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

by Henry, Jane

  “Stay there,” Abram says. He opens a gate that swings from a chain link fence.

  Yeah, I’m not going anywhere. I keep my head down as I suppose a good slave should. I don’t want to draw any attention to myself. But I catch the glimpse of silver, and when I look up, Stefan is standing only a few yards off. I wish it gave me the reassurance it once did.

  There’s a scuffle and the sound of footsteps, then Abram’s standing before me. I blink in surprise when I recognize the girl from the slave ship in America, slave to her blond master. I open my mouth to say something, but Abram cuts me off. “Stay right here and do not make a sound,” he whispers. I watch in stunned silence as he takes the woman and brings her to Stefan. He reaches for her, and my heart squeezes when I see him pull her close to him.

  Of course he does. He doesn’t love me. I don’t matter to him. He’s only taken care of me, like he will her, because it’s who he is, not because I’m anything to him.

  No.

  “Come,” Abram says, grabbing my hand and dragging me inside. I go blindly, my eyes are blurry with unshed tears.

  Chapter 17

  Stefan

  Abram shoves the stolen woman into my arms before I can say a word. I look at him in surprise, and Taara stares at us just before Abram whisks her into the compound. She takes a piece of my heart with her. I can’t believe I agreed to this. I can’t fucking believe I did.

  “Sir?” the woman in my arms looks at me questioningly, her voice soft but plaintive. I look down in surprise when I realize she’s the woman from the ship. The one that Taara snuck off with. I don’t know what to say, but she does.

  “He said to come with you,” she whispers. “That you will protect me. If my master realizes I’ve gone…” her voice trails off and she bites her lip, then looks up at me curiously. “Did you come to rescue me?”

  “Partly,” I tell her. “But we’re here to bring this operation down. “Now be quiet while I get you to safety.”

  “Yes, sir,” she says meekly, and I hate it. I fucking hate it. She isn’t my girl and I am not her master. But I have no time to dwell on this. I take her to the car that waits. With quick, hurried movements, I shove her into the car and buckle her in. I dismiss the wide-eyed look she gives me.

  “Stefan,” one of the men asks. “You’re supposed to be coming back with us.”

  Like hell I am.

  “Go,” I tell him. “Now.” I turn and leave.

  In the comm device that I wear, I can hear Demyan cursing.

  “For fuck’s sake, Stefan.”

  “Shut up,” I growl. “Like you’d leave Larissa.”

  “Fair,” he mutters. But then we both lapse into silence because we need to hear what Abram and Taara are up to. I want her the fuck out of there yesterday.

  Earlier today, I got a call from Nicolai updating me on her mother’s condition. The prognosis isn’t good at all. I need to get her back to America. I never should’ve brought her here. She isn’t safe. This is so damn wrong. She should be at home, with her mother, not pretending to be a slave in this underground movement that threatens the safety of all.

  Then Taara’s voice comes through the comm.

  “Yes, sir. Certainly, sir.”

  I slide my phone out of my pocket and pull up the feed, and when I do, I freeze.

  Fuck.

  She’s standing in front of Mikahl, and beside him stands the woman from America. The one who ordered my execution. They haven’t seen her, but if they do this could be lethal for Taara. What if they recognize her?

  Never should’ve brought her here.

  Once I get her alone again, I’m gonna lock her up and never let her out of my goddamn sight again.

  I can hear two people speaking to one another, and when one says ‘Boston,’ I listen harder. “You are the only two that want to do this,” one man says. I don’t recognize him but wonder if Demyan will.

  Want to do what?

  “The rest of us believe having ties in America strengthens us. It’s a terrible idea to eradicate America.”

  My heart momentarily soars. Does he speak for all, or just himself?

  “I agree,” someone else says.

  “Do you know what America stands for, though?” the woman asks. “They are the ones that diluted our brotherhood by allowing those with American blood to infiltrate their ranks.”

  “But they maintain the demand for Russian blood,” one says. Several other concur.

