. It doesn’t matter if it’s a paid whore, a free whore, or just some random girl from a club. Yet, I have a problem with the woman I’m supposed to marry giving her body away so freely without a care as to who takes it. Maybe that makes me a chauvinistic piece of shit. I don’t know. But it’s a problem, and it’s one reason why I won’t marry her. The rest of the reasons are because her personality is deplorable.
My phone rings from beside the bed, inside of my apartment. I turn to answer it, snubbing out my cigarette before I walk back inside. I don’t like smoking in my apartment. The smell lingers, and it stains the colors of the walls. Besides, I like my room to smell of Inessa for as long as possible.
“Manya,” I answer.
Manya is the Madam in charge of the stable of women I manage. I have fifty women under my watch, and I’ve just been informed that we’re to expand our operation. Whores make money, and ours make a fucking shitload. Yakov, my Pakhan, has decided to bring in more, doubling our stable and doubling my fucking workload with it.
“We have problem,” she states.
“What?” I bark, walking over to my closet to pull on my clothes.
“Three girls have not checked in with me. It has been two hours.”
“Did you call a Shestyorka to check on them?” I ask as I yank up my pants.
“I did. I have not heard from him,” she says dryly.
“Text me the room numbers. I’m on my way,” I sigh.
It happens, not too often, but it does happen that a client will rough up a girl. We put safety measures in place, but we cannot catch them all. It seems that tonight will be a long night. If the Shestyorka hasn’t checked in either, that cannot bode well for the girls.
I call in my men and tell them to meet me at the hotel. Then, once Manya sends them to me, I text them the room numbers. I hurry to my car, now thankful that Inessa didn’t stay the night. She’d be in my bed all alone, and I would have to leave her there. She’d probably never come back.
Once I slide into the seat of my car and start the engine, I get a whiff of something, and then I grin. I didn’t shower, and I still smell like Inessa. Fuck, she’s sweet. I’ve never tasted sweeter; never fucked tighter. I’ve also never looked into a woman’s eyes and tried to figure out what lies beneath her—wondering what is at her core.
If I were a different man, if I could give her more of me, I’d take more of her.
I’d make her mine.
THE HOTEL IS A fucking wreck, and so are the girls. This is the second time in less than a year that I’ve had fucked up girls. The Shestyorka moans in the corner, an errand boy of barely sixteen. Why Manya sends these young boys to check on the girls, I’ll never know. They should have some Bkyi escorting them. I’ve tried to tell her this, but she refuses.
“It’s happened again,” I mutter into the phone.
“What has?” Yakov growls.
“Three more girls. They’re banged up pretty badly. Pavlov is on his way to the hotel. I’m afraid to move them. Whoever it was got a Shestyorka boy, too,” I explain.
“The fuck?”
“Irish?” I ask.
“Yes, the goddamn Irish,” he yells.
I hear a sweet murmuring in the background, and I know that his angry voice has woken Ashley, his wife. He covers the phone, mumbling something to her before he’s back with me.
“We need Byki,” I announce. “Manya has been fighting with me far too long on them; but right now, it’s a need.”
“Yes, whatever is needed, you have all my resources. Call whomever you’d like, schedule how you see fit. I need these girls safe, Dominik,” he rumbles.
“Yes, boss.”
“Do you need me to come down there?” he asks. I shake my head before I answer him verbally.
“Stay in your bed with your wife,” I chuckle.
“Keep me updated,” he grunts.
I hang up the phone and look around. The room is trashed. The women are breathing, but they’re bleeding and passed out; same with the young Shestyorka. What a goddamn cluster fuck. This war is starting to get too fucking bloody.
A Pakhan’s wife was murdered just a few weeks ago, in her own home. It was a gruesome scene, and it was unheard of. You don’t kill a powerful man, like Pasha’s, wife. No way in fuck. That’s like asking for the war to turn into mass chaos. Which if I am to guess, is exactly what the Irish wanted.
