Expose' (Born Bratva Book 3)

by Steele, Suzanne

  Logan eyes the caged bottle of vodka when I hand it to her. “Hmm, Grey Goose Magnum,” she murmurs, pleased with my choice. The drink preference of the Russians is vodka, always has been, and always will be. Clearly she’s been brushing up on all things Bratva and Russian customs. Is she interested because we’re together now or is it something more? I listen intently as she gives me the rundown of her findings.

  “This bottle of vodka would run around $160.00. The fact that it’s in a Swiss-designed bottle and housed in a silver cage jacks the price up to over $800.00. Are you sure you want to drink this, Kodiak? This is a limited edition.”

  “A limited edition vodka for my limited edition girl.” I reach over and give her a quick peck on the cheek. Her eyes sparkling up at me is all the reward I need.

  Life. Is. Good.

  I palm that dip in her back -- you know, that place on a woman’s lower back where it dips right before her ass juts out. I slide my fingers under the draped fabric of her dress and stroke one of the sweet dimples that hides at the base of her spine. I love to hold on to her hips and press my thumbs into those little indentations when I take her from behind. Never fails to turn me on. Someday soon, I need to mark her as mine. Put some ink right where I can see it when I mount her from behind. I make a mental note to get my tattoo guy to work up a sketch.

  I hold the door open for her and place my hand on her lower back to guide her as she steps out ahead of me. Even Lukyan cracks a smile at me as I tend to my girl. Ladies first and all that. Glazov raised me right, after all. But all gentlemanly shit aside, I’m more than a little excited about taking her home and slowly undressing her, then fucking her like a mad man.

  We step out onto the sidewalk and all hell breaks loose. I hear the gunfire before I see the dark sedan cruising slowly down the street. Instinct sets in as I duck down and pull Logan around the corner of the house with me, shielding her with my body. Everything seems to move in slow motion as I listen to the barrage of bullets. My senses are on hyper-alert and, driven by instinct, I go for the gun in my ankle holster. Why the fuck can’t I reach it? As I fumble for the gun, the cool night air that felt fucking awesome when we stepped outside feels colder. With Logan’s slender body pressed onto the concrete beneath me, I feel an overwhelming need to shield her from harm. At the same time, my awareness is eerily focused on the sounds around me; it’s like I can hear the fucking crickets chirping.

  Mere seconds of time seem to last forever as the once serene atmosphere deteriorates into organized chaos. I lift my head and have to squint to focus on the bodyguards that swarm the sidewalk. They’re wielding submachine guns, some sprinting into the street with a weapon in each hand as they spray the passing car with bullets. The clanging sound of bullets hitting metal reverberates in my ears as I will these intruders away from us. Finally, after what seems like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, the car speeds off, covered in pock marks from the Bratva bullets that reached their target.

  I pull away from Logan to reassure her that everything’s okay. She’s not used to violence and mayhem like I am. “Baby, everything’s okay--” The front of her beautiful dress is soaked in blood. “Oh, God, baby, no no no no – You’re bleeding!” I try to touch her face but for some reason my arm won’t cooperate. What the fuck?

  Her hands grip my shoulders as she reaches for me frantically and cries, “It’s not my blood!”

  What the fuck does she mean, it’s not her blood? I frown when I try to make sense of what she’s saying. I hear shouts from behind us that another car may be coming our way and there’s chaos once again as my men scramble into position. I should join them, or at least pull my gun from my ankle holster to fire at the bastards who did this. But all I can think of is Logan. Logan’s been shot. My baby’s been shot. I should do something. Fuck, I can’t think. What…what am I supposed to do?

  I feel Logan’s body slam into mine as she throws herself on top of me, frantically pushing me into the same brick wall where I had held her down only seconds ago. Or maybe it’s been a few minutes, I can’t remember.

  Things are suddenly so much quieter as I watch my men duck behind cars and fire at the car as it careens down the street. Why the fuck are my guys using silencers at a time like this? Gunfire is usually so much louder than this. Can’t think about that now, though. I just want to feel Logan’s soft, delicate curves draped over me like a blanket and fill my head with her scent as it wafts all around me, soothing me even as she screams, “Oh, God! Lukyan! Lukyan, he’s been shot! Somebody, please, somebody help him!”