  “I’ve had it with this trade,” one says. “We’ve made our money and forged our power for decades without stooping to this level.”

  Demyan’s voice comes into my ear. “That’s Makar. Head of the Zelenegrad Bratva. His interference at this juncture bodes well, brother. Very well.”

  This might go more smoothly than we feared. I peer at the device in my hand. Mikhal and his woman stand at the head of the room, the rest standing around them in a circular group. Instead of being the ones in charge, they’re now on the spot, as it seems those in front of them are not as keen on following their plan as they thought.

  But Taara is still in there. Abram isn’t allowed in the inner circle, though a few of the trusted slaves are there to serve their masters. As the tension in the room becomes more highly charged, my need to get her out of there builds.

  “It’s enough. We have enough to go on. We know who wants to take down America, and it seems the majority don’t favor this move. It isn’t as insidious as we thought.”

  “Maybe not,” Demyan says. “But be patient. It’s too dangerous to move her out just yet.” I disagree. I fucking disagree. Every second she’s near their greedy hands is too long. She’s served her purpose.

  I start to move, but pause when Demyan speaks up again.

  “Wait, Stefan,” Demyan insists. “We need to know more before you take her out.” But on the feed in front of me, I see Mikhal take a step toward her.

  “Why is she here?” he asks.

  My need to protect her takes a grip on me so vicious I can’t breathe.

  Stay safe, Taara.

  Mikhal’s woman reaches for Taara’s hair and yanks it so her head falls back.

  I will kill her.

  “Good question,” she says icily. “This one actually looks familiar, though I can’t quite place where I know her from.” She shoves her away, instantly dismissing her. I breathe again.

  “In any event, I’m disappointed in your lack of support, Makar.”

  While we watch, she draws a pistol from her hip, turns it on Makar, and with no warning, pulls the trigger. Taara screams, but no one moves. I watch in horror as the man’s body slumps to the floor. She shot him in the chest. He isn’t dead yet.

  “Someone has to stop her,” Demyan grates into the phone. “She’s out of control and unpredictable.”

  I make up my mind in an instant. “I’m going in.”

  I’m running through the woods without a care now who sees me or what they’ll do if they catch me. “Call a medic!” I shout to Demyan. Makar may still make it. I’m banking on the fact that Mikhal and his cohorts are in the minority. Killing a fellow Bratva pakhan brings certain war and turmoil. We need to save his life. I need to get to Taara.

  I rush through the doors of the compound, only to be instantly flanked by two large guards. I drop to the floor and roll, as they point their guns at me. I shoot one right between the eyeballs and the other in the chest. One falls dead instantly, the other falls to the floor, howling. I apparently missed anything too vital so I shoot the second man in the leg, certain to keep him from coming after me. He screams and swears at me in Russian, but I plow on. I’m not leaving until I have my Taara safely secured.

  I burst into the room, rage nearly obscuring my vision. Men are on their feet, their guns trained on me. Taara’s eyes meet mine, wide and surprised.

  “Stefan,” Mikhal says, unperturbed.

  “I told you to kill him.” I look into his woman’s eyes. She looks straight at me, her gun pointed to me. No o
ne moves. No one says anything while she shakes her head. “Who the hell do you think you are, storming in here?” She cocks her pistol, but I’m not giving her a chance. Taara lunges at her, pulling her down. Her shot ricochets somewhere off the ceiling, and I shoot her. I don’t hesitate when Mikhal points his gun at Taara. I pull the trigger. He, too, falls to the floor.

  They obviously made more enemies than friends in this compound. No one, literally not a single one even tries to stop us. Within seconds, Demyan’s reinforcements who were stationed outside this warehouse arrive while I go to Makar. He’s breathing, still conscious.

  “Moscow,” one of the men says. “It’s Moscow. Thank you.”

  She didn’t kill Makar. It’s confusing and bloody, the bodies dragged away, but when Demyan comes into the room, they all fall to silence. He’s earned the respect of the Russian Bratva in all corners of the country.

  “See to Makar’s immediate wellbeing,” he orders.

