Living for the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 4)

by Hayley Faiman

  “Yakov,” Ashley moans beside me. It’s almost too loud for my pounding head to take.

  “Drank too much,” I grunt.

  “Drank and ate too much,” she whispers back. I want to nod and agree, but I’m afraid the movement will make my head explode.

  “More sleep,” I whisper.

  “Please,” she sighs.

  I curl into her body more, wrapping myself around her from head to toe, and we fall asleep again. Hours later, I hesitantly open my eyes and am relieved to find that, although I’m sensitive to the daylight, the room is no longer spinning and my head doesn’t feel like it’s going to burst into a million pieces.

  I look over to Ashley and find that she’s still asleep.

  I need food, and she will too, as soon as she opens up her pretty, brown eyes. I slowly pull some pants on and make my way out of the bedroom and into the living room before I order room service.

  “I woke up and you were gone,” a raspy voice murmurs a few moments later.

  I look up and see that Ashley is standing at the mouth of the bedroom wearing nothing but the tank I wore as an undershirt yesterday.

  I can see her nipples through the thin fabric, and though it’s long, it doesn’t quite cover her delicious pussy from my view.

  “Come,” I order.

  Without hesitation, she immediately comes to me, standing between my thighs. I reach out and trail a finger through the bare folds of her cunt. She gasps and it makes me smile before I slide my finger inside of her.

  “Yakov,” she moans, her voice low.

  “I blacked out last night,” I admit shamefully.

  “You passed out, you didn’t black out,” she chuckles.

  “We didn’t?” I ask, arching a brow.

  “No,” she admits with a slow shake of her head.

  “I’m not a very good husband, already,” I mutter.

  “Pasha wouldn’t stop ordering you shots, and then he kept calling you a pussy when you tried to turn them down. Sonia kept refilling my glass with champagne, and then ordered another bottle when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. Your friends are troublemakers,” she says with a grin tipping her lips.

  “They are, indeed,” I mumble, curling my finger inside of her. “I ordered breakfast.”

  “I’m not hungry for food right now,” she whispers. I agree that I’m not hungry for food, either.

  I remove myself from her body and take her hand in mine, pulling her toward the room before I close the bedroom door behind us.

  “The food,” she protests as I strip the tank from her body.

  “Will be dropped off by the staff, and will be under the warming domes until after I’m finished fucking my wife,” I say, bending my neck and taking her nipple in my mouth.

  “Okay,” she whispers agreeably.

  “I’m too hung over to take my time,” I announce after I’ve tasted each of her delicious tits. “Bend over.”

  Her breath hitches and then she does as I ask, bending over so that her hands are flat on the bed. I unzip and unbutton my pants, stepping out of them on my way to her slick pussy.

  Grabbing my cock, I pump it a few times before I slide it through her folds, making sure to graze her little clit prior to guiding myself inside of her.

  “Jacob,” she sighs as I fill her completely full of me.

  I pick her thighs up so that her feet aren’t touching the ground, and I grip them tightly in my hands. I instruct her to bend her legs, and then I begin to thrust in and out of her tight cunt. She’s wet and warm, completely unbelievable feeling with each and every thrust. Ashley’s now mine, willfully and lawfully, one hundred percent—mine. I groan as my body warms, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from coming all over her.

  “I want your ass tonight, pchelka,” I grunt. Her pussy flutters with my words and I feel her become even wetter.

  “Please,” she sighs.

  “Timing is everything, Ashley,” I remind her.

  She makes a noise in the back of her throat and her pussy flutters again. I know she’s close, so I abandon our conversation and I continue to thrust, harder and faster. She cries out before she lets out a loud sob, then a moan escapes her lips. Her noises are my undoing, and when her pussy clamps down around my cock, I decide to completely let go. I’m both disappointed and pleased in the speed of our orgasms.

  “I don’t know if that made my hangover better or worse,” she whispers as I let her feet slowly touch the ground before I help her to stand up.

