Betrothed to the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 8)

by Hayley Faiman

  “What are you doing out here, devochka? It’s a little chilly for your dress,” he murmurs as he places his lips at my neck in a gentle kiss.

  “Just looking at the scenery,” I shrug, not turning to look back at him.

  Timofei wraps one of his hands around my waist and the other around the front of my chest, pulling my back against him as he rests his chin on the top of my head. “I’ll try to be quick, and we’ll spend the rest of the day in bed, yeah?”

  “Okay,” I whisper. He squeezes me once more before he releases me and takes a step back.

  I turn around to face him, thrown off slightly, by how handsome he truly is. He’s freshly showered, his blonde hair combed back, his beard neat and tidy. His suit is navy blue and without a single wrinkle from travel. He grins at me, his blue eyes almost twinkling before he winks.

  “Get some rest, Devvy,” he whispers. I nod before he turns and walks away from me. “Baby, lock this chain behind me,” he calls out.

  I hurry and do as he asks, sliding the chain to ensure it is locked and I’m in my room safely. I’m inside of a fancy hotel suite, alone in my tower as my new husband goes off to some kind of meeting in a foreign country.

  I try not to think about all of the things he could be doing, who he could be meeting, or anything that would cause my chest to ache more than it already does as I unpack his suitcase. Then I unpack my own before I walk into the bathroom and gasp at the sight of the bathtub. It’s absolutely stunning. Though baths in hotels are not usually something I do, I decide that it would be criminal not to use this one.

  I draw myself a bath and sink into the warm bubbly water, sighing as the scent of eucalyptus envelopes my senses. Closing my eyes, I decide to try and relax and to clear my mind all at the same time. Obsessing over where, what, or possibly who Timofei is out doing will do no good.

  It’s not my place to know. If he wants me to, he’ll tell me—a hard lesson I learned from my childhood. My father did not have a problem teaching the eight of us lessons, and he did, without reservation. I learned pretty quickly, watching my siblings bear the brunt of my father’s harsh lessons, but that doesn’t mean that I was a perfect child. I had my own curiosities and would voice them, earning a slap to the face more often than I wished.

  My father didn’t do as much mental damage to me as he did the others. He didn’t torture me with mind-games. For that, I’m grateful. Maybe it was because I learned quickly by watching them. Brenna says it was because I’m his favorite, but I doubt that much is true.

  I frown, at allowing myself to turn back to a place that is no longer my life. I need to focus on the present and not worry about the past. I am no longer in my father’s home, but instead in Timofei’s.

  I need to make sure that I do what is expected of me as his wife.

  Whatever he needs. Whatever he wants. Without reservation. I’ve already spoken up a few times out of turn, and I’m thankful that his reactions have been amusement; but I’m not foolish enough to think that it will always be the case. I need to do better.

  WALKING INTO SVETLANA, I see my contact at the very back of the small restaurant. He’s already drinking vodka, and I shake my head. I feel like I have a hangover from jetlag, and I don’t need the added fuzziness from booze.

  “You look good, Uncle,” I state as I sit in the seat across from him.

  “My flight is scheduled to arrive in New York the day of Pasha’s collection, which is when you’ll be announcing your takeover, correct?” Sergei asks.

  “Yes. Yakov is going to supply some back up. With your added men, the takeover should be easy enough.” I mutter.

  “Good, so there should be a decent number of us if your father causes issues—or any of his men after the takeover is complete,” he states with a nod before he takes a sip of his vodka. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to your wedding. My Raisa needed a reward,” he shrugs.

  “No problem. It was nice. Uneventful,” I chuckle.

  “Good. And your new wife?” he asks, arching his brow.

  I can tell he’s not trying to pry, but he’s curious. All he knows about Devyn is that she’s an Irish princess and that my father arranged our contract several years ago to create peace within our territories. This kind of thing is common amongst different Bratva groups, but it is a rarity to bridge separate sects the way my father did.

  “Young, but smart. Very beautiful,” I state.

  Sergei smiles before he throws back the rest of his drink. “So your father wasn’t completely useless,” he grunts.

