King’s Ransom: A Dark Bratva Romance (Ruthless Doms)

by Henry, Jane

  He dragged me around like a prisoner. He beat me. I can’t believe how much that rod he used on me hurt, so much more than I ever expected. I felt I’d die under the onslaught, and I was so grateful when he finally stopped. I can feel every stripe on my skin, every flare of heat, and I know that if I remove my clothes I’ll be welted.

  How could he have done that to me?

  I was so stupid for getting involved, for not staying where it was safe.

  I saw a man killed tonight, and Stefan believes I spied.

  I didn’t mean to.

  But I won’t beg him again.

  I hate him. I don’t care if he beats me again, I won’t beg. I have too much pride.

  Every single step back to the house hurts. I’m aching with the pain of the beating he gave me, and when I think of the fact that others witnessed this, I want to die. Not only did he punish me, he did so in front of others, who all believe that I’m a liar and a traitor. I hate that. I hate it so much.

  Honesty matters to me. Especially when it comes to Stefan.

  I want to climb in my bed and nurse my wounds. To bring the covers over my head and cry into them.

  I want to weep for the loss of the man I loved, because this man is one that I’ll never love again.

  “Sit on the sofa,” he says, pointing to the couch with a scowl.

  I plop onto it, not meeting his eyes, trying not to wince when pain radiates along my ass.

  He sits heavily in the armchair facing the sofa, his back to the empty, lifeless fireplace, and sighs.

  “I didn’t want to do that,” he says, and my heart gives a terrible squeeze in my chest. I could take his harshness. I could even take the pain. But remorse and disappointment from Stefan? Never.

  “You’re the pakhan,” I respond bitterly. “You could have done anything you wanted.”

  Something flickers across his expression and he stays silent a moment, finally breaking eye contact and looking away. “If only that were true, Taara.”

  “You command an army of men,” I tell him. “I know what your role is. I know who you are. You could have chosen to believe me, but you didn’t.” I’m so angry with him I’m shaking. “You could have—”

  “Enough!” He raps out in a command so hard I freeze as he gets to his feet. I forgot how tall he is, how large and intimidating, until he towers over me. “I could have had you killed? Yes. I could have had you tortured? Absolutely. I could have ended your life and put your body in a shallow grave next to the man we killed tonight?” I shiver involuntarily at the memory of the bloodied, lifeless body. “Without question. You witnessed my son kill a man in cold blood, and that puts us at risk.”

  “I realize that,” I say through clenched teeth. “But accidents happen.”

  “Accidents, Taara?” He shakes his head and releases a mirthless laugh. “You call that an accident?”

  “Yes, Stefan,” I insist. “An accident.”

  “Oh, no, you do not,” he says, and for a moment the look in his eyes is so ferocious, I fear another punishment, and instinctively sink further into the cushions of the couch. “Accidents are things that happen we have no control over. Things we don’t choose. Dropping a vase. Forgetting a doctor’s appointment. Witnessing an execution is no accident but a grave mistake.”

  When he reaches me, he lifts me by the elbows until I’m standing in front of him.

  “You, little girl, made a choice. A stupid, foolish choice, but a choice nonetheless.”

  A lump rises in my throat at his admonition. I swallow hard. I have dreamt about being this close to him. I’ve even imagined what it would be like having him call me that, little girl. I’ve let my mind wander and dream, and in my fantasy world, it was so, so much nicer than this.

  I’m humiliated and hurt to my very core.

  I thought I loved this man, but I know better now. I loved a man who doesn’t exist. He isn’t the one standing here in front of me.

  “You’re right,” I say, aware of the note of steel in my voice when I speak to him. “I made a mistake.”

  What he doesn’t know is that my mistake was far more serious than stumbling onto an execution.

  My mistake was falling in love with him.

  But when I admit my error, for the first time tonight, his gaze softens, and he shakes his head. “I wish you hadn’t done that,” he says softly, right before his phone rings. Still holding my gaze, he answers it. Seeing him answer his phone reminds me of what I lost, and I swallow a lump in my throat. I wish he’d fired me. I would leave and never look back.

