Paying The Bratva’s Debt

by Cole, Jagger

  Zoey snickers. “Is he hot?”

  I blush. My thoughts quickly flash back to earlier, by the pool. I remember watching him dive in, not even seeing me there on the side. I replay the way I felt like a peeping Tom watching him swim back and forth, his muscles bulging under his tattoos. And then, I replay the part when he got out—when he touched me and kissed me. When he made me explode on his fingers like that, demanding that I come.

  Suddenly, I’m aware of Zoey laughing.

  “What?” I snap.

  She giggles. “Well, I asked if this grumpy, dominant, growly boss of yours was hot and you just went quiet.”

  I blush deeply. “I was thinking about what a dick he is.”

  “Oh, you were thinking about dick alright.”

  “Zoey!” I gasp. “Seriously?!”

  “Well answer the question!”

  I simmer, blushing deeply and worrying my lip.

  “Yeah, that’s still silence—”

  “He’s cute, alright?”

  “So he’s hot.”

  I feel my face grow warmer. “Maybe,” I mumble.

  She crows a laugh. “So, grumpy, growly, snarly, and hot. And he’s your boss at this swank new job in New York. Fiona, I can pretty much assume I’m never seeing you again, right?”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s not true.”

  “Well at the least, maybe you can finally lose your v-card.”

  My face turns crimson. “He’s my boss, Zoey!”

  “I mean, not yet he isn’t. Technically.”

  No, technically, he’s the vicious killer who has me under lock and key in my own bedroom. And I still can’t stop fantasizing about him.

  “This conversation is over,” I mumble.

  She laughs. “Okay, okay. Sorry for teasing.”

  “Well how about you, huh?” I push back. “Chet Brubaker been sniffing around anymore?”

  Zoey instantly stops giggling. “No,” she says quickly.

  “Zoo-eeey,” I tease.

  “Eww, no, Fiona,” she says quickly. “No Chet. Gross.”

  I frown at her sudden change in tone. “Anything else on your end you want to talk—”

  “You know what, shit, I have to run.”

  My brows knit. “Oh, uh, okay. You okay?”

  “Yeah, fine,” she says quickly. “Chat later. Bye!”

  She quickly hangs up. I’m confused as I stare at the phone in my hand. But finally, I shrug. I fall back on the bed, drumming my fingers on the comforter. My thoughts, predictably, wander to Viktor. I start to wonder where he is, and who he’s with. Who are these “guests of honor” he had to go meet with? Bravta types? Business associates?

  My mouth purses tightly. Or, girls, maybe? Images of Viktor cavorting around with underwear models or a bunch of skanky club girls burn through my mind. I scowl, pushing them away. The sting of jealousy singes me, making me pout as I glare at the ceiling.

  I hate that I’m jealous of imaginary women having imaginary fun with the man I shouldn’t be wanting in the first place.

  My phone rings suddenly. I glance at it to see that it’s Zoey again.

  “Hey, what’s—”

  “I have to tell you something,” she blurts. I can hear the panic in her voice, and I frown.

  “Of course,” I say gently. “Zoey, whatever it is—”

  “It’s your dad,” she says quickly. “He’s…” she groans. “Zoey, he’s been… sexting me.”

  My face scrunches up. “Eew! What?!”

  “I was walking past your building yesterday and saw him as his car was pulling up. He invited me in, and I mean, I’ve been to your house a million times, so I went up.”

  My stomach knots. “Wait, what did he do?”

  “Nothing! Well, he sort of tried to…” she groans. “We were alone, and I was talking about you and your job. But he kept changing the subject back to me. He kept asking questions about my life, which were fine at first. But then it was like, do I have a boyfriend. Do I like older guys, that sort of stuff.”

  I make a face. “Eww! Are you kidding me?!”

  “I left, Fiona. I just made up some excuse and ran out. But he’s been texting me… stuff, since then. Like, flirty stuff, and then when I didn’t know how to respond, he got bolder.”