  “He’s supposed to be showing up here. I don’t have a good feeling,” I say. Sergei’s eyes harden before they narrow.

  “You can’t kill him here,” he grunts.

  Nodding in agreement, I signal for the waiter. I ask him for a water and he lifts his chin in what can only be described as annoyance as he makes his way to the bar to get a water for me.

  “Water. You should be ashamed to call yourself Russian,” Sergei grunts as the waiter brings my glass to me.

  “I haven’t slept in hours. I have jetlag, and I assume they don’t serve coffee here,” I grumble. “Why do you think he’s showing up on my honeymoon, unannounced?”

  Sergei nods and leans back in his seat. “There was a time, not long ago, that I felt that I knew what your father was thinking; that I could anticipate any move he made before he even thought it up. Now,” he shakes his head. “I have no fucking clue why he’s doing the things he has.”

  I let out a heavy sigh and run my hand over my face in frustration. My fucking father. He’s so crazy right now, and has been since my mother passed. Maybe he was always this way and just hid it better, just had a better grasp on his fucking insanity. I don’t know, but it needs to end.

  “Do you want me to have someone watch your back while you’re playing devoted newlywed?” Sergei asks.

  “You have someone?”

  He grins with a shake of his head. “No matter where you are, I can always find Bratva. This area is heavy with them. Hiring a Byki will be no trouble,” he says with a wave of his hand.

  “Might not be a bad idea. I have my gun, but since this trip of his has been kept under wraps, I have no clue what he has planned,” I murmur.

  “Your contact hasn’t reached out to you yet?”

  Shaking my head, I tell him no. Konstantin hasn’t said a word since my wedding night. It was only a couple days ago, but it feels like a year ago. I just want this fucking shit over with. Part of my contractual obligation is complete with Patrick, Devyn’s father, and I’m working on the other part. I can’t complain about that part too much; it’s fun as shit.

  “Keep me updated. I’ll be busy all of tomorrow, but text me,” he murmurs. I lift my chin as I stand. “Be good to her. Make your mother proud.”

  I feel my throat squeeze and I dip my chin in acknowledgement of his words. I’m unable to speak, for fear of showing emotion. I exit the restaurant and decide to walk back to the hotel. It’s a bit of a trek, but it’s Paris, and the weather is gorgeous.

  My phone buzzes with a text a few minutes later, and I reach into my pocket. Pulling my device out, I see that Sergei has left me the name and number of my Byki. Without delay, I call the man.

  “Pava,” he barks into the phone.

  I explain to him in French who I am and who gave me his information.

  “You’re American, no?” he asks in a mix of a French and Russian accent.

  “Yes, I am,” I confirm as I continue to walk down the now crowded city sidewalks.

  He laughs, “My daughter, she in school, teaches me American. We go to New York this summer,” he states. I can’t help but grin. “I practice with you.”

  “Sounds good,” I laugh. “Tomorrow my wife and I will be touring the city. She has never seen Paris. You’ll be our Byki, but stay out of sight?” I ask, speaking as slowly as possible.

  “What time and what hotel?” he asks slowly. I can tell he is truly concentrating.

  “The F
our Seasons, George V, at nine in the morning,” I explain.

  He whistles. “Honeymoon?”

  “Oui, Pava,” I laugh.

  “Nice,” he hisses. “I will be there. Do not leave before nine,” he informs. I agree before ending the call.

  I should get back to the hotel immediately and do exactly what I promised my wife I would do today after my meeting.

  My only desire for the day is to alternate between fucking her sweet cunt, and sleeping next to her warm body. But I’m too wound up from my meeting, from thinking of my father and then my mother. I need some time to breathe.

  I walk along the Champs-Elysees and just enjoy the fresh air and the solidarity. As I do, I allow myself to think of my mama. I miss her. With every breath I take, I miss Sonia Vetrova a little bit more. The regret I carry for not being a better son to her weighs heavily on my being.

  Maybe I’m a pussy and a mama’s boy for missing her as much as I do, but I don’t give a shit. You only have one mama, and Sonia was mine. I took her for granted, thought she would always be there, that she along with my father were these untouchable beings. I was so wrong.

