by Jane Henry
My father holds a hand up to me, and Cormac mutters beside me, “Easy, Keenan.”
Father Finn’s just dropped the biggest bomb he’s given us yet, and they expect me just to sit and nod obediently?
“You know more, Father,” I say to him. “So much more.”
Father Finn won’t meet my eyes, but as he goes to leave, he speaks over his shoulder. “Go to the lighthouse, Keenan. You’ll find what you need there.”
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Beyond Measure: A Dark Bratva Romance (Ruthless Doms)
Tomas
I scowl at the computer screen in front of me. As pakhan, the weight of everything falls onto my shoulders, and today is one day when I wish I could shrug it off.
A knock comes at my office door.
“Who is it?” I snap. I don’t want to see or hear anything right now. I’m pissed off, and I haven’t had time to compose myself. As the leader of the Boston Bratva, it’s imperative that I maintain composure.
“Nicolai.”
“Come in.”
Nicolai can withstand my anger and rage. Over the past few months, he’s become my most trusted advisor. My friend.
The door swings open and Nicolai enters, bowing his head politely to greet me.
“Brother.”
I nod. “Welcome. Have a seat.”
When I first met Nicolai, he wore the face of a much older man. Troubled and anguished, he was in the throes of fighting for his woman. The woman who now bears his name and his baby. But I’ve watched the worry lines around his eyes diminish, his smile become more ready. While every bit as fierce and determined to dutifully fill his role as ever, he’s grown softer because of Marissa, more devoted to her.
“You look thrilled,” he says, quirking a brow at me. Unlike my other men, who often quake in my presence, having been taught by my father before me that men in authority are to be feared and obeyed, Nicolai is more relaxed. He’s earned the title of brother more readily than even my most trusted allies.
“Fucking pissed,” I tell him, pushing up from my desk and heading to the sideboard. I pour myself a shot of vodka. It’s eleven o’clock in the fucking morning, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve been up all night. “Drink?”
He nods silently and takes the proffered shot glass. We raise our drinks and toss them back together. I take in a deep breath and place the glass back on the sideboard before I go back to my desk.
“Want to tell Uncle Nicolai your troubles?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.
I roll my eyes at him.
I made an unconventional decision when I inducted Nicolai into our brotherhood. The son of another pakhan, Nicolai came here under an alias, but I knew he had the integrity of a brother I wanted in my order. I offered him dual enrollment in both groups, under both the authority of his father and me, and he readily agreed. We’ve come to be good friends, and I would trust the man with my life.
“Uncle Nicolai,” I snort, shaking my head. None of my other brothers take liberties like Nicolai does, but none are as trustworthy and loyal as him, so he gets away with giving me shit unlike anyone else. “It’s fucking Aren Koslov.”
Nicolai grimaces. “Fucking Aren Koslov,” he mutters in commiseration. “What’d the bastard do now?” He shakes his head. “Give me one good reason to beat his ass and I’ll take the next red-eye to San Diego.”
He would, too. Nicolai inspires fear in our enemies and respect in our contemporaries. Aren falls into both categories.
“Owed me a fucking mint a month ago, and hasn’t paid up,” I tell him. I spin my monitor around to show him the number in red. “And you don’t need me to tell you we need that money.” As my most trusted advisor, Nicolai knows we’re right on the cusp of securing the next alliance with the Spanish drug cartel. Our location in Boston, near the wharf and airport, puts us in the perfect position to manage imports, but the buy-in is fucking huge. We have the upfront money, but the payout from San Diego would put us in a moderately better financial position.
Nicolai leans back in his chair, rubbing his hand across his jawline.
“And you have meeting after meeting coming up with politicians, leaders, and the like.”
I eye him warily. Where’s he going with this?
“It’s easy to say you need money. But that isn’t what you need, brother.”
I roll my eyes. “I suppose you’re going to tell me what I need.”
“Of course.”
“Go on.”
“You know what you need more than the money?” he asks. I’m growing impatient. He needs to come out with it already.
I give him a look that says spill.
“You need a wife,” he says.
A wife?
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Sometimes I think your father dropped you on your head as a child,” I tell him. What bullshit. I look back at the computer screen, but Nicolai presses on.
“Tomas, listen to me,” he says, insistent. “Money comes and goes, and you know that. Tomorrow you could seal a deal with the arms trade you’ve been working, and you know our investments have been paying off in spades. But a good wife is beyond measure, and Aren has a sister.”
“You’ve been married, for what, two fucking days and you’re giving me this shit?” I reply, but my mind is already spinning with what he’s saying. I never dismiss Nicolai’s suggestions without really weighing my options. Aren is one of the youngest brigadiers in America and has a reputation that precedes him everywhere he goes. He commands men under him, and I’m grateful he hasn’t risen higher in power.
He grunts at me and narrows his eyes. “I’ve loved Marissa for a lot longer than we’ve had rings on our fingers.”
“I know it, brother,” I tell him. “Just giving you shit. Go on.”