  It’s the last thing I hear before the darkness overtakes me.

  Logan

  My body is thrown against the side of the building as Kodiak pins me with the weight of his body, shielding me from the barrage of bullets flying around us like something out of a Wild West movie. Neither of us saw the drive-by coming until it was too late. In seconds, our world was transformed from one of playful banter and verbal foreplay to chaos and mayhem and blood.

  As Kodiak’s body presses into mine and he pushes my head down, I notice something shimmering in the landscaped flower bed by my feet. The colors of the blooms barely register as I struggle to comprehend what’s happening around me. The bottle of vodka is on its side, unbroken, pristine in the midst of the madness all around us. I feel hysterical laughter bubble up in my throat because, even as automatic weapons roar all around me and men shout to be heard above the cacophony of gunfire, the damn vodka is safe and sound inside its gilded cage.

  More Bratva soldiers rush out of the house and return fire as the car speeds by. I can’t help but wonder who’s behind those tinted windows, and more importantly, who took out a hit on my Kodiak. Maybe I’m better off not knowing. Maybe I’m better off taking a lesson from the caged vodka here, and just be happy to be tucked away in the Glazov mansion so I can’t be executed outside a boutique at the mall one day when I least expect it.

  Finally, after what seems like forever, Kodiak pulls away from me. His face is ghostly white as he starts yelling incoherently that I’m bleeding. He passes out on the ground next to me as I try to tell him that it’s not my blood, before I even realize that I’m covered in his blood. Voices are shouting about another car approaching. I throw myself on top of Kodiak and try to cover as much of him as I can with my smaller frame.

  Lukyan will know what to do. Lukyan will know what to do and where to go. He won’t let Kodiak die. I have to find Lukyan. He has to save Kodiak.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Logan

  Lukyan looks stricken when he sees Kodiak lying prone on the ground. He lifts Kodiak into his arms like he weighs no more than a child and barrels across the sidewalk to the car, bellowing what sound like orders in Russian. I scramble frantically into the back seat. Lukyan lays Kodiak across the seat and I cradle his head in my lap as I apply pressure to the gunshot wound in his shoulder. The driver’s door slams shut as Lukyan puts the car in gear and takes off. I reach up to grab the handle above the tinted window as Lukyan sends the car into a hard turn, but my hand is slick with Kodiak’s blood and it’s hard to hold on. There’s so much blood. How can there be so much blood?

  “Lukyan, you’re going the wrong way! We have to get him to the hospital!”

  “No hospital, missy.”

  I prepare to argue with him when I hear the distinctive beep that tells me Lukyan is placing a call via the car’s blue tooth. Again I fight hysterical laughter at yet another example of the luxury and technological advances Bratva brings to bear even in an emergency. The urge to laugh is gone as soon as I hear Glazov’s curt greeting.

  “Yes?”

  “Kodiak’s been shot, boss…” Lukyan’s voice breaks.

  “What has happened?” Glazov snarls into the phone.

  “It was a drive by, outside the house.”

  “Fuck! Where are you now? Is he--”

  “He’s alive, boss. I have him and the girl in the car. We’re en route. ETA five minutes, proba
bly less,” he says as he guns it through another red light. “Sir, we’re gonna need the doc and you should probably have the operating room ready.”

  “Jesus. Of course.” A brief pulse of silence, then, “How bad is it?”

  “I can’t tell, boss. He’s not conscious. Logan’s got him. I had to peel her off of him to get them in the car. She threw herself over him when we thought a second car of shooters was coming. Turns out it was just the one, but still--”

  “We’ll talk when you get here. Just drive. Bring my son to me, Lukyan.” The line goes dead as Glazov prepares for his son’s arrival. I know he will have every possible resource at the ready to ensure his son’s survival. I also know that whoever did this is as good as dead.