  “Oh my God, Zoey, I’m so, so sorry. That’s so fucking gross.”

  “He, uh…” she takes a breath. “He sent me a picture of himself naked an hour ago, Fiona. Like it was an accident, but it wasn’t?”

  I groan, feeling ill. “Okay, that’s so gross. I’m so sorry!”

  There’s a long pause, and I frown.

  “Zoey?”

  “I…” she breathes quietly. “There’s actually something else. I told myself I’d never tell you this, because I just never wanted you to have to look at your dad like this…”

  I feel cold as my mouth thins. “Zoey, what is it?”

  “It’s not the first time he’s done this,” she whispers.

  My mouth falls open. “You’re joking.”

  “I wish I was.”

  I blanche. “Oh my God, when?”

  She groans. “That’s actually the worst part. It was…a while ago.”

  My stomach knots. “Oh my fucking God.”

  “It was when we were seniors in high school,” she says thinly. “When I was seventeen.”

  My body feels like it’s caving in on itself. I feel cold, and gross, and just sick all over.

  “Look, it was a long time ago. He told me at the time it was a mistake, and that he’d been drinking and texted the wrong person. I wasn’t sure if I believed him, but I really wanted to. And he never brought it up ever after that.”

  I breathe shallowly, shaking in disgust. “Zoey, I’m…I don’t even know what to say. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  “I’ll live,” she sighs. “Sorry, I know you probably never needed to hear that. But I had to tell you.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the mental image.

  “Hey,” she says quietly. “You think I can come visit you in New York?”

  I wince. “I… I’ll be home pretty soon, Zoey.”

  “Yeah…” she sighs again. “Alright, sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry. God, that’s so freaking gross.”

  “Politicians, huh?” she mutters dryly.

  “Ugh.”

  “Alright, well go back to your fancy job offer and your hot growly boss. If he’s got a brother, let me know.”

  I smile. “Night, Zoey.”

  “Night.”

  10

  Viktor

  The car comes to stop beneath a flickering streetlight. I get out, the gravel, broken glass, and grime of the warehouse district crunching under my shoes. It’s a depressing place, but it’s also quiet—perfect for my guests, and for the violence that will come to the others tonight.

  We’re parked in front of two small, dark warehouses. The door to one opens. Light floods out across the gloomy parking lot as Lev steps out.

  “How are they?”

  “Scared,” Lev growls. “But safe. Doctor Turgenev is looking them over now, but they seem okay. They’re eating.”

  My brow furrows. “Good. That’s good. And the others?”

  His smile twists. He turns and nods to the second warehouse. “Slowly accepting their fate. Sobbing like little girls.”

  My lips thin into a hateful line. “Even better. I’ll see them in a few. But I’d like to meet our new arrivals first.”

  Lev nods and heads back to the first warehouse. I follow, but at the door, I stop and turn to my men.

  “Stay outside. If anyone is to come in, your guns stay out here. Is that clear?”

  “Da, boss,” a few of them grunt. I nod and turn back to Lev as he opens the door for us. Inside, there’s a small entryway with a little office desk, and then another door. Wordlessly, we step through that one into the next room. Two dozen faces suddenly lift to me, and my hear
t both soars and breaks.

  The children look scared, and dirty—ranging from perhaps six or seven to seventeen. They’re all sitting at long cafeteria-style tables eating from platters of food. A few of the older kids stand to one side, eying me and Lev. This is the third group to come through Chicago. Even as we stand here, two more are being taken in by my people in New York and LA. But this is the last, at least from the monsters currently waiting to die in the warehouse next door.

  But I could have seen this a hundred times before and it wouldn’t matter. My heart still breaks a little when I see them. My fury still surges to hatred at those responsible.

  A middle-aged woman with a stethoscope around her neck looks up from a little girl and nods stiffly. She says something with a smile to the girl she’s been talking to, and then walks over to us.

  “Mr. Komarov, hello.”

  “Dr. Turgenev. How are they?”