  Had we arrived just minutes earlier, we could have saved her from the horrific fate she suffered at the hands of a rogue Irishman. I’m glad Konstantin killed the fuck, protecting Inessa for Dominik. I only wish I could have been there to see him go down, or maybe to have taken care of him myself. I would have relished in watching him take his last breath, as he ordered my mother’s to be taken from her body.

  Shaking my head, I try to clear my mind of the past, of the darkness that threatens to consume me every time I think in depth about the situation that took my mother’s life—a situation that changed everything in my life, in Oksana’s life, and of the U.S. Bratva members’ lives as well.

  I continue on my walk, unsure of the time as I stroll. I am in no way ready to come out of my own head and face reality. I’m consumed in thought as I continue on my slow pace.

  I’ve taken a nap, awoken, showered, and now am wearing a pair of salmon cuffed shorts and an off white loose tank top. My bare feet are tucked under my legs, as I sit on the sofa in the living area, of our suite.

  I haven’t eaten, too consumed with thoughts on where Timofei has been for the past ten hours. With my body and eyes pointed toward the glass balcony doors, I watch as the sun begins to set.

  My first day in Paris, the city of love on my honeymoon, and I’ve been completely alone for hours—locked away in my tower. There are no more tears left to cry. Maybe I’m being dramatic, but I feel like my entire life has been turned upside down. I’m just waiting for something else to come at me.

  I stand, walking over to the phone in the kitchen area and think about ordering food. Then I notice that there is a little card on how to internationally dial out to the US. I shouldn’t call anyone, but I’ve been too inside of my own head since my vows. I need to just talk and breathe. I pick up the phone and dial Shannon, my best friend.

  “Please tell me it’s you,” she breathes into her phone.

  “It’s me,” I admit with a smile.

  I’ve missed the sound of her voice. It’s only been a few days, but it doesn’t take away the fact that I’ve missed my friend.

  “I saw Flynn yesterday. He asked me about you,” she murmurs. My eyes widen in surprise, waiting for her to continue. I can tell that she isn’t finished. “I can only describe him as heartbroken. He seriously wanted more, Devyn. He’s pretty angry your father signed that contract with the Russians. He was very vocal. Your brother Callum was with him, and he didn’t seem happy about the marriage, either.”

  “What were you doing with Flynn and Callum?” I ask in confusion.

  Shannon has been very vocal about her distaste for my brother so it surprises me that she’s mentioning seeing, and talking, to him.

  The line is quiet for so long that I think the call has dropped, when she finally speaks. “My father took me by your house. I was with him when he got a summons,” she murmurs but she sounds funny. I don’t have time to ask her more. “They’re pretty pissed you’re with this Russian.”

  I sigh, twisting the phone’s cord in my fingers as I close my eyes. “It doesn’t matter if they’re happy. It’s done. I’m married; and according to the contract, I have to be pregnant within the first year of our union,” I murmur. She gasps on the other line.

  “What happens if you don’t?”

  I close my eyes, not wanting to think about the what-if’s. “Timofei has to give me back. If I’m sent back to my father, he’ll consider it me shaming him. There’s no telling what he’ll do with me then. Remember when Brenna tried to leave her husband because he beat the shit out of her and was cheating on her?” I ask.

  My sister, she’s not had an easy life with her husband. He’s notorious for cheating on her. When she confronted him the first time, she stubbornly wouldn’t let it go. She didn’t take her place and shut her mouth. She smarted off, told him her father would hear about it, and he beat the absolute hell out of her. She ran home to dad, and instead of him defending her, he ripped into her verbally about how she was a shit wife. He made her go back. I haven’t seen bruises on her since, but she isn’t the same girl she once was, either.

  “You don’t think Callum or your other brothers would help?” she asks.

  I love Shannon, I really do, but she has no clue at all what my father is truly like. She’s heard stories, but she doesn’t know, not really. She doesn’t realize what kind of hell he can, will, and does put us through.