  My tears fall on Kodiak’s face as I gently stroke his hair and brush my fingertips over the closely trimmed stubble that I’ve grown to love. In a short amount of time I’ve grown close enough to him to know that I can’t imagine my life without him. He’s crawled inside my mind and my heart, and I’ll never look at the world in the same way as before. If he dies, I'll never love again. Kodiak came into my life at a time when I was focusing on everything but love. He slammed into my heart like a tsunami and the giant waves are washing over me and taking my breath away. I don’t care how crazy it is, I am obsessed with this man and I’ll do anything to protect him. Anything to avenge him.

  If belonging to Kodiak means living in a cage under the watchful eye of Bratva bodyguards and his family, I know now that in that cage I will find my freedom. For the first time in my life, I feel free to love someone without fear of being used or mistreated. I used to believe my parents had choked all the trust out of me, but I know different now.

  My arms tighten around Kodiak as Lukyan makes a sharp turn and barrels past the entry gates and onto the grounds of the Glazov residence.

  “Almost there, baby,” I whisper brokenly, but Kodiak doesn’t respond. The loud whirring of a helicopter’s blades pulls me from my thoughts and I watch as it touches down in the front lawn. The pilot leaps out and helps an older man exit the helicopter. The pilot places his hand on the man’s head and gestures for him to duck as they run beneath the blades toward the massive house. The passenger carries a black doctor’s bag and is greeted somberly at the door by Glazov himself, who places his hands on the man’s shoulders and kisses his cheeks. He hurriedly ushers the man into the house before returning to the doorway to await his son.

  Lukyan jumps from the driver’s seat and hoists Kodiak into his arms, cradling him protectively and ignoring the waiting gurney as he runs up the steps with me on his heels. I struggle to keep up and Lukyan and Glazov navigate the mansion’s maze of hallways to the expansive library wing. Glazov strides across the room to a massive bookcase and pulls a book down from a high shelf. The bookcase silently moves aside, revealing another long corridor. We are met at the end of the hallway by two crisply uniformed nurses standing on either side of a gurney. Lukyan gently lays Kodiak on the gurney, which is then whisked away by the briskly efficient nurses. I’m helpless to do anything but watch and fight back tears as they wheel my love away to the hidden operating room.

  Unsure of what to do next, I cover my face with my hands and breathe deep to stave off the nearly crippling panic that threatens to consume me. I feel hands firm on my shoulders and look up to find those icy blue eyes regarding me fiercely. His Russian accent colors his words more than usual when he says softly, “Go with my daughter, Roksana. I’ll let you know how he is as soon as I know.”

  He gives my shoulders a barely perceptible squeeze and nods down at me once before stepping away to speak to Lukyan. I’m taken aback by what I saw in those cold blue eyes – acceptance.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Logan

  Roksana’s arm is snug around my shoulders as trudge down the long corridor. I numbly follow beside her, paying no attention to where we’re going. I’m soaked in the blood of the man who saved my life tonight.

  When I finally do look up, we’re standing in Kodiak’s room and I lose it. I sob uncontrollably as Roksana holds me, slowly stroking my back. She has enough wisdom to not say anything.

  When I finish crying she pulls me back by my shoulders the same way Kodiak does, and I start laughing almost hysterically. I’m a crazy fucked up ball of emotion and I can’t make sense of any of this.

  “Kodiak does the same thing to me.” I start crying again, until she shakes me and makes me listen to what she’s saying.

  “The first thing we need to do is get this blood off of you. I want you to go take a shower. After that we’ll meet back in here and have a cup of coffee.”

  “Coffee?”

  “I want to talk to you while the memories are fresh. Whoever did this is going to pay. They fucked up when they shot the son of Glazov!”

  Roksana strides out of the room with her back straight, her gait confident, and her mind set on revenge. I stumble into the bathroom to go do what she told me to—wash the blood of my lover from my body.

  Logan

  I run a brush through my hair as I sit on the bed in one of Kodiak’s button up dress shirts and underwear—his shirt, my underwear. I can smell his cologne because it’s what I put on after I showered. I smile as I remember how I had been determined to find out what kind he wore after I first met him—it’s Clive Christian C. It’s a complex smell of leather, tobacco, and dominance, if dominance could be bottled. It’s Kodiak through and through.

