I know not to ever leave a man’s side—never walk in front, always a step behind, if not more. These little things, they are a part of me now and have been since the second Gregori took me until the moment Yakov walked away from me. They will never be forgotten, and I will never be able to not do them. Just the thought of walking in front of a man makes me nervous.
Mika holds out the chair for me once we’ve arrived at our seats, and I thank him as I sit down and allow him to push me toward the table. I quickly take the napkin and place it on my lap, over the top of my handbag.
Yakov insisted that handbags did not belong on tables. It irritated him when I tried to do it one of the only times he took me out in public. When we went home, he showed his irritation by withholding my orgasm for the entire night. He only allowed me to come the next morning. It wasn’t the worst kind of torture I had endured, but it was a kind of torture nonetheless.
“What would you like to eat?” Mika asks me as he tips his chin toward my menu.
“I get to pick?” I ask with wide eyes.
I watch as he furrows his brow and his cheeks pink. I don’t think that he’s blushing, but rather, he’s irritated at my stupid question.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, trying to rectify my mistake.
“For what?” he asks, bewilderment laced in his voice.
“For questioning you. Of course I’m able to pick. You already asked me what I wanted,” I say, waving my hand.
“When was the last time you ordered a meal for yourself, Ashley?”
I chew on my bottom lip and think about his question, really think about it. I’ve gone out for lunch with Emiliya, Haleigh, and Tatyana before, but I’ve always just had whatever they were having, afraid to make a mistake. I don’t know if that counts. I lift my eyes to Mika’s and I almost melt at the fire blazing in his blue gaze.
“Before Gregori took me,” I whisper.
“He didn’t let you order for yourself in restaurants?” Mika asks. I assume he means Yakov.
“No. Yakov didn’t take me out in public often,” I say, trying not to let my eyes water at the mention of his name on my lips.
“Jealous asshole,” he grunts.
My eyes widen and fly to his, not understanding his words.
“That fucker kept you all to himself because he didn’t want other men looking at you, not because you were his and he had a compulsion to keep you locked away. You’re fucking gorgeous, and wherever you go, you turn other men’s heads. He didn’t want another man even admiring you, which is why he kept you in solitary,” he explains.
“I—I—I don’t think that was really the case,” I stutter.
“I know it’s the case, Ashley. Once Dimitri was gone and dead, the threat to you was gone. Sure, there will always be some kind of threat just because you’re a woman of a Pakhan, but do you see any of the other men you know hiding away their women?”
I think about his question and then I shake my head. All three of the women I’m friends with do as they please. Sure, they have Byki who follow them around as safety precautions, but for the most part, they go where they need to go and where they want to go. Yakov never allowed me out of our apartment, unless it was to the little grocery store down the street. I took a Byki with me unless he was with me, and even that was rare.
“I—he was ashamed of me,” I whisper.
“Bullshit. He was ashamed of nothing. He wanted to hide you for himself. He is selfish,” he grunts.
“I would have stayed hidden. All I wanted was a life with him and a baby,” I whisper before I cover my mouth with my hand.
I can’t believe I said that out loud. My eyes widen and I keep my hand over my mouth, unable to breathe, speak, or move. Mika wraps his hand around my wrist and gently tugs it down with a grin on his lips.
“That’s why he left?” he asks as his face turns from a grin to stone-serious.
“A reason, yes. I wanted more,” I admit. It’s the first time I’ve told that to anyone.
I don’t know why I’m telling Mika these things. Tatyana knows more about me than anybody, and yet, she doesn’t know this. Yakov didn’t want me, not forever. I should be thankful that he walked away when he did, because he could have waited for years. I could have been tied to him for longer, loved him deeper and harder, and he could have left me then. Though, I’m not sure it would have hurt any less.
I look into Mika’s eyes and they look like granite, hard and unyielding anger swimming in them. I won’t tell him Yakov’s parting words. Words he so harshly spoke so easily to me.
You are not the woman I wish to have forever.
Any other woman would be furious to the point of never wanting to see the man again; but as Yakov pointed out, I am weak and I still love him.
“Then he is a bigger fool than I ever thought possible,” he grumbles as the waiter arrives to take our order.
“What can I get for you, miss?” the waiter asks. I blank.
My hands start to shake and my throat goes dry. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to order, or what to do. I look at Mika with panic, and he grins as he takes one of my hands in his.
“Take your time, Ashley; order whatever you like,” he encourages gently.
His voice is smooth and low, easy and gentle. I take in a deep breath before I exhale and my eyes quickly roam the menu before landing on chicken pasta alfredo. I rapidly pass it, because it’s extremely fattening, and then I see an olive oil and shrimp dish.
“I’ll have the shrimp pasta with olive oil,” I murmur.
“Excellent choice. And for you, sir?” The waiter turns to Mika and he orders.
I don’t listen to Mika’s order. Not out of habit, but because I’m twisting my fingers in my lap, so nervous, scared, and just plain annoyed with myself. I can’t even order for myself at a restaurant. I am helpless and stupid. The only parts of me that were once worth anything are now filthy and disgusting.
I’m worthless.
“He is a fool, Ashley,” Mika says gently as his finger trails my exposed bicep.