  “Yeah.” He listens, then nods. “We’ll be waiting.” He sighs and turns to me. “You’ll come with me and listen while I explain to my men why I spared your life. If you do anything other than obey me fully, I promise you, you’ll regret it.” But there’s more resignation than threat in his tone. Still, I have no intention of disobeying.

  He has several meeting places on the compound, and one is right here in this house. I’m thankful we don’t have to walk outside again. It’s lighter out now, but chilly in the morning, and it hurts to walk. He leads me to the library and has me sit on a chair directly beside him while we wait.

  The men arrive, one at a time. I mull over what I should be doing right now, instead of what I am. I’d be showered and dressed by now, and in the kitchen making his breakfast. I’d brew his coffee—Italian roast with cream, no sugar—and pour him a cup when he came down to read the news. I’d cook him an omelet and toast and fetch him a glass of fresh orange juice. Just as he likes it.

  But my thoughts are soon cut short when men begin to arrive. First, Nicolai and a few of his closest friends. I don’t look at them. They witnessed my humiliation, and it’s their fault I’m here.

  Assholes.

  Other men come in, but I keep my gaze trained away from them. Instead, I stare at my hands, at my long fingers and tapered nails, focusing in a scar in between my thumb and forefinger. I remember how I got that scar.

  I’d taken a casserole out of the oven for Stefan, and placed it on the counter, not realizing the counter was freezing cold and wet. The casserole dish shattered, glass tearing into my hand. Stefan had just arrived from home and witnessed the injury.

  I’ve played that memory over and over and over in my mind. How he took my hand in his and inspected the wound. How he washed it out with the most tender, vigilant care. How he lectured me sternly about kitchen safety and bandaged my injury himself. His concern gave me a sense of comfort unlike anything I’d ever felt before, so much so I even once contemplated injuring myself again just to get his attention.

  When I think on this, I realize Stefan is not a bad man. He might do bad things from time to time, but he—No.

  I stop my train of thought.

  No.

  I know who he is now. I was fooled before, thinking that he had any good in him at all. I can’t let myself go there again.

  Soon, the room is filled with the men loyal to Stefan. It’s a smaller group than he commands, though, and I suspect he’s summoned his inner circle. Even so, I feel as if the walls are closing in, as if I’m about to be on trial and my fate already sealed, and when I remember how he punished me, a lump forms in my throat. I don’t want to be here in this state of ignominy and shame, but worse, scorned by the man I once thought I loved.

  Stefan stands and points for me to stay seated where I am. Yeah, no worries there. If I could crawl under the floor, I would.

  “Thank you for coming, brothers,” he says. I don’t look at him. I don’t want to see his vivid blue eyes trained on me. I can hardly bear to hear his voice. But when the door opens, I see a pair of black leather boots and dark brown ballet flats in my peripheral vision, I hazard a glance up just in time to see a man come into the room with a woman, followed by Rafael. It was hard enough sitting here in front of the brotherhood. But sitting here in front of a woman is far worse.

  To my chagrin, she meets my eyes when I look to her and smiles at me. I start when I see the h
arsh scar that runs along one cheek, but quickly look away from her.

  Stefan pumps the man’s hand and leans in to kiss the woman’s cheek. He doesn’t flinch at the scar but kisses her right there. I watch in rapt fascination as she grins at him, takes both of his arms, and kisses his cheek.

  “Welcome,” he says with a smile. Then, in a lower voice, “It seems just yesterday I officiated at your wedding. And now I hear you have a brood of mini Russians?”

  The woman laughs, filling the room with the beautiful sound, and they speak easily for a few moments.

  “I’m sorry you have to begin your visit here with a meeting,” he says. “If you’d like to leave us, Marissa might be awake and looking for company. I know it’s early. Or we can see to getting you to your room while I borrow your husband for a little while.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, Stefan, I’d love to spend a little time with the other woman you have here? This is Taara, no? I’ve heard so many good things of her from Marissa and would love to get to know her a little better.”

  From Marissa? Marissa, Nicolai’s wife, the woman he avenged with the murder committed this morning. She’s said good things about me?