Maybe they thought that by killing Sonia, we would retaliate without thinking—lash out in fear and anger. They obviously don’t know Russians too well. We will retaliate, but we’ll do it slowly. We’ll cripple and then we’ll destroy. We won’t hurt a few whores, not even a leader’s wife, because we’re going to obliterate the entire fucking organization.
“Sorry, I had to check on my daughter,” Dr. Pavlov murmurs as he walks through the hotel room, medical bag in hand.
“Daughter? I didn’t know you had children,” I say in confusion.
“She’s adopted,” he says with a shrug.
“Yeah?” I ask as I watch him lean down and look at the first girl.
“Not legally, of course. Daughter of someone in the organization. She was left orphaned twenty years ago. It was me, or one of the facilities back then,” he mutters as he continues to check her out, slowly rolling the whore onto her back.
“Facilities?” I ask.
“When they used to take the girls. She was five, perfect age to be taken. I couldn’t let it happen. I delivered her into the world,” he whispers “So I kept her.”
“And now?” I ask out of curiosity.
“Now, she breathes, and she lives, and she works. I wish she were happier,” he admits as he prepares the first girl for an IV of fluid.
“She will find her way,” I say with a smile.
He grunts but doesn’t say another word. A while later, I help him transport the girls and the young Shestyorka to a waiting car and then back to the brothel.
“They’re going to need follow ups. I’ll be back in the afternoon to check on them and bring them more pain meds,” he says tiredly.
“Thanks, Doc,” I reply, shaking his hand.
“Is this—should I get a Byki for my girl?” he asks nervously. “I’ve been worried since Sonia’s death, if this is something I should do, or if I should move her back in with me.”
“She doesn’t have a man?” I ask.
“No, not that I know of. She’s private, but she doesn’t have a steady man. Maybe you could send someone to keep an eye on her residence, do a check?” he asks. I can see the worry etched in his features.
He loves her, this woman he saved as a girl. She would have been sold into an unknown hell of sexual slavery back then, especially being an orphan. Now he worries over her, as any father would do. We’re obviously at war, so his sense of protection has heightened.
“Text me her address, I’ll add her to the rotation,” I offer.
“Thank you, Dominik. I really appreciate it.”
He leaves and I start making phone calls. I need Byki, and I need them now. Our men are coming slowly but surely from Russia, but there isn’t enough of them. I need more. I have too many women and children to protect here; adding Pavlov’s adopted daughter to my list doesn’t ease my stress on the matter, either.
Once I have Byki set up and they’ve arrived at each of the brothel’s, I leave and make my way to Yakov’s office. I have more contact information there and can work much faster with my computer in front of me, rather than this small assed fucking phone I’ve been using for hours.
I’m so tired, I don’t even want to drive; but I can’t rest yet. There is too much shit to do. Too many people to contact and schedule. The hours tick by as I immerse myself in work. I don’t even realize it’s the next morning until my secretary sets a coffee down in front of me. I pick up the cup and head over to Yakov’s office to speak with him about last night.
�
�Talk to me,” Yakov announces as soon as I walk through the door of his private office.
“We need to protect our women and children. They aren’t going after us, they’re going after the whores and the Shestyorka, which is only the beginning. They’ll continue to go after the women, just like they did Sonia,” I announce.
I watch as he flinches at the mention of Sonia. She was murdered seconds before we got to her. Had we been ready five minutes earlier, we could have possibly saved her. That fact weighs on all of us—every single one of us. Sonia was beloved by all. Her husband, Pasha, is one of the strongest Pakhan leaders in the country—a man not only feared, but highly respected amongst every single Bratva member in the organization.
“Fuck. We have only half the troops we need in the state right now. These fucking no-fly lists are a pain in my fucking ass,” he grinds out.
“Let’s start our defense first. Get our women and families protected, then we’ll move in on them,” I suggest.
“Yeah,” he nods.
“I’m going to contact Oliver, have him poke around in their computer systems and see what we can do from there, if anything, to start crippling them. We’ve mourned Sonia, we’ve tightened security, it’s time,” he says with a nod. Oliver is in California, the organizations resident computer expert.