  “Dad is in charge, Shannon,” I simply state.

  She lets out a breath. “How is Timofei then?” she asks, changing the subject. I’m grateful for the change, but I don’t want to talk about him.

  “He’s okay. He’s nice enough,” I shrug as though she can see me.

  I hear the door make a noise and push forward, but the chain stops the person on the other side from entering. Then Timofei’s voice rings out. “Devyn, come unlatch the door.”

  I quickly tell Shannon bye and she begs me to call her again soon. I agree before I end the call and hurry to the door, closing it before unlatching the chain and then opening it again.

  “Who were you talking to?” he asks. His eyes are almost midnight blue, and his body is tight, coiled in anger.

  Stepping back from the doorway, he follows me, slamming the door behind him, advancing toward me. I stumble slightly before my back crashes against a wall. Then he’s right in front of me, his hips pressed against my stomach and his hands on either side of my face. He dips his head down and his eyes are aligned with mine, anger swirling in his dark blue gaze.

  “You better fucking answer me,” he growls.

  I gulp, searching his face for the gentler Timofei that I’ve come to know, but he’s nowhere to be found. This harsh man is all I see standing in front of me. “My friend Shannon,” I whisper.

  His eyes cut to the phone and then back to me. “You took too long. I don’t believe you,” he growls.

  “I wanted to tell her I was okay. She’s my best friend,” I whisper, locking my eyes in on his angry ones.

  His jaw clenches and I watch as a muscle jumps in his cheek. “You don’t make phone calls without my permission,” he grunts.

  My eyes widen and I open my mouth to speak, but quickly decide not to. Snapping my lips closed, I nod.

  “Christ,” he hisses before his head dips a little more and his lips brush mine. “I’ve never been jealous,” he whispers. He moves one of his hands to wrap around the side of my neck before it travels down to my waist and then hip. “Not until you,” he rasps against my mouth.

  “It was my oldest friend,” I murmur as my eyes flutter closed.

  “Don’t care. You’re mine now, Devyn,” he growls before his lips take mine harshly.

  I give into him immediately, because as he said I am his. All of his. When his tongue slips inside of my mouth, I let out a moan, having missed his taste. I didn’t know I missed it
, not until this very moment, but I did.

  His hand moves from my hip to the front of my shorts and he unbuttons and unzips them, pushing them past my hips to fall to the ground. My panties soon follow, and then two fingers quickly thrust inside of me, causing me to break our kiss and let my head fall backward on a cry.

  Timofei’s lips travel down my throat, and I feel him suck and nip my skin alternately as his fingers continue to fill me over and over. I roll my hips, my body naturally searching for more—more friction and more of his touch.

  In a flash, he pulls out of me and wraps his hands around the backs of my thighs before he impales me on his hard length. I let out a surprised gasp, unsure of when he unbuttoned his pants. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I hold onto him as he moves me up and down on his length a few times, his eyes never leaving mine.

  Then he presses my back against the wall again and leans forward, his cock continuing to fill me, his pelvis pressing against my clit and causing me to moan with each and every stroke. I feel wanton and needy, my irritation at his day long disappearance suddenly gone.

  “Come for your husband,” he murmurs against the side of my neck. His hands squeeze the flesh of my ass roughly.

  “Fei,” I rasp. “Fei, I need more,” I whimper. “Harder.”

  A growl erupts from his throat, and he starts to slam into me, hard and hurried. Timofei’s head is tipped down as he watches our connection, watching the way he disappears inside of me and grinds against my clit. My fingers dig into his shoulders as my body winds tightly. Then, thankfully, it uncoils and I feel that release I’ve been searching for.

  I come on a long moan, my thighs shaking around Timofei’s hips. He grunts and slams in and out of me even harder—once, twice, three times, and then he drops his head back with a groan of his own and comes inside of me. I feel the spurts of his release enter me, and I send up a secret hope that we’ve created a baby.

  “You want to call a friend, you ask me next time,” he mutters as he sets me down and pulls out of me. I place my hands to the wall in an attempt not to fall flat on my face. My thighs are so shaky.