Paying The Bratva’s Debt

by Cole, Jagger

  This time, I’m aware of her presence before I open my eyes. I groan, sensing Nina watching me as I slowly wake.

  “Oh my God, are you going to make a habit of doing this?” I mutter into my pillow.

  “Only if you’d like me to.”

  My heart flips. I gasp as I sit bolt upright in shock. It’s not Nina. It’s Viktor, sitting in a chair across the room from my bed. I blink quickly, feeling my pulse race. I hold the sheets up around myself, even though I’m fully clothed beneath them. The full night of endless dreams involving him, me, and some very dirty fantasies, comes rushing back to me. I blush, eying him warily.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Viktor growls quietly.

  “Just to watch me sleep?”

  “Yes,” he answers plainly, with a shrug.

  I run my tongue quickly over my lips, still eyeing him. “How was your work thing last night?”

  “Fine.”

  “Great,” I retort quickly.

  Viktor smirks slightly. “Did you wait up for me?”

  My nose wrinkles. I glare at him. “No.”

  Viktor’s grin widens slightly, but he says nothing. We sit in silence for a few seconds before he takes a breath.

  “There’s coffee next to you, on the bedside table.”

  I arch a brow and turn. Sure enough, there’s a steaming mug of straight black coffee, just how I like, sitting next to me. I pick up the mug and inhale the scent, perking up a little.

  Viktor drums his fingertips on the armrest of the chair as he watches me sip. “I was hoping to show you something today.”

  “Okay.”

  “Would you like that?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Viktor frowns. “Of course.”

  “Are you sure? I thought I was your prisoner,” I snap.

  “You’re my… guest.”

  “Your guest,” I say dryly. “Really. Like your ‘guests of honor” last night?”

  His mouth curls at the corners. Mine thins.

  “Huh. So, have fun with them? What were their names? Or do you even know? Is it even exciting if they’re not locked in your house?”

  Viktor’s smiling when I’m done with my little tirade. “Are you finished?”

  “Sure,” I hiss.

  “Last night was not what you apparently think it was,” he growls. “Not that I owe you an explanation.”

  “You’re right, you don’t,” I snap back.

  He frowns. “Well, I’d like to show you something.”

  “You’re the boss. Or should I say jailor.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re not my prisoner, Fiona.”

  “No? The guard outside of my locked bedroom door suggests otherwise,” I retort.

  “It’s for your protection.”

  I bark a laugh. “My protection? Seriously?”

  Viktor says nothing.

  “Well, you can save the reasonings. Nina already confirmed it anyways.”

  He smiles curiously. “And what did she confirm for you?”

  “That I’m a prisoner here. Not your ‘guest,’ I’m not your ‘intern,’ or your non-licensed land attorney, Viktor. I’m your prisoner. That what you call someone being held somewhere against their will.”

  Viktor runs his tongue over his teeth, eying me with a hint of amusement. It’s both infuriating and flirtatious at the same time. His brow arches. “Nina is…”

  “A bitch?”

  He frowns. “She’s part Russian, you know. So it’s also a cultural thing. She’s a little black and white with things.”

  “Oh, is she?” I smile sarcastically. “And what else is she? To you, I mean.”

  He frowns. “What you’re intimating is incorrect.”

  “What I’m intimating?” I glare at him. “What I’m intimating is wondering if she’s ever gotten one of your little poolside massages.”

  He starts to chuckle, and my temper flares.

  “Or is it the just a ‘cultural thing’ I don’t understand.”

  Viktor grins. “No, she hasn’t,” he sighs. “That isn’t what Nina, my employee, is to me.”

  I smile thinly. “Well, I’ve seen how you like to be with your pretend attorneys. So I guess I’m skeptical.”

  “Toying,” he growls.

  I swallow. “Toying?”

  Viktor stands. I tremble as he slowly steps closer to the bed.

  “You think I’m toying with you.”

  Heat floods my core. “Aren’t you?”

  He steps even closer, until he’s right next to the bed, looming over me. His lips curl into a hungry grin. “Do you want me to toy with you, little girl?” he growls thickly.