“I’ll get men scheduled,” I announce as I stand.
Walking out of his office, I make my way to mine with a short elevator ride. Once I sit down behind my desk, I start scheduling. I send all of the men that I’ve scheduled as Byki their contact information and how to get in touch with the person they’re supposed to be watching, including Pavlov’s, so that his daughter can be under our protection. It only takes me eight hours to coordinate Byki’s with families, two per family on a rotation. Once the rest of our men come from Russia, then we can end the Irish and go back to our lives.
I hate times of war and unease. Though, I’ve never seen anything like what we’re preparing for right now. I have a feeling it’s going to rain blood once we get started.
I run my fingers through my curls, softening them as I do, making them look more wavy than curly. In my job as a real estate agent, I must always look professional, yet approachable, and appealing to both sexes.
I try not to show too much leg, but just enough, and the same goes with cleavage. I keep my makeup neutral, yet perfect, and my eyes a tad more done up than the rest of me. I always, always, wear high heels.
I press my nude glossy lips together and jump when my phone starts to dance on the bathroom counter top. It’s my Uncle Pavlov. His real first name is Yuriy, but nobody calls him that. I didn’t even discover it until a few years ago, when I sold him the home he lives in now. A gorgeous brownstone in an equally gorgeous neighborhood.
“Uncle,” I great warmly.
“I need to talk to you. Do you have time this morning for a coffee?” he asks curtly.
My Uncle Pavlov may not be the warmest man in the world, but something is wrong. I can tell in his voice.
“I have a showing in an hour, but I have time,” I say, looking down at my watch.
A grin plays at my lips when I see the shiny rose gold piece. It’s Burberry, and a gift from Dominik. He slid it on my wrist the second time we were together, with no explanation at all. When I asked him what it was for, he said because a woman should always have the time available to her, and something lovely on her wrist. Then he fucked me so hard against the headboard, I screamed with each thrust of his hips. It was bliss.
“See you at the café in a few moments,” Uncle Pavlov announces before he ends the call.
The café is only a two-minute walk from my building, which means he’s probably already there and waiting for me. I hurry and grab my clutch and keys before walking out of my door and into the hallway, double checking my door to assure that it is, indeed, locked.
The street is already bustling with energy, filled with people and noise. At nine in the morning, it’s past rush hour, but it’s still busy, as it always is in the Southwestern part of Brooklyn. New York is truly the city that never sleeps. Bay Ridge is where I call home. I’m close enough to Brighton Beach, where Uncle Pavlov lives, that he allows me my freedoms. I love being removed from the Bratva and their area of the city, even if it is just by a few city blocks. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.
My eyes meet Pavlov’s as soon as I step inside of the shop. When his gaze finds mine, I frown. He looks exhausted, and not just a little. He appears as though he could fall asleep right here at the café. I hurry over to him, touching my cheeks to his before sitting down, wrapping my hand around the coffee that sits across from him, already knowing it’s mine. It’s just what he does.
“We have troubles,” he murmurs. My blood runs ice cold, and I snap my gaze to his.
“What do you mean?” I ask in confusion.
Troubles could mean a million different things, and I want to know how serious this is. Though, judging by the tired and almost fearful look in my uncle’s eyes, I have a feeling it’s extremely serious.
“You will have a Byki for a while. I don’t know if he’ll just check in with you, be with you always, or just in the shadows. I’ve not been given confirmation of this yet, but I need you to stay aware, stay vigilant. Never show a house by yourself, Inessa. There are things happening, and right now, it isn’t safe,” he warns.
“I have nothing to do with the company you keep. How does this affect me?” I hiss.
“Because you are connected to me, and that is all they need to want to hurt you. This is no joke. This is serious, and I am worried,” he whispers. My spine goes straight.