  “Fuck, I don’t know,” I chuckle, grabbing my pants and sliding them back on. “But I bet our foods here. C’mon.”

  She tells me that she’s going to go and clean up before joining me. I’m right, our food is sitting on a table with the silver domes over it to keep it warm. I sit down on the sofa, foregoing the stiff chairs that are part of the small dining set. Then I set the plates on the coffee table and bring it forward a bit for better reach.

  Without a word, Ashley walks into the room, wearing absolutely nothing. My eyebrows rise in surprise as I watch her walk toward me, and then she steps between my thighs and sinks down to her knees.

  “Ashley?” I ask on a gulp.

  “Our relationship is different, and I’m your wife, but I miss this,” she admits with a blush.

  “I didn’t think you wanted it,” I whisper.

  “No matter what happens, I will always want it. Not every day, but sometimes. Today, on the first day as your wife, I need it,” she admits.

  I don’t respond with words.

  Her actions have left me happily speechless.

  Instead, I begin to feed my beautiful wife breakfast—from my own hand. I nourish her with each piece of food that I give her, knowing that I’m the man who will provide for her from this day on.

  I love her, my Ashley, my pchelka, my slave, my partner, and the future mother to my children.

  I SHAKILY REACH FOR the teacup that Sonia has placed on the breakfast table between us. Oksana, her daughter, sits next to me, yet neither of them seem as nervous as I am. I wonder if they know exactly what’s happening today, or maybe these things have happened so many times that they just don’t worry anymore.

  “So eventually I’ll get used to these things happening?” I blurt out as I take a sip of tea.

  “Of being on lockdown?” Sonia asks, arching her brow.

  “Lockdown, sit-downs, shootings—all of the above,” I say.

  I shift my view from Sonia to the windows so that I can see outside. Their yard is beautiful, a serene pool with a rock fountain, a pergola off in the distance with a full seating area, including a fire pit. There’s even a mini rose garden with paths and two benches.

  “You never get used to them, you just get better at hiding the fear in your eyes. If they think you’re constantly scared, then they won’t be able to confide in you anymore. If Pasha couldn’t confide in me, then he would have to carry the world on his shoulders, plus be fearful of my delicate sensibilities. I have to be strong for him. I have to mask my terror so that he can go into whatever situation he finds himself in, without worrying about me or my reactions.”

  I turn back to face Sonia and I smile sadly.

  “I don’t know if I could hide my worries,” I admit.

  “You can, and you will. You love him, so you would want him to be able to focus on his task at hand.”

  I take another sip of my tea and let her words sink in, let them roll around in my head. She’s right. She’s been a Pakhan’s wife for so long, I don’t think I could doubt her advice at all.

  I nod once and I let her reassuring, gentle smile ease me into a false sense of comfort. Inside, I’m terrified that when this meet happens, Yakov won’t come back home. Someone from that group has already tried to kill him once, in broad daylight.

  “He’ll be okay. The men around him wouldn’t let anything happen. When he was shot, he was alone and caught off guard,” Sonia assures me. I hadn’t meant to speak my worries aloud, but
her reassurances make me feel a tiny bit better.

  “How are you?” I ask Oksana.

  The last time I saw her, she had just discovered that she would probably be contracted for marriage soon, and she wasn’t happy about it.

  “I’d be better if my parents would stop trying to sell me off like chattel,” she huffs.

  “Oksana,” Sonia hisses.

  “Your parents will find a good match. They love you,” I say with a shrug.

  “I can’t believe that nobody sees anything wrong with this,” she grinds out through clenched teeth.

  “I’ve already told you that while it isn’t conventional for American culture today, we are not living a normal American lifestyle. You cannot bring just any boy into this house as a potential husband. I’ve offered dossiers for you so that you can pick your own, even date him. You’re being stubborn, and when your father has indulged you enough and picks for you, I don’t want to hear you crying,” Sonia announces.

  “What if we looked at them together? I could use something to take my mind off of the day,” I suggest.