  My breath catches, audibly. I gasp, and my body blooms with heat beneath the sheets. Viktor reaches out and plucks the coffee from my hands. He sets it down before his hand reaches for me again. This time, I tremble when his hand cups my jaw.

  “Maybe you’re just dying to be…” his lips curl. “Toyed with,” he growls.

  I breathe quickly, my heart racing. “Or I’m helpless to say yes or no, seeing as I’m your prisoner,” I croak in response.

  “Ahh, but maybe that’s part of it for you,” he growls. “Maybe you like the removal of choice—that I can do with you…” Viktor leans close, taking my breath away as his lips pause maybe an inch from mine. “That I can do with you as I fucking please.”

  I desperately wish for a witty response—something snappy to take him down a peg. Except all my brain and my mouth manage to do is whimper. I freaking whimper, inches from his lips. Viktor smirks, his eyes piercing mine as he lingers with his lips so close to mine. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me again. For that same second, I find myself wishing he would.

  But then he pulls away, grinning. He’s smirking at me as I glare right back, throbbing with desire. And I’m so wet.

  “When can you be ready to leave?”

  I swallow, trembling all over. “W—what?”

  “The thing I want to show you. When can you be ready to leave?”

  I stare at him. Not toying with me? Is he delusional or just being an asshole?

  “Half an hour,” I mumble.

  “Good. I think you’ll appreciate this.”

  He turns to leave my room, but I stop him. “Wait, you think I’ll appreciate what?”

  Viktor glances back at me. “Clarity.”

  “Where are we going?”

  We’re in the car, headed somewhere within Chicago limits. My mood is sour. Partly because Viktor did what he’s so good at—turning me to mush and then walking away. But also, because I tried to call my dad—twice—before I left just now to ask him what the hell he’s doing with Zoey. But of course, no response. Again.

  I turn to glare at Viktor’s profile, sitting next to me in the town car. His lips curl slightly at the corners as he glances at me in amusement.

  “Do you not like surprises?”

  “From you? No.”

  He smiles curiously. “And why is that?”

  “Because the last ‘surprise’ I got from you was a ‘surprise, you’re a prisoner in my mansion now.’ That’s why.”

  Viktor smirks and turns to look out the window. “Interesting.”

  I don’t want to take the bait. But of course, I do.

  “Interesting?” I mutter. “What’s so interesting about it?”

  “Nothing. I’d just assumed that we were both in agreement on what the last surprise I gave you was.”

  I frown. “Meaning?”

  He turns to me, smirking. “I believe there was a pool chair involved.”

  I blush deeply, quickly whirling away from him to glare out the window. I’m simmering all over as I hear his deep, quiet chuckle.

  “You still didn’t answer my question,” I say quietly.

  “You really want me to ruin the surprise?”

  “Please do.”

  Viktor shrugs. “As you wish. We’re visiting the land you’ve just helped me acquire. The site o
f my future project.”

  “The old sneaker factory?”

  He nods. “I thought it would be nice for you to see what you’ve helped start.”

  My phone dings, and I glance at it. It’s a text, from my dad of all people. It’s the first communication I’ve had back from him since Viktor took me away.

  Hello sweetheart. How are you doing? <3, Dad.

  I stare at it, anger rising inside of me. If you didn’t know him, or me, or our relationship, it would look like a normal text from a father to his daughter. But I can see how bullshit it is. It’s like he’s posing for a photo op with it. It’s staged.

  I write out “screw you” before deleting it and staring at the phone. My dad sends another text.

  I want you to know how sorry I am, Fiona. I took risks I shouldn’t have to advance my career. I thought I knew what I was doing and who I was working with. But I was wrong, and now you’re paying my price. I’m so sorry, honey. I’m fixing this as soon as I can.

  I stare at the phone. I want to still be furious at him. I want to hate him for what he’s put me in the middle of. Not to mention his utterly vile behavior towards Zoey. But I falter. I know he’s a practiced politician who knows all the right things to say. And I know he can be a narcissistic asshole. But he’s still my father, and something about his words makes me really feel the remorse.