I have known Uncle Pavlov my entire life, and not once has he ever voiced worries, not ever. He didn’t even voice worry when the man I was engaged to—or, more accurately, contracted to—ended up being a traitor and an abuser to the most disgusting and disturbing levels possible. In fact, he didn’t even show relief when the man was killed. He never shows emotion, not ever, and now—this. It scares me.
“Do I need to move in with you for a while?” I ask.
“No, it is not necessary yet. Just be careful,” he says as his hand wraps around mine from across the table.
“I will,” I nod, bringing my coffee to my lips and taking a sip.
I watch as he reaches into his pocket and grins.
“Your Byki contact information was just sent.”
“Oh, that was fast,” I whisper. I watch as his eyes widen, and then he grunts before he faces me.
“You’re Byki is Konstantin,” he grinds out.
“This is bad?” I ask.
“You don’t let him talk you into anything, Inessa,” he warns. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. “His main goal in life is fucking. He is not the man that I would choose to protect you, but I do not get a choice in the matter, so Konstantin it is. Stay here. I will call him,” he grunts before he stands and walks away from me.
I almost giggle after he’s gone. Almost. A month ago, I would say that Uncle Pavlov had no reason to be concerned with me falling for some Bratva bad boy. Then I went and did just that. I fell for Dominik. I can try to deny it all day long, but my body knows what it wants, and it’s him. I know he’s dangerous, as I’m sure this Konstantin is, but it’s never appealed to me before Dominik. I wonder if it’s just Dominik, or if I’m suddenly becoming one of those bad boy loving girls.
“Konstantin will be here in thirty minutes. He’ll be escorting you to all of your showings. You’ll need to give him your calendar; and Inessa, please don’t make it difficult,” he says. His eyes go back to that weary, tired, and worried state.
“I won’t, Uncle, I promise.”
We don’t say much else, lost in thought as I wait for the man who will be protecting me for the foreseeable future. Pavlov lifts his head with a jerk of his chin and stands before coming to my chair and slowly pulling it out for me. I smile, this is more like my Uncle Pavlov, this quiet, dominating man—not the worried,
scared, man from earlier.
“Konstantin, this is my daughter, Inessa,” he announces as soon as we walk outside.
My step falters at the word daughter, but I try to hide my surprised reaction. He has taken on the role as mother and father, but not once have we called each other anything other than Uncle Pavlov and Inessa.
I look up and into the black eyes of my new Byki. He’s tall, taller than Dominik, and his face has a scar running down the side—from the corner of the outside of his left eye, curving around to under his cheek in a crescent shape. His hair is clipped short, but it works with his large, tall, and definitely wide frame.
“Hello, Inessa,” he practically purrs. With his deep voice, that damn sexy rugged scar, and his black eyes that are now practically glittering, I have to press my thighs together.
Damnit.
“Keep your dick away from my daughter,” Uncle Pavlov announces before he turns and walks away.
My head whips around, my hand still in Konstantin’s, and I watch my uncle walk away. No, storm away from me. Then I turn back around to face Konstantin.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“No reason to be,” he chuckles as his eyes look me over slowly.
I can practically feel every single place his gaze lingers. My legs burn like fire, my hips, my belly, and then my breasts before he lifts up to my eyes. Then he gives me a slow, lazy grin before he sinks his white teeth into his bottom lip. I swear to god, my pussy quivers at the sight.
“I have a showing. I need to go.” I whisper. My voice can only speak in a hushed tone with the way he’s looking at me. His charisma is off the charts. He’s dangerous, completely and totally dangerous.
“We’ll take my car,” he murmurs, his voice deep and husky—sexy as all hell.
“Okay,” I breathe.
Konstantin moves his hand from mine to wrap around me as he places his deliciously warm palm on my lower back while we walk. He’s on the outside of me, his big body blocking the street, and I know why. My papa always did this, too. I asked him once, why he walked on the side of the street while mommy and me were always, always to the inside. He told me it was to protect us; in case a car lost control, they would hit him before us.
Tempting the Badman (Russian Bratva #5) Page 2