  I pull Taara to me, but she stiffens, and she won’t allow me to embrace her. What the hell?

  Demyan addresses the room while a medic rushes in to tend to Makar. “But the bigger question here is where this leaves us.” His voice rings out, loud and certain and deep. The others pay attention. “We’ve been told the insidious plan to overtake Stefan and the American Bratva ran deep.”

  “No more, brother. It was Mikhal and Farrah who were plotting to overthrow America.” I look to see one man standing in the front of the room. I don’t know who he is. “Since Tomas backed away from the slave trade in America, the rest of us decided we wanted to follow suit.” Murmurs of agreement surround us.

  Demyan nods. “Good. We have better ways of ensuring our income and influence than in slave trade.” He nods to Makar. “Brother, we’ll meet again when you’ve recovered. Do you have room for his recovery here on your compound?”

  “We do,” the man says. On his arm he bears the signature star tattoo of the Thieves.

  “I will be in to see you,” Demyan promises. Makar is taken out of the room, then momentary silence descends.

  My hatred for his group runs deep, but when the brigadier comes to me, he holds his hand out to me. “Stefan,” he says. “On behalf of my brotherhood, we’d like to extend the olive branch.” I blink in surprise when he reaches for my hand and shakes it. This isn’t just about what happened now, but runs much deeper, back to when my Amaliya was victim to the Thieves. I swallow hard and take his hand. I could go the rest of my life and not make peace with the Thieves, but I can’t blame modern day leadership for the sins of their ancestors.

  “Thank you,” I tell him. “We will talk at Demyan’s?”

  He nods, smiling in agreement.

  Taara stands awkwardly by my side.

  “Let’s go,” I tell her. Demyan nods, giving me permission to leave, and I take Taara to where our ride waits outside. But she doesn’t hold my hand. She walks apart from me and barely acknowledges I’m there. I want to yank her to me, to kiss those pouty lips of hers and remind her that she’s mine, but I can’t.

  And it’s better off this way. We’ve come this far for something that’s already over and will be dealt with by high ranking brothers within our brotherhoods. I’ve fucked up bringing her here. She needs to get back to America.

  So when we get to the waiting car, I reach for her, and when she pulls away, I let her. I fucking let her. Because it’s too dangerous for her to be with me. She’s so much better off not being attached to a man like me who dwells in the dark and dangerous places. So much better. But she’s trembling. She’s been through fucking hell, and it’s all because of me.

  “You did well,” I say to her, keeping my voice distant and aloof. “Thank you for helping us achieve our mission.”

  “Sure,” she says.

  Sure?

  I clear my throat. “Tonight, you’re getting back on a plane for America.”

  “Wait… what?” She asks.

  I ignore the way she looks at me, the betrayal in her eyes slicing through my heart. I have to steel myself against it, because I want to gather her to me and hold her close. I want to tell her that I love her, and that I will go to whatever lengths it takes to protect her… even if it kills me. Even if sending her away from me is the most painful thing I’ve ever done.

  But I have to. Being in that room with the Thieves… It was impossible to forget what they did to my Amaliya. And though we’ve made our public peace, I will not, I will not put Taara through that kind of danger.

  She needs to be home. Home in Atlanta, with her mother. Sitting on the porch of the facility where her mother lives, drinking sweet tea. Waking up in the morning and taking pictures of the flowers that bloomed in her absence.

  I can’t fully love another woman. I can’t fully give myself to a woman again, knowing that she’s in mortal danger by being connected to me in any way.

  But Christ. My head says one thing and my heart another.

  I love her. And it’s going to kill me to send her away.

  “Why are you sending me back to America?” she asks. Her voice wavers, and she doesn’t even bother checking the tears that fall. It’s a knife to my heart seeing her like this, so distraught and knowing I put her in this position. “I came here to help you.”

  “You know where to take her,” I say to the driver.

  “Aren’t you going?” she asks.

  But my going with her puts her in more danger. I won’t go with her. I can’t, even though it kills me that I have to trust her to the care of others.