“Aren’s sister is single, lives with him on their compound. Young. I don’t know much about her, and haven’t seen a recent picture, but I met her years ago when I first came to America. And she was a beauty then. I imagine she’s only grown more beautiful.”
Seconds ago, this idea seemed preposterous, but now that I’m beginning to think about it, I’m warming to the idea.
“You think he’d let her go to pay off his debt?”
“With enough persuasion? Hell yeah. And a good leader needs a wife. You’ve seen it yourself. There’s something to be said for having a woman to come home to. The most powerful men in the brotherhood are all married.”
He’s right. Just last week, I met with Demyan from Moscow and his wife Larissa. He brings her everywhere with him. The two are inseparable. And he’s risen to be one of the most powerful men the Bratva has ever known.
“And face it, Tomas. You’re not exactly in the position to meet a pretty girl at church.”
I huff out a laugh. The men of the Bratva rarely obtain women by traditional means.
I lift my phone and dial Lev.
“Boss?”
“Get me a picture of Aren Kosolov’s sister,” I tell him. Our resident hacker and computer genius, Lev works quickly and efficiently.
“Give me five minutes,” he says.
“Done.”
I hang up the phone and turn to Nicolai. “I want to see her first,” I tell him.
“Of course.”
“How’s Marissa?”
He fills me in about home, his voice growing softer as he talks about Marissa, but I’m only half-listening to him. I’m thinking about the way a woman changes a man, and how he’s changed because of her.
Do I need a wife?
The better question is, do I want Aren Kosolov’s sister to be the one?
My phone buzzes, and Nicolai gestures for me to answer it. A text from Lev with a grainy picture pops up on the screen, followed by a text.
There are no recent pictures. This was from a few years ago, but it should give you a good idea.
Still, it’s a full profile picture. I murmur appreciatively. Wavy, unruly chestnut hair pulled back at the nape of her neck,
with fetching tendrils curling around her forehead. Haunting hazel colored eyes below dark brows. High cheekbones, her skin flushed pink, and full, pink lips. She’s thin and graceful, though if I’m honest, a little too thin for me. The women I bed tend to be sturdier and curvy, able to withstand the way I like to fuck.
I don’t want to have this conversation via text. I call him and he answers right away.
“Background?” I ask.
“Never went to college. Under her brother’s watchful eye since her father died.”
“Lovely,” I mutter. He might not give her up easily.
“Temperament?” I ask, aware that I sound like I’m asking about adopting a puppy, but it fucking matters.
“Not sure, but she has no record on file at school or legally. Perfect record. Graduated top of her class in high school.” He snorts. “Volunteers in a soup kitchen in San Diego and attends the Orthodox Church on the weekend.”
Ah. A good girl. Points in her favor. Sometimes the good girls fall hard, and sometimes they’re tougher to break, but they intrigue me.
“Boyfriend?”
“None.”
“Name?”
“Caroline.”
“Caroline?” I repeat. “That isn’t a Russian name.”
“Her mother was American.”
I nod thoughtfully. Caroline Koslov.
She would take my name.
Caroline Dobrynin.
I drum my fingers on my desk, contemplating. I nod to Nicolai when I instruct Lev. “Get Aren on the phone.”
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The Bratva’s Baby (Wicked Doms)
Kazimir
The wrought iron park bench I sit on is ice cold, but I hardly feel it. I’m too intent on waiting for the girl to arrive. The Americans think this weather is freezing, but I grew up in the bitter cold of northern Russia. The cold doesn’t touch me. The ill-prepared people around me pull their coats tighter around their bodies and tighten their scarves around their necks. For a minute, I wonder if they’re shielding themselves from me, and not the icy wind.
If they knew what I’ve done… what I’m capable of… what I’m planning to do… they’d do more than cover their necks with scarves.
I scowl into the wind. I hate cowardice.
But this girl… this girl I’ve been commissioned to take as mine. Despite outward appearances, she’s no coward. And that intrigues me.
Sadie Ann Warren. Twenty-one years old. Fine brown hair, plain and mousy but fetching in the way it hangs in haphazard waves around her round face. Light brown eyes, pink cheeks, and full lips.
I wonder what she looks like when she cries. When she smiles. I’ve never seen her smile.
She’s five-foot-one and curvy, though you wouldn’t know it from the way she dresses in thick, bulky, black and gray muted clothing. I know her dress size, her shoe size, her bra size, and I’ve already ordered the type of clothing she’ll wear for me. I smile to myself, and a woman passing by catches the smile. It must look predatory, for her step quickens.
Sadie’s nondescript appearance makes her easily meld into the masses as a nobody, which is perhaps exactly what she wants.
She has no friends. No relatives. And she has no idea that she’s worth millions.
Her boss, the ancient and somewhat senile head librarian of the small-town library where she works won’t even realize she hasn’t shown up for work for several days. My men will make sure her boss is well distracted yet unharmed. Sadie’s abduction, unlike the ones I’ve orchestrated in the past, will be an easy one. If trouble arises eventually, we’ll fake her death.
It’s almost as if it was meant to be. No one will know she’s gone. No one will miss her. She’s the perfect target.