  Sonia’s eyes light up while Oksana’s darken and she scowls. Sonia is quick to stand up and rush off toward the office where I’m sure the dossiers are kept.

  “Why are you being so stubborn about this? Is there someone you have in mind, or are in love with?” I ask Oksana once we’re alone.

  “No, I just don’t want anybody making decisions for me,” she pouts.

  “Your parents are allowing you to choose,” I say gently.

  “Choose from their approved list,” she huffs.

  “Who is he?” I urge.

  “He doesn’t want me, so it doesn’t matter,” she shrugs.

  “How do you know?” I ask, arching my brow.

  “Because I know,” she practically cries.

  “Dominik?” I guess.

  “How’d you know?” she gasps.

  “I guessed. He’s in and out, and young, and very handsome,” I smile.

  “He’s not on the list,” she whispers. “I asked my father already if I could request someone not on the list, and he was adamant that the men in the dossier were my potential suitors and nobody else—Russian or otherwise,” she says. I can see the sadness in her eyes.

  “Let’s look at this objectively. Maybe Dominik already has a contract or a match and he’s really not an option,” I offer.

  “Oh, Dominik most certainly is not an option,” Sonia announces as she strolls into the room. Oksana gasps and her cheeks pink in embarrassment.

  “Why?” I ask, knowing that Oksana won’t ask herself.

  “First, he’s been with so many call girls, I’m surprised his dick hasn’t rotted off yet. Secondly, he was promised to a girl when he was fourteen years old. They were supposed to wed when he turned twenty-one, but he doesn’t want to settle down, so he’s been putting it off. We don’t want that for you, Sana. We want a man who is responsible and will take care of you,” Sonia explains as she sits down, setting a thick envelope on the center of the table.

  “I didn’t know that,” Oksana whispers.

  “We love you; we want the best for you. We don’t want some player who is going to treat you like shit,” Sonia says.

  “Let’s look at the files,” Oksana sighs.

  I open the first file and see a man I know well. I look up to Sonia who is grinning down at me.

  “Semion?” I ask.

  “He’s smart, he runs a business, and he’s responsible,” Sonia shrugs.

  “You know him?” Oksana asks as she takes his picture from my hand to look at it herself.

  I nod, unable to speak. Yes, I do know him. He runs a strip club in Los Angeles. A strip club where Tatyana worked for several months until she married Kirill and quit dancing for good. I don’t know him extremely well; he seems broody and a little intense to me.

  “I know of him. Semion was in California when I lived there. Tatyana knows him better than I do,” I say, chewing on my bottom lip.

  “He’s cute,” she shrugs setting his picture to her side.

  I watch as she turns her nose up at the other two men without even looking at their information. Then there’s a fourth man that she pauses on. I watch as she chews her bottom lip for a moment before she sets the photo down in the middle.

  I look at the picture and am surprised to see a man that looks very different from the large, muscled Semion. I don’t know him, but he’s handsome, in a boyish way. He’s definitely not over the age of twenty-five.

  “Who’s he?” she asks, staring at the picture.

  I can’t gauge her response to him. She doesn’t seem interested. She seems more intrigued than anything. I wait for Sonia to tell us who this man is, but when she doesn’t speak immediately. I know there’s some kind of hesitation.

  “If you choose him, you’d be moving to Russia,” she says.

  “Yes, but who is he?” Oksana pushes.

  “His name is Gavril, his older brother’s name was Gregori,” Sonia whispers.

  “What?” I practically scream.

  “Gregori, I remember that name,” Oksana says.

  “I cannot believe that you’re offering your daughter up for slaughter with that animal’s family member,” I shout.

  “We cannot punish a man for the sins of his father, or in this case his brother. Yakov is nothing like Ivan, correct?” Sonia says, arching her brow, making too much sense.

  “Gregori is the man who had you before Yakov, right?” Oksana asks, sounding far too calm.