  I don’t kiss her. I don’t hug her. If I get too close to her, I will not let her go and I have to let her go. It’s been a mistake allowing myself to draw too close to her. A huge fucking mistake. But when the car pulls away, and I see her face buried in her hands, I am instantly filled with regret and the need to go after her has me following. One step, two, until I’m running, but I can’t keep up with the speed of the car. I finally give up, panting, bent over from the exertion. What the fuck is my problem?

  A car pulls up beside me, and I suddenly realize where I am and that I’m nowhere near safe. But when the driver’s window rolls down, I see Demyan.

  “You let her go,” he says, and I swear there’s judgment in his voice. “Get in.”

  I don’t say anything to him but walk to the passenger side and yank open the door. I slide into the back, and he shakes his head at me from the driver’s seat. “Why’d you let her go?” he asks, as he peels out of the parking lot.

  So I tell him. I tell him everything. And when I finally finish, I realize he’s turning away from the compound and accelerating, not entering like I thought.

  “Where the hell are you going?” I ask him. “We need to get back.”

  “Bullshit,” he grits out. “You’re a fucking idiot for letting her go.”

  “Hey!”

  But he only shoots me a withering look and shakes his head. “Fucking idiot,” he says, driving so quickly I swear the tires are literally burning rubber, leaving streaks of black on the pavement in our wake.

  “I can’t go with her,” I tell him. “If I do, we’ll never be able to stay away from each other. It’s too dangerous for me to be with her, and I swear to God if—”

  “Too dangerous for her?” he asks tightly. “Or too dangerous for you?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I demand. “I’m not afraid of anyone coming after me. I can handle myself.”

  He snorts, and I wanna deck him. “It’s not an outside danger I think you’re afraid of,” he says. “You’re afraid of falling for her. You don’t want to fall in love.”

  “Fall in love?” I ask incredulously. “I’m not afraid of falling in love. That’s bullshit.” I huff out an angry breath. “And anyway, it’s too late.”

  “I know it,” he says. “Christ, do you think I don’t know it?” He shakes his head again. “You know the girl we rescued? She begged to be yours. Said she’d be a third and serve you.”

  He looks at
me curiously.

  “What?”

  “She wanted to be yours. The man who was her master was killed today by Mikhal. She doesn’t even know it yet. She’s with Larissa at the compound.”

  “Good for her,” I mutter. While I’m glad the blond douchebag is gone, I don’t want any other women for my own.

  He smiles. “And that, my friend, is the right answer.”

  He turns the corner and I suddenly see where we are. In front of us lies the runway, the plane with Taara on it right before me.

  “Go,” Demyan growls. “Christ, Stefan. Go to her.” He shakes his head. “If I had a fucking eject button…”

  But I’m already gone.

  When I reach the plane, the pilot recognizes me and steps to the side to grant me access.

  “Ride for two, sir?” he asks amiably.

  “Thank you.”

  I don’t know what I expect from her when I got on the plane. A hug? A kiss? A tearful reunion? It isn’t the stone-cold silence I get. She raises a brow to me, crosses her legs, and picks up a magazine from the selection beside her. Opening one of them, she scowls, then shoves it back in.

  “I don’t know that much Russian.”

  “There are American versions, too.”

  “Oh? Excellent. I’ll have to get those when I’m back in America.” She spits the word out as if it’s a poison I just fed to her. “But at least you decided it was time to hightail it back, too, hmm?”

  “Enough, Taara,” I tell her. I’m in no mood to spend the next twelve hours listening to her getting mouthy.

  “I don’t even know why I’m going,” she says, her voice laced with fury, “Or why you suddenly decided to grace me with your presence, but I want you to know something. You can fuck. Off.”

  And with that, she takes the one lone English magazine from the stack and practically buries her face in it.

  I don’t bother talking to her. I refuse to tell her that her mother’s ill and may be dying. I don’t want her worrying the whole way. I also know that if we don’t make it in time, I’m the only one to blame. Christ.