  I sigh and type out a response:

  It’s okay, dad. I’m fine. I’m not hurt, and no one is threatening to hurt me either. I’m being taken care of.

  I smile and follow it up with another text.

  I’m actually getting some legal experience in helping Mr. Komarov with a land deal, as an advisor. We’re actually about to tour the site—this old sneaker factory in Southside. The circumstances are strange, but it’s exciting to be at least sort of doing what I’ve worked hard for.

  I stare at my phone, waiting for the little dots showing he’s typing something back. But it never comes. I keep looking, waiting for a reply. But after twenty more minutes, I finally put the phone away.

  Guess my dad exhausted his “being a dad” points all on those first two texts.

  “Everything okay?”

  I frown and glare out the window.

  “Fiona.”

  I slowly turn to Viktor. For a moment, I want to tell him about my dad—how he’s barely contacted me since Viktor took me. But he must know that already, since he has my phone bugged. But also, as angry as I am at my father, there’s the worry of what might happen if I tell Viktor everything. I shiver, wondering what sort of violence he’s truly capable of.

  “Nothing, it’s just…” I shake my head. “My friend Zoey is having trouble with this older guy.”

  He frowns. “What sort of trouble.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Tell me, please.”

  I worry my lip. “It’s really nothing. Just a way older guy being gross. Hitting on her, texting her gross stuff. That sort of thing.”

  He frowns. “I see.”

  “She’s…” I smile. “She’s Zoey. She’ll be okay.”

  He nods, looking at me curiously. I turn to glare out the window as my thoughts sour back to my father and his lack of being any sort of real dad.

  I’m still sulking when the town car stops. I’m also still simmering inside. I’ve been sitting inches away from this man for half an hour, in silence. But it’s charged silence. It’s like a static spark has been hovering in the air between us. It’s like he’s purposefully teased me so that I’m squirming with desire, only to leave me wanting. What do I want? Him? Do I want the dangerous man who’s keeping me hostage to do anything like that to me?

  The answer is easy though, even if it’s mortifying. Of course I do.

  The big bodyguard who I guess I’m friends with now opens the car door and offers me a hand. I smile as he helps me out, thanking him. But then I pause.

  “What’s your name, by the way?”

  He frowns.

  “Your name,” I stress. Okay, so he’s Russian. I point at my chest. “My name is Fiona,” I say slowly, over-annunciating. “What is your—”

  He chuckles deeply and quickly. “My name is Oleg,” he grunts in totally natural English. “And I was born in Queens.”

  I cringe. “Oh God, sorry!”

  But he just smiles and helps me out of the car. When he steps away, I look up at the crumbling old building we’ve parked near.

  “What do you think?”

  “I…” I frown. “I think it’s a toxic waste site that’s going to put a big dent in your savings.”

  He smiles. “Perhaps it will.”

  “Well, at least I’m sure whatever you’ve got planned for it will be profitable.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because most criminal operations are?”

  Viktor frowns curiously. “I’ve told you what my plans are for this place.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” I say dryly, rolling my eyes.

  He smirks. “You don’t believe me.”

  I shrug.

  “Here.” Viktor passes me a folder of permits and the legal paperwork. “It’s all in there. My plans are quite on the surface.”

  “The ones on the surface usually are.”

  “Would you rather wait in the car?” he mutters.

  “Oh, no, I’ve always dreamed of touring a toxic hazard site.”

  The hint of a smile crosses his face. “This way then.”

  I follow, walking gently over some of the construction rubble. It’s not like this place is Chernobyl. There’s not raw asbestos lying around or anything. It’s just considered to be tainted ground by the city and the EPA. So, we don’t need hazmat suits, but we just probably shouldn’t plan to eat any food planted here until after the cleanup.

  As we walk, I glance over the permitting. There’s stuff in here for dormitory houses, a massive cafeteria fit for a university campus, gym facilities, outdoor sports field, a pool, and… I frown and then look up at him.