  My heart races inside of me and I feel so betrayed by this woman, Sonia, who I called my friend. How could she try and set anybody that she loves up with that monster’s blood relative? Yet, isn’t she correct, too? Yakov is nothing like his father, Ivan. The things I’ve heard about Ivan make Gregori sound like a saint.

  Could it be that Gavril and Gregori are just as night and day, like Yakov and his father, Ivan, were?

  “I never met Gavril. I don’t know anything about him,” I whisper, trying to look away from the picture.

  “I find him handsome, in a polished way,” Oksana says as her fingers tap on the tabletop.

  “He is part of the organization, a Boyevik on his way to becoming a Brigadier,” Sonia announces.

  My eyes are pinned to the dark green eyes of Gavril’s. He doesn’t mirror his brother in looks, but he’s very pretty, like Gregori was—very polished and put together. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed a mouthful of sawdust.

  “Ashley,” Sonia murmurs, placing her hand on my forearm.

  “No, you’re right. We can’t judge him for his brother’s actions,” I whisper.

  I want Yakov to come back immediately. I’m ready to leave. I need him to tell me that I’m safe, that he’s safe. I want to go back to The Mark. I want to go back to yesterday when I didn’t know that Gregori even had a brother, much less what he looked like.

  “I would like to meet Gavril and Semion,” Oksana announces.

  I want to ask her why, but she’s still studying the photo of Gavril with some kind of contemplative curiosity.

  “Your father will be very pleased, Oksana,” Sonia murmurs.

  “And these two, I want to meet them, too,” she says pushing another picture across the table.

  The first man is handsome, older than Semion and Gavril. He has dark hair and a beard, where the other two men are clean shaven. He looks as though he’s in his late thirties or early forties, where Semion and Gavril are both in their twenties. He also looks hardened by life; not just because of the Bratva and the fact that their lives are rough, but as if he was born into roughness and had to survive it.

  “His name is Andrei, he’s a Pakhan in Canada,” Sonia says.

  “Why would a Pakhan want to marry me?” Oksana asks.

  “Your father is a very powerful Pakhan, and to unite by marriage would be mutually beneficial, since Andrei is also a very powerful Pakhan in his territory. He’s never expressed interest in negotiating co
ntracts for a wife. Your father contacted him on a whim,” Sonia explains.

  The second man is Mika. My eyes widen in surprise, but Sonia shakes her head. I press my lips together, but I can’t help but think that Oksana would run poor Mika into the ground. He’s too sweet for her.

  “Okay, these four. I want to meet them all,” Oksana announces in a demanding tone.

  “How would you like to do this?” Sonia asks.

  It’s as if Sonia is walking on eggshells, afraid that Oksana will, at any second, change her mind and refuse to meet them. She’s catering to her, and I can’t help but wonder about the obvious disservice she’s doing to her daughter. Marriage to a Bratva badman is going to be quite the culture shock.

  “A party. Well, four parties,” Oksana announces. “My birthday two months from now, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and then New Years. I’ll have an answer by Valentine’s day. You can start planning the wedding, if you wish, for June,” she announces.

  “Why are you so willing all of a sudden? Is this because of Dominik?” Sonia asks.

  “It’s time I grow up,” Oksana states before she stands and walks out of the room, taking the four men’s pictures and files with her.

  “I can’t help but think there’s more to this sudden shift than she’s telling me,” Sonia says, thinking aloud.

  “Probably,” I shrug.

  We spend the next few hours in idle chit chat. I’m still rattled and shaken from the news of Gregori’s brother and the fact that Oksana wants to meet him.

  I have a feeling that whatever parties will be planned, Yakov and I will attend. I don’t know how I’m going to be in the same room as a man who shared the evil genes of Gregori.

  I limp sandwiched between Pasha and Dominik as we stroll into the little Irish pub where we’ll be meeting with Patrick O’Neil. We walk the length of the deserted bar toward the back, as instructed. There are three big men waiting, and they pat us each down. I’m not stupid enough to have any weapon they can feel on my person, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve come unarmed.

  “Enter,” one of the men says. He steps away, revealing a square table with seating for six.