  Stefan’s smile fades, and his voice hardens. “She’s here for questioning, Caroline.”

  I watch Caroline’s brows draw together. “Oh,” she says sadly. “Does your brotherhood typically question women in a room full of men?” She tips her head to the side, and I’m struck with how sharp she is. This woman misses nothing. Though she speaks pleasantly, in a soft, respectful voice, she knows how to play her cards well, appealing to his innate sense of justice and traditional values. She speaks to him as if she’s asked for a cup of tea, and not a chance to rescue me from my predicament.

  Why me?

  Stefan smiles, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “We do, Caroline. If necessary.”

  Her voice firms just a touch. “And is it necessary, Stefan?”

  “Caroline,” her husband warns, and he reaches for her hand, but Stefan holds up a hand to stop him.

  “As your wife, she’s privy to much, Tomas,” Stefan says. “And I have no qualms about being honest.” Stefan strokes his chin. “Perhaps Taara doesn’t need to be here for this particular meeting, but if she goes with you, she may have no freedom. She’s under my watch.”

  “You have my word. She’s cuffed, no?”

  Stefan nods.

  “Good. Then let the two of us have some time together while you men do your work, and I promise that I won’t let her get away.” She flashes him a captivating grin.

  But either Stefan doesn’t trust her, or he doesn’t trust me, because he sends three of his youngest recruits to join us in the small study adjacent to the meeting room.

  I’m curious. What is it that she wishes to ask me? I’m grateful for the momentary reprieve, though. I hated the eyes of everyone in that room on me. Caroline holds me firmly by the arm and marches me ahead of her, and it takes me by surprise. She leads me into the room as if I’m her child caught in the act of disobedience, and I realize that she’s not someone to be trifled with.

  Still, there’s kindness in her gaze.

  We reach the small room and she gestures for me to sit. I do so clumsily. “Did you enjoy your flight?” I ask, not knowing what else to do or say.

  “I did, thank you,” she says. “Tomas insists on business class these days, and I have to admit, I don’t mind it.” She winks at me.

  “I wouldn’t either,” I say with a smile, but I’m uneasy. I don’t know what she wants or what will happen to me. We sit, and it’s awkward because I’m still wearing cuffs. This would almost seem normal otherwise.

  Thankfully, she doesn’t waste any time.

  “You’re probably wondering why I brought you in here, Taara. Why I said I had something to ask you about?”

  I nod in silence, and she smiles at me. Reaching to my knee, she squeezes. “I saw you in that room full of men, and I know how these men operate. I knew that they wouldn’t hesitate to interrogate you with their barbaric methods. But I’m a good judge of character,” she says. “And I wanted to prove to myself that my instinct is correct.”

  I swallow hard. “And what instinct is that?” I ask, my voice choked. To my horror, my eyes fill with tears. I’m so distraught, the slightest show of kindness undoes me. Does she believe me innocent? Does she even know what I’m accused of?

  She holds my gaze, unblinking. “That you mean the brotherhood no harm.”

  I blink, and one lone tear rolls down my cheek. “Of course I don’t. These men are like family to me. Why doesn’t Stefan know that?” I feel like I’m choking on my own words. How does he not know how much he means to me? Meant.

  She waves her hand at the doorway between the rooms and rolls her eyes, and I miss her touch on my knee. It was oddly reassuring, even though I hardly know her. “They’re all the same,” she says. “He’s the head of the Bratva and has an image to uphold. My husband is the same. But if I know Stefan, and I daresay I do, he doesn’t want to hurt you.”

  I scoff. “Well, you’re wrong. He already did,” I say like a sullen child. The jerk.

  Her brows rise. “Did he?”

  “He—” It sounds almost embarrassing to say it out loud. “He tied me up and punished me in front of his men. I swear I’m welted.”

  “Ohhh,” she says, nodding, and it look as if relief washes over her features. “Yes, I could see him doing that.”

  She isn’t horrified?

  “How can you act like it’s no big deal?”

  Her eyes grow steely and she shakes her head at me like a disapproving older sister. “You misunderstand me. I’m not mitigating what you’ve gone through.” She pauses, as if thinking about what to say before she continues. “I don’t know if you know my history, do you?”