  “You’re building a school?”

  He shrugs. “I told you before what I was doing here.”

  “Yeah but…”

  “But you didn’t believe me.”

  I blush. “Maybe not entirely.”

  Viktor stops and turns to me. His eyes drink me in curiously, and he steps closer as my heartbeat quickens. “Do you not find me trustworthy?”

  “Why wouldn’t I find you trustworthy, Viktor?” I breathe.

  He smiles thinly. “Aside from being a bad, bad man?” he growls, stepping even closer. “I have no idea.”

  I quickly glance around and realize how far we’ve walked from Oleg and the car. We’re alone around the other side of the building that will eventually come down, in the shadow of some rubble. My pulse quickens even more, and I glance up at him. My face is a mix of fear and desire.

  “If I’d planned something nefarious, Fiona,” he growls. “I live in a fourteen-thousand square foot house that I can have emptied of people with a snap of my fingers. I needn’t have driven you all the way out here.”

  I swallow, looking up at his face. “So why did you?” I whisper.

  He smiles thinly. “Perhaps it was for something nefarious.”

  I tremble. A dangerous flirtation flickers inside of me. “Like shooting me or something? Putting me in a shallow grave?”

  Viktor steps right into me. I gasp as his hand slides over my hip, pulling me against him.

  “I could perhaps think of far more fun things we could do,” he growls quietly. “And still be bad.”

  I tremble, feeling the heat pool between my thighs. I want him—very much so. Viktor’s hand tightens on my hip. It’s like a direct trigger to something warm between my legs. I take shaky breaths, quivering under his touch. He leans close, and my heart flips as his lips brush mine. I gasp quietly.

  And then, his phone rings.

  He scowls, pulling back as I groan to myself. He glances down and swears in Russian.

&
nbsp; “I’m sorry, I… it concerns this project.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I breathe haltingly. I can’t tell if I’m frustrated or relieved that we were interrupted. “Yeah of course.”

  He eyes me hungrily, puts the phone to his ear and walks away around the corner. I exhale in a whoosh, trembling. Okay, yikes. What the hell am I doing? Why and how am I playing flirty games with a man like Viktor Komarov?

  It was just days ago, though it feels like months, that Zoey and I were joking about Chet Brubaker being creepy. But here I am alone in the shadow of an abandoned building with Chicago’s most brutal and fearsome crime kingpin. And I’m desperately wishing he would kiss me. Or do a whole lot more than kiss me.

  I blush darkly. I wonder if he knows how many “firsts” he’s been so far. I roll my eyes. No, of course he doesn’t. No one normal assumes a twenty-two-year-old is a virgin. Let alone hasn’t ever been kissed before.

  I turn, daydreaming as I stroll back around one of the piles of rubble. My imagination takes hold and I visualize Viktor ending his call. He comes back to look for me and then follows me here around the corner. I tremble, imagining his hands clutching me from behind—maybe pinning me against the stone wall in front of me. I picture him slowly peeling my jeans and my panties down and running his hands over my bare skin. I imagine his mouth on me, his hands… and then I imagine him fucking me, right here.

  I blush as I roll my eyes. Right. My first time. With a Bratva kingpin. In the environmental hazard site of an abandoned factory. How romantic.

  I bite my lip. But maybe I don’t need or even want romance. Maybe I just want Viktor, knowing that comes with an edge of danger, not a bed of roses and candlelight. Maybe the roses and candles are just a movie thing. When I think about it, and when the heat throbs through my core, I realize I wouldn’t actually be against the idea of my first time being just like my fantasy just now.

  I exhale and turn to lean against the half-demolished wall. I think that I should go find Viktor again, when suddenly I hear voices. I startle, my ears pricking. It’s coming from the other side of the wall, around the corner. At first, I think it might be Viktor and Oleg. But as they get closer and a little louder, I realize the accents are all wrong.

  These ones sound like straight up Chicago.

  “Nah, it’s a win-win. These Russian mafia guys, they want him dead. And that helps out the boss pretty fuckin good too.”