  The doctor sighs heavily. “They’re terrified, of course. Emotionally battered, a few were beaten.”

  In the distance, in the warehouse next to this one, I hear the occasional sound of a lumber saw. It steels my resolve. It gives me the strength to face this horror.

  The children in this room are the lost—the discarded, the forgotten. My jaw clenches tightly. They’re the easily preyed upon. They’re me, before I became the me I am today. These ones, like the others who came last month and the month before, and the ones tonight in LA and New York, are part of a trafficking operation.

  Even thinking about it brings the bile into my throat. It makes me want to forget the saw and use my bare fucking hands on those responsible.

  This whole thing is my own project. While the Bratva takes no part in shame like this, they don’t involve themselves in the active role I’m taking against this shit either. But for me, it’s personal. This is how I fight the demons from my past. This is how I try and fight the horrors of this world that I witness as a forgotten child of the streets—a casualty of the broken system.

  This is the work of evil, evil men. I’ve been tracking them and using shell companies and fake entities to string them along, in order to free these children and others like them from… well, it’s best not to think about. Mercifully, what could have happened, didn’t happen. I’ve made sure of that in my dealings with the pieces of shit running this operation. They believed they were selling these children to a ring of predators here in the city. But when they arrived to the meeting…

  Well, they won’t be making any deals at all ever again. Or breathing.

  My teams in LA and New York tonight are dealing with groups trafficked from Southeast Asia. But these here tonight are mostly from Russia, Ukraine, and other Balkan states. They’re orphans, mostly. Some of them refugees from small wars the world doesn’t care about. They’re the children who would otherwise fall through the cracks and be swallowed up. Exactly the kind I’m trying to save.

  Eventually, they’ll have a place to stay, all under one roof. I’ve told Fiona the true purpose of the property she’s helping me with, but not the gritty, horror-show details. I’ve chosen not to give her nightmares knowing the full evil of the world we live in—that there are those who would prey on the most innocent for a price.

  For now, these, like the ones before them, and the others we’ve taken in tonight, will go to temporary housing I’ve set up. They’ll have food, clothes, medicine, counseling, and anything else they could possibly need. Hopefully one day, they’ll have permanent homes, with real families. They’ll know love again.

  I turn back to Doctor Turgenev. “If there’s anything you need, Lada.”

  She smiles and puts a motherly hand on my arm. “All I need is the resources, Mr. Komarov.”

  “You have them.”

  “I know,” she smiles warmly. “The work you’re doing, Mr.—”

  “I’m just the money.”

  “No,” she shakes her head. “You’re the sword.” She gives me another smile and then excuses herself. I watch her go over to a little girl, who lights up when Lada sits down with her.

  Lev gets a call on his cell. He’s short on the phone, and when he hangs up, he’s grinning thinly.

  “Yeah?”

  “We got him,” he growls, smiling savagely.

  “You’re joking.”

  “No. He was on the fucking boat in New York.”

  My fury burns hot. But this is also good news. “Him” is a man I’ve only known as “Igor” through our coded online messages. But he’s the ringleader of this entire operation. Through him, we’ll be using Bratva contacts of mine in Russia and other places to stomp out the rest of his hive of cockroaches. There are others—other monsters out there prowling for the innocent. But this is one of the bad ones. And tonight, he’ll be crushed under a heel like the insect he is.

  “Should we head next door?”

  I nod. “Give me one minute.”

  I scan the room and let my eyes land on the group of the older kids across the room. One of them, a boy, looks like the oldest. Or at least, he looks like the biggest. He’s the one the rest of the older kids seem to be differing to. I leave Lev and cross the room to the group.

  The others seem to sense who I’m there for, and they quietly filter away. He eyes me warily, and I don’t blame him.

  “Ty Russkiy? Are you Russian?”

  “Da,” he mutters. “But I speak English.”

  I smirk. I sometimes forget that my time in the US has softened my Russian, making me sound like it’s my second, not first language to those who speak it.