I sip my bitter, steaming black coffee and watch as she makes her way up to the entrance of the library. It’s eight-thirty a.m. precisely, as it is every other day she goes to work. She arrives half an hour early, prepares for the day, then opens the doors at nine. Sadie is predictable and routinized, and I like that. The trademark of a woman who responds well to structure and expectations. She’ll easily conform to my standards… eventually.
To my left, a small cluster of girls giggles but quiets when they draw closer to me. They’re college-aged, or so. I normally like women much younger than I am. They’re more easily influenced, less jaded to the ways of men. These women, though, are barely women. Compared to Sadie’s maturity, they’re barely more than girls. I look away, but can feel their eyes taking me in, as if they think I’m stupid enough to not know they’re staring. I’m wearing a tan work jacket, worn jeans, and boots, the ones I let stay scuffed and marked as if I’m a construction worker taking a break. With my large stature, I attract attention of the female variety wherever I go. It’s better I look like a worker, an easy role to assume. No one would ever suspect what my real work entails.
The girls pass me and it grates on my nerves how they resume their giggling. Brats. Their fathers shouldn’t let them out of the house dressed the way they are, especially with the likes of me and my brothers prowling the streets. It’s freezing cold and yet they’re dressed in thin skirts, their legs bare, open jackets revealing cleavage and tight little nipples showing straight through the thin fabric of their slutty tops. My palm itches to spank some sense into their little asses. I flex my hand.
It’s been way, way too long since I’ve had a woman to punish.
Control.
Master.
These girls are too young and silly for a man like me.
Sadie is perfect.
My cock hardens with anticipation, and I shift on my seat.
I know everything about her. She pays her meager bills on time, and despite her paltry wage, contributes to the local food pantry with items bought with coupons she clips and sale items she purchases. Money will never be a concern for her again, but I like that she’s fastidious. She reads books during every free moment of time she has, some non-fiction, but most historical romance books. That amuses me about her. She dresses like an amateur nun, but her heroines dress in swaths of silk and jewels. She carries a hard-covered book with her in the bag she holds by her side, and guards it with her life. During her break time, before bed, and when she first wakes up in the morning, she writes in it. I don’t know yet what she writes, but I will. She does something with needles and yarn, knitting or something. I enjoy watching her weave fabric with the vibrant threads.
She fidgets when she’s near a man, especially attractive, powerful men. Men like me.
I’ve never seen her pick up a cell phone or talk to a friend. She’s a loner in every sense of the word.
I went over the plan again this morning with Dimitri.
Capture the girl.
Marry her.
Take her inheritance.
Get rid of her.
I swallow another sip of coffee and watch Sadie through the sliding glass doors of the library.Today she’s wearing an ankle-length navy skirt that hits the tops of her shoes, and she’s wrapped in a bulky gray cardigan the color of dirty dishwater. I imagine stripping the clothes off of her and revealing her creamy, bare, unblemished skin. My dick gets hard when I imagine marking her pretty pale skin. Teeth marks. Rope marks. Reddened skin and puckered flesh, christened with hot wax and my palm. I’ll punish her for the sin of hiding a body like hers. She won’t be allowed to with me.
She’s so little. So virginal. An unsullied canvas.
“Enjoy your last taste of freedom, little girl,” I whisper to myself before I finish my coffee. I push myself to my feet and cross the street.
It’s time she met her future master.
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About the Author
ABOUT JANE HENRY
USA Today bestselling author Jane Henry pens stern but loving alpha heroes, feisty heroines, and emotion-driven happily-ever-afters. She writes what she loves to read: kink with a tender touch. Jane is a hopeless romantic who lives on the East Coast with a houseful of children and her very ow
n Prince Charming.
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What to read next? Here are some other titles by Jane you may enjoy.
DARK ROMANCE
Dangerous Doms
Keenan: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance
Ruthless Doms
King’s Ransom
Priceless
Beyond Measure
Wicked Doms
The Bratva’s Baby
The Bratva’s Bride
The Bratva’s Captive
Undercover Doms standalones
Criminal by Jane Henry and Loki Renard
Hard Time by Jane Henry and Loki Renard
The Savage Island Duet
Savage Dom
Savage Love
Standalone
Island Captive: A Dark Romance
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
NYC Doms standalones
Deliverance
Safeguard
Conviction
Salvation
Schooled
Opposition
NYC Doms boxset
The Billionaire Daddies
Beauty’s Daddy: A Beauty and the Beast Adult Fairy Tale
Mafia Daddy: A Cinderella Adult Fairy Tale
Dungeon Daddy: A Rapunzel Adult Fairy Tale
The Billionaire Daddies boxset
The Boston Doms
My Dom (Boston Doms Book 1)
His Submissive (Boston Doms Book 2)
Her Protector (Boston Doms Book 3)
His Babygirl (Boston Doms Book 4)
His Lady (Boston Doms Book 5)
Her Hero (Boston Doms Book 6)
My Redemption (Boston Doms Book 7)
And more! Check out my Amazon author page.
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