I lift my eyes and look up at him. His eyes are gentle and kind—sweet, even. He’s too good for me. He may not be powerful in the Bratva like Yakov, but he’s still too good for the likes of me.
“I don’t think he is. I think he knew exactly what I am, and he took the opportunity to leave me, to save himself,” I murmur.
“What are you, then?” he asks. I watch as his eyes alight with fire and anger.
“Used up. Too many men have been inside of me for any decent man to want me. Too many men have scarred my body for any good man to desire me. No man wants a woman as filthy as me to carry their last name, and especially not their children.”
Mika doesn’t respond. He throws his napkin onto the table and stands. I know he’s leaving me, realizing exactly what I’ve been trying to tell him. Except, he doesn’t walk away. He walks up to me and holds his hand out.
Taking my own napkin and placing it on the table before I grasp onto my purse and stand up. With shaky fingers, I place my hand in his.
No words are spoken. I expect him to turn us toward the front door, but he doesn’t. He leads me toward the back of the restaurant and then into the ladies room. I watch as he flips the lock and then marches me further into the bathroom, facing me toward the mirror as he stands behind me.
I suck in a breath when one of his hands travels up my belly, between my breasts, and then around my throat. His other hand wraps around my hip, and he presses his hard front against my back. My eyes move from his golden hand around my throat to connect with his dark blue eyes, almost black and full of heat.
“You are not filthy, Ashley. You are so fucking beautiful, you make my chest ache just to look at you,” he murmurs against my ear. My body trembles with each syllable he speaks.
“That man did not respect you enough to have all that is you, all that you could give him—all that you were willing to give him. A woman like you is a treasure to bad men like
us. He didn’t care or nurture you the way you need—the way you deserve. Let me build up what he so callously tore down, mishka.”
I manage to blink once before the tears start to fall from my eyes.
“Look at yourself, not at me, look at yourself, Ashley. You are fucking beautiful, clean and beautiful, every piece of you.”
I look at myself, my straight bangs, my tear stained cheeks, and Mika’s golden hand still very much wrapped around my neck.
My appearance is put together, my body is clean, and yet I still feel like that filthy girl that Yakov found living in a cage beneath a house.
I don’t know if that feeling will ever go away.
But right now, in Mika’s arms, with his firm words, I feel more beautiful than I have in my entire life. Yet, I feel the saddest I have ever felt, too. I know, no matter what he says, that this man is not for me.
I LOOK DOWN AT my phone and frown at the name of the person calling me. It’s too soon for this phone call to happen. I’ve only put this man on his duty a few days ago. No way could he have anything for me yet.
“Chekov,” I grunt into the phone.
“I’ve sent you an email. You should open this now,” he suggests, though it sounds more like a demand.
I narrow my eyes, but do as he says, my curiosity getting the best of me as it is known to do. I’m sitting at my computer and my email is always available, so it is no trouble. Once I refresh the page, I notice that his message is there, and there are attachments. I click on one. It is a picture.
Ashley is dressed in nothing I have ever seen her wear before, in my life. A long, skin tight skirt and a little scrap of fabric she’s wearing as a blouse that is tucked in. As my eyes scan the photograph, they land on her feet. Fucking sky-high heels, and they look perfect. Her hair is longer, her bangs much longer. She looks mature and breathtaking.
Then my vision turns blood red.
Standing next to her, so close that his body is touching hers, his arm and hand wrapped around her waist, is a man. A big, blond man. He’s looking down at her with a grin on his lips, and she’s looking up at him.
The look on her face, it’s one I’ve never seen before. She’s smiling, and it’s wide. She doesn’t look scared, or worried, or nervous. She looks—happy. The next picture, he’s holding the car door open for her, and she’s sliding into the seat.
Then he turns to face the camera after he’s closed the door.
His looks directly at the camera and he smirks.
“He made you,” I say.
“He’s Bratva. He isn’t dumb,” my contact mumbles.
“Is he?” I ask.
I don’t know him; I’ve never met him before. He must not hold any ranking at all whatsoever. That alone means he’s not good enough for Ashley. He’s nothing. He’s nobody.
“He’s a Boyevik, working his way up the ranks. He’s been on Baryshev’s crew for a while now, years actually,” my contact grunts. “Do you want a dossier on him?”
“I don’t. He’s inconsequential. Whatever they have, it will fizzle. Keep a watch on her and an ear to the ground. I want to know exactly what is happening in LA,” I murmur.
“Yes, sir,” he says before he hangs up the phone.
I close the email and delete it. I don’t need to keep the photographs because the images are seared into my head. I’ll never forget them. Just one of the many images that I will never forget.
The first was when I walked in on my father beating a woman’s ass bloody with a cane. Then he fucked that ass without so much as missing a beat at me being in his office. That act alone doesn’t haunt me, what haunts me is when she turned to look at me. She looked fucking dead.
Ashley had the same look in her eyes when I found her.
Death.
I have seen so much fucking death that it doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. A body stops breathing and that is all that happens. You torch them, or do whatever you have to, to get rid of the evidence. But when a live person, a once beautiful, vibrant girl or woman dies inside, when her body continues to breathe—that is heartbreakingly and hauntingly devastating.