  Another tear rolls down my cheek even though I thought I was cried out. I look up to see Roksana walk in dressed in yoga pants and a white spaghetti strap camisole that clings to her lean, toned body. Her red tresses are pulled back severely in a high ponytail and with her make-up washed from her face, she is even more gorgeous.

  She sets the tray down and brings a cup of coffee over to me. I can see she has talked to the women who work in the kitchen because when I sip my coffee, it’s perfectly light and sweet. I smile when I think about how even the people who work here have accepted me right down to my tastes and my food preferences. Kodiak knew what I would want in the specialty shop and they know how I like my coffee. Roksana’s voice interrupts my thoughts and I turn my swollen eyes to her.

  “I want you to do something for me,” she says in her no-nonsense way.

  “Is it going to help us figure out who did this?”

  “I hope it will. It’s a method my father uses during interrogations -- the cognitive interview."

  “Well, as long as you don’t hold a gun to my head,” I say lightly, only half kidding.

  She chuckles, “No, this is used in cases where torture isn’t needed.” She has a perfectly straight face when she says it and it hits me that this is all normal for her—she grew up in organized crime; witnessing interrogation sessions was something she grew up with. I wonder how old she was when she witnessed her first torture session. How old was she when she became the torturer? Are all Bratva children raised the same way? I can’t imagine watching my children facing such ordeals. I push the thoughts from my mind and focus on Kodiak making it through the night.

  “Close your eyes,” she orders softly. I immediately do as she asks, desperate to help in any way I can.

  “Okay, I want you think back to right before you two stepped out on the sidewalk. Tell me what you remember. Tell me everything, no matter how trivial you think it is.”

  “We’re laughing, Kodiak had just grabbed a bottle of limited edition vodka from behind the bar.” A teardrop rolls down my cheek as I tell her what he said. “He says it’s a limited edition bottle for his limited edition girl.”

  “Sounds like you’ve brought out my brother’s romantic side. What happened next?”

  “I can feel his hand on my lower back. He’s guiding me with it.”

  “Again, wow. Okay, you’re doing great, keep talking.”

  “The sky is dark but there are a lot of stars out and it’s a little chilly, and I’m wishing I had brought one of the shawls he bought me. I�
��m excited about being with him and I know it’s stupid, but I’m curious about whether the vodka will taste different because it’s a limited edition. A car is approaching and it’s going slow, so slow. A flash of light comes from the back window.”

  “Okay, that’s good, it means there was more than one person in the car. Go ahead.”

  “I feel my back slam into the brick siding of the building. Bodyguards run out onto the sidewalk and start shooting at the car. The car speeds off like they know they’re outgunned and outnumbered. But there’s one thing I can’t shake.”

  “What is it—tell me.”

  “I can’t shake the feeling they were shooting at me, not Kodiak. I know it sounds crazy, but I would have been the one shot if he hadn’t been so quick to slam me into the side of the building. They were aiming at me and I don’t know why.”

  “Well, I would never wish that on you, of course, so don’t take this the wrong way. But I hope you’re right because if you are, it’s going to be a hell of a lot easier to find out who’s behind this.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you have fewer enemies than my brother does. In fact, I’m pretty sure you only have one.”

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Kodiak

  Searing pain like a cattle brander being pressed into my shoulder wakes me from a deep sleep. The ceiling above me is stark white. Everything else in the room is bathed with harsh fluorescent lighting, causing the white to be a blinding inconvenience.

  “Here he is, Mr. Glazov. I’ll be right outside if you need anything. He’s heavily sedated so I’m not sure how much sense he’ll make. Do try to take it easy on him with the questions. It’s best if he’s not upset.”

  I turn, wincing in pain but wanting to see the woman who has the nerve to order my father around. I recognize her as a Bratva nurse. More than once I’ve been in the mansion’s hospital ward to visit a wounded comrade, but this is my first stay as a patient.