  “Smart boy,” I grunt. “How old are you?”

  He stands up to his full height, squaring his shoulders. I’ve still got a foot and probably a hundred pounds on the kid. But I like that he doesn’t cower. This kid has balls.

  “Seventeen,” he says proudly.

  “Got a name?”

  “Do you?”

  I chuckle. “You don’t have to fight anymore. You’re safe now. You and the others here, you’ll be taken care of from now on. Food, shelter, school, jobs if you’re looking.”

  He bristles, and my jaw clenches.

  “Not that kind of job. None of you will ever face that, do you understand? Not here, not while you’re under my protection, which you are. Is that clear? You are free. Truly free.”

  I watch his jaw clench, his nostrils flaring. His hands are still balled at his sides.

  “Kak vas zovut?” I say gently. “What is your name?”

  He shuffles his feet and looks down. “Maxim,” he grunts.

  “Maxim, my name is Viktor. You come from St. Petersburg, da?”

  He nods. “Yes.”

  “Me as well.”

  He glances up at me curiously.

  “I was on the streets in the Murino district.”

  Maxim frowns, but then his look softens. “Me too.”

  “Rough fucking place. I shouldn’t have called you a boy before. You survive that, you’re a man.”

  He grins proudly

  “Maxim, I need to go deal with some business. But while I’m gone, can I leave you in charge of the others? They need someone to look up to, to guide them and make sure they know they’re safe. Can you be my man in charge?”

  Maxim grins wider. “Da.”

  “Good man. And if you need anything, please just ask Dr. Turgenev or any of my men here.”

  He nods. I smile and then turn to leave, when he stops me.

  “We’re really not being sent back?”

  I glance back at him. “Do you wish to go back?”

  “Nyet,” he hisses.

  “Then no, you won’t. Your home is here now, Maxim.”

  He nods. “Thank you, Mr. Viktor.”

  I smile back at him and then head over to Lev. He smiles grimly, and the both of us leave the room of our new arrivals. Outside, we walk next door to the second warehouse. This one is guarded by two of my men, armed. Inside the little office vestibule, three more armed men stand ready, smiling eagerly.


  We all know what’s happening here tonight. All of the men present are glad for what’s about to happen. But the men with children of their own have a special sort of satisfaction on their faces.

  Lev and I step into the main room. Faces look up at us here, too. But these faces do not make my heart break. The look of fear and dismay on their faces gives me great pleasure. The ten bound and gagged men on their knees before me are human waste. Utter trash. I’ll never claim to be a saint. I’ve killed, I’ve brutalized, I’ve terrorized, and I’ve been unmerciful. But these men are pure evil. Tonight, we stamp that evil out of this world.

  I look at them coldly. Some look back with the faintest glimmer of hope in their eyes. But if they’re looking for mercy or some sort of communion of their sentence, they won’t find it here. I let my eyes settle on the crew leader of this little group. He smiles hopefully through his gag. I smile back, and his grows wider.

  Then I look up to my men standing by the wood-chipper in the middle of the room.

  “Cold tonight, da?”

  They smile thinly. “Da, boss.”

  I turn back to the utter piece of shit on his knees in front of me. He’s trembling, smiling weakly up at me. As if I’m not about to shred him inch-by-inch, slowly, for the horrors he’s helped wrought upon this world. I smile thinly at him.

  “Maybe we should cut some wood.”

  My men chuckle as they turn the wood-chipper on. The face of the man in front of me instantly turns to horror. He and the others start screaming and crying through their gags. But I have not a single drop of pity. I think of the children next door, who I’ve saved from whatever hell these monsters had planned for them. My eyes narrow on the crew leader.

  “This one first.”

  He screams and screams as they drag him across the floor. Lev stands next to me, both of us with our arms crossed. The metallic whine of the chipper screams hungrily over and over while we watch in silence, smiling thinly.

  It’s not much. But piece by piece, a little evil leaves this world.

  11

  Fiona