  I shake my head. I don’t.

  She sighs, but holds my gaze, her voice unwavering as she speaks. “After my parents died, I was left to the care of my brother, brigadier of the San Diego Bratva. I was born into Bratva life. My brother was a terrible guardian and allowed wicked things to happen to me.”

  I must look horrified, for she waves her hand at me.

  “This isn’t about me. It’s about the Bratva. So listen. Tomas married me as a form of repayment. An arranged marriage, in which I had no say. So now having grown up in one group and lived in another, I will tell you this. I know firsthand the real evil the men of my brother’s group were capable of. And I know that Tomas and Stefan have principles my brother never did. All of them defy the law. They live by a code of conduct that’s unbreakable. And they rule with heavy hands, without question, but the ways some of these men truly do hurt others—”

  I wait quietly, trying to take this all in.

  She continues, still holding my gaze. “Well, let’s put it this way. My brother’s Bratva was cruel, and it’s because of them I have this scar.” She points to her cheek. “And though Tomas and Stefan are capable of wicked things, and I will not pretend otherwise, they live by a code of conduct the truly wicked men of the Bratva do not.” She looks away, past my shoulder, as if lost in her thoughts. “Someday, perhaps Marissa can tell you her story as well, and you will see.”

  But I’m not that easily convinced. I won’t dismiss what Stefan’s done that easily either. Perhaps it’s not okay to justify evil simply because there’s a spectrum of cruelty. Does the knowledge that he could’ve hurt me worse than he did make what happened acceptable?

  No.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I meant no harm, and he punished me. He doesn’t trust me.” My voice breaks at the end and I stop talking because I don’t want to cry. The way he’s treated me hurts worse than the caning he gave me.

  I don’t look up when she reaches for my hand, but the tone of her voice catches my attention.

  “Tarra, look at me.”

  I snap my head up and do what she says, because her voice brooks no argument. I swallow hard at her fierce but
honest gaze. She’s quiet for long moments as she peers so intently in my eyes, I feel as if she sees my very soul. It would be unnerving if I wasn’t so desperate for her to see the truth. After another moment, she blinks, and her eyes grow wide.

  “There’s more to this story than first appears,” she whispers in surprise. “You have feelings for him, don’t you? You might even love him. I can see it in your eyes. The hurt and betrayal run far deeper than they should if you were a mere employee.”

  “No,” I whisper, but it’s a lie I can’t say. I lose my resolve and cover my face with my hands, cuffs and all. It hurts worse hearing her say it.

  “Your reaction is answer enough,” she murmurs, her voice gentling. “Taara, please. Look at me.”

  I have no choice but to do what she says. Gathering both my hands in hers, she squeezes.

  “Look in my eyes and tell me that you mean the Bratva no harm.”

  I don’t bother to wipe the tears that stream down my face as I hold her gaze and tell her with as much sincerity as I can muster, “I would never betray the brotherhood. Never. I saw Stefan and Nicolai kill a man last night, and my first thought was ‘if Stefan orchestrated this, this was well deserved.’”

  “Smart girl,” she says. “Stefan never orders execution lightly.” She nods. “I believe you. And this hurts worse for you because you have feelings for Stefan?”

  If she’s to be an ally, there’s no point in hiding the truth anymore. So, with a sigh, I nod. “I’ve known him for years. He’s ignorant of how I feel, but before tonight, I thought he was a good man. Now that I know better, I—”

  But she shakes her head so sharply, I stop mid-sentence.

  “Do not allow his treatment of you tonight to color what you know to be true.”

  I shake my head. “How could I not?”

  She sighs. “Taara, listen to me. Stefan is a loyal man. You witnessed his son perform an execution. If you told the authorities, Stefan’s son would be put into jail. Did that not occur to you?”

  None of this occurred to me. Still, I’m hardly in the position for feeling sympathy for those two right now.

  She continues. “I’m sure given his concern for Nicolai, he assumed the worst about why you were there and what you could potentially do to hurt his son.”