Women are easy to break and difficult to repair, to rebuild; though, with Ashley, I enjoyed it immensely. She was completely broken when I found her, and it took time to rebuild her mind and body before she was taken from me.
The second time, she wasn’t broken, just slightly damaged. The only thing I had to be was available to her, show her that she was cared for, and hold her while she dreamt. The task wasn’t a difficult one, though it made me think. I had too much power, and she was too vulnerable for my enemies.
I have seen many good, strong women suffer. My Ashley isn’t very strong, as no woman could be who has endured the nightmares she has. By ending things, I’m really protecting her. I always want to keep her safe.
When Tatyana Barysheva was in an accident and almost died, that was it for me. I helped to get the Bratva back in power, and fucked with The Cartel so that they would back off. But that doesn’t mean that we are free and clear. That doesn’t mean that The Cartel isn’t going to come after us. We killed an El Jefe, their version of my position—a leader—and a bunch of their capos, their version of Brigadier’s. That fight is far from over.
Ashley’s safety is my number one priority, after the Bratva. The Bratva will always come first. It is my life. I have devoted my life to it and to bettering it—I killed my father for it.
“Your next appointment is available, sir,” Jacquie, my assistant, says through the speaker of my phone.
“Send her in,” I grunt.
I don’t look up as I hear the door open and then gently close before the lock is flipped into place. I hear the rustling of clothes, and then silence.
I continue to look at my computer, finishing a few correspondences, listening to the shallow breaths of my two o’clock meeting from the closed doorway. She’s staying completely still and silent, as has been instructed.
I lift my eyes and see that she’s doing exactly as she’s told. She’s completely naked and on her knees, her head bowed, and her arms crossed behind her back. Her long, black hair hangs in her face, hiding her features from view, which is fine. I have no desire to see what she looks like. I’m sure she’s lovely. The agency always provides lovely women. I only want her for a few specific things. Gazing into her face is not one of them.
I could use one of my own girls, but for this, for my specific tastes, using an employee isn’t smart. Never mix business with pleasure.
“Crawl to me,” I demand.
She nods before she begins to crawl toward me, silently. I watch as her tits sway with each move. They’re on the smaller side, because her body is extremely svelte, and she’s free of marks—just as I’ve requested.
However, she won’t be free of marks for much longer. I’m going to leave her shredded.
I’m already hard at the thought as she arrives next to my feet.
“Open that drawer and take out my cane,” I order.
I watch as her body trembles slightly and then she opens the drawer. It’s a long, deep drawer, and the only things inside are my tools—my toys. Her hand wraps around the handle of the stainless steel whipping rod I keep inside. I haven’t used it in a year. Ashley couldn’t take it after she came back from South Africa. I doubt she ever will be able to, not with the traumas of her past.
“Set it down next to you,” I murmur.
The girl doesn’t say a word as she does as I’ve directed. Good girl.
“What is your safe word?” I ask.
“Red,” she whispers.
“Have you ever been caned?”
I watch as she lifts her head and her light brown eyes meet mine. Fear. It’s radiating off of her. I can practically taste it. My gaze roams over her features and I notice she’s young, really young. She shakes her head, and I know she’s terrified.
“How old are you?” I ask out of curiosity.
“Twenty,” she whispers.
&nbs
p; She’s the same age as Ashley, and yet, she looks younger—her eyes much less haunted. She’s probably seen much less than my Ashley has, endured less, even though she’s a prostitute. I lift my finger and trail it down the curve of her full face.
“It’s going to hurt,” I mutter.
“Yes,” she says on a tremble.
“When I’m done, I’ll make sure to turn that pain into pleasure. You’ll like it.”
“Okay,” she murmurs.
She’s not convinced of this, and I don’t blame her. I would be frightened, too, if someone were about to beat the shit out of me with a stainless steel rod.
“Have you ever done anything like this before at all?” I ask.
I’m confused as to why she’s so fucking scared. I told the agency what I wanted, and I expected them to send me exactly what I paid for.
A submissive prostitute to use for an hour, maybe two.
“I’ve followed orders, crawled, and been spanked,” she admits hesitantly.
“Nothing else?” I ask, raising my voice.
She shakes her head instead of verbally answering me. I need someone who can give me the release I’m craving. I need a professional, not some little girl playing games.
“Go,” I grind out.
“But, I swear, I’ll take whatever you give me. I’ll be good,” she pleads.
“Go, or I’ll have my security escort you out—naked,” I grunt.
I turn away from her and listen to her hurried steps, the rustling of her clothes, and then the door unlocking, opening, and finally closing. I look out at the cityscape. The sun is high, as it’s still early in the day, past noon, but just.
I sigh and think about Ashley. She always comes to mind. Every hour of every day I think about the woman who haunts me. Seeing those photographs of her today, I was lying to myself when I said I didn’t care.
I care.
I want her right here with me, right at my feet, her head resting on my thigh as I work. Right where she belongs.
Mine.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
I need to get the fuck over her. It’s been six months. It’s been long enough.
Living for the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 4) Page 4
