“How do we know what will work on them? How do we find out what they’re afraid of?” This time it’s Anastasia asking one of her perpetual questions.
Dmitriy seems intrigued with the direction the conversation is taking – and, interestingly enough, he seems more than a little interested in Anastasia. Hmmm…
“I know for a fact that they’re quite superstitious,” Dmitriy begins. “You wouldn’t expect it because they’re so young, but this shit’s passed down from generation to generation, so even if they claim to not believe, trust me -- deep down, they do. Superstitions like belief in an underworld run incredibly deep in their culture, so messing with their heads shouldn’t be too difficult. What do you have in mind?”
“Keep it simple—use their imagination against them. I can show you better than I can tell you.”
Now he’s got me thinking. “Man, oh, man, are you ever giving me some ideas.”
Oleg continues, “By the time we’re through, they’ll be so paranoid that they’ll turn on each other. I want them looking over their shoulder, thinking everyone they encounter could be the enemy. I love a good mind fuck.”
We’re going to have some fun with this shit.
Chapter Forty One
Oleg
Patience always pays off, one way or another. When we’re watching an enemy it’s not much different than cops doing a stakeout. It can get boring. We’ve been out here for hours and everyone is ready to get to work. I know our perseverance has paid off when people start leaving in groups. Finally there’s only one person left, the owner of the house. She just happens to be Roksana’s arch-nemesis -- the hands-y bleach blonde from the strip club.
I quietly head to my vehicle and grab a couple of things I’ll need. Might as well begin terrorizing her tonight while she’s home alone.
“I want to go with you,” Roksana murmurs from just over my shoulder. I keep a locked case in the back of my vehicle for any job that might arise, including a change of clothes. It isn’t uncommon for me to wear something once, only to have to burn it because somebody puked all over me at the sight of their own blood.
I learned to expect the unexpected a long time ago. The old adage ‘fail to plan, plan to fail’ has always served me well.
I straighten and take a deep breath before telling her what she surely won’t want to hear. “You can’t let your temper get in the way this time.”
“I won’t,” she answers, a little too quickly for my peace of mind.
“I’m serious, Roksana. Don’t fuck up. I will never lie to your father. Never. But it’s about more than that; a real man speaks freely to his Pakhan and does not have to be careful about what he says.”
Something that might be regret passes over her features and I decide she’ll be fine going with me to the woman’s house. She really does feel bad about putting me in the middle between her and her father. Roksana’s not the type to feel remorse so it means something to me to be one of the people she gives a shit about.
“Come along, then. But stay out of the way and just watch what I’m doing.”
“Scout’s honor,” she says, making the pledge sign with her fingers.
I can’t help but smirk. “You, young lady are no Scout. The only thing you’ve got in common with them is that you’re always prepared – unfortunately, you’re prepared to cause trouble. I don’t think they have a badge for that.”
“What can I say? Trouble just follows me.”
“Well, tonight…you’ll be following me.”
“You know me, always the docile submissive.”
“Yeah, right.”
We head down toward the house. By the time I’m finished with this bitch, she’ll be so paranoid she won’t be able to function.
The thing is, I want to get even with her too. I don’t like anybody putting their hands on me -- anyone but Roksana, that is.
Chapter Forty Two
Roksana
I dutifully stand behind a tree with no argument. This is one time giving in will be well worth it. There’s no way I’m missing this. Watching Oleg terrorize this woman is going to be hilarious, and I want to be up close and personal when it happens.
She stands in her bathroom at the mirror, moving through the bedtime ritual every woman understands: brush teeth, floss, wash face, moisturize.
I beam with pride when Oleg steps from the shadows and his genius is revealed. He’s outdone himself. His face is concealed by a Grim Reaper mask and he holds a small axe in his gloved hand. It isn’t the traditional scythe of the notorious Grim Reaper but it works. Oleg’s black tailored suit and white button down shirt add elegance to his sinister persona.
At first she doesn’t see him. She washes her face as the Grim Reaper stands outside her window, silently watching. She straightens to reach for a towel, her eyes closed. As soon as she begins patting her face dry, she opens her eyes and sees him in the mirror. She screams and covers her face with her hands, obviously doubting the evidence of her own eyes. But he’s still there when she opens her eyes. At last, she seems to finally believe he’s real and not a figment of her imagination. In the time it takes for her to scream again and race over to the window, Oleg steps back into the woods.
As she cups her hands to peer through the glass, she seems to be again questioning whether she really saw someone. She backs away from the window and yanks the blind down. In a matter of a few moments, Oleg has set the stage for the ultimate mind fuck, and I had a front row seat.
By the time we’re through tormenting her, she’ll doubt everything and everybody—even herself. She’ll begin to question her own sanity. It’s a pretty messed up way to persecute an enemy, but we never claimed to be merciful in our tactics.
Most people associate torture with physical pain, but mental and emotional distress can serve to exacerbate physical pain when applied in the right measure. Torture is an art, a lifelong learning process to be studied and savored. Our shared love of torture in all its forms was what brought us together in the first place.
When the bathroom window goes dark and Oleg is certain she’s left the room, he gestures for me to follow him along the side of the house. We peek through the blinds at her bedroom window as she pulls back the covers on the bed. When she steps over to close the blinds, Oleg picks the perfect moment to step from the shadows. This time she screams loud enough to, well, wake the dead. She throws her entire body into it, fists clenched and eyes squeezed shut. When she opens her eyes, he has already stepped back into the shadows and out of sight.
In a matter of seconds, the front door opens. We crouch down behind the shrubbery under the window as she peeks around the corner, tentatively searching for the faceless specter of death that keeps appearing from out of nowhere.
“Is someone out there? Why are you doing this to me? Is that you, Miguelito? Quit fucking around, asshole. Is it you?” In her mind, assuming her two-timing boyfriend is pulling a prank is preferable to the prospect of more torment. If only it were true, it would be the answer to all her problems. She’s in our grip now and there’s no promise of salvation, no answers to her questions, and no deliverance…only death.
The cloud-covered sky offers no escape from the darkness. Its inky depths obscure the heavens and drop like a shroud around the woman who will soon wish she had never crossed paths with Bratva.
Chapter Forty Three
Anastasia
By the time Oleg and Roksana return to the vehicle, Dmitriy and I have packed up the equipment and are ready to go. As they describe what they did to the poor girl, I almost feel sorry for her. But I can’t allow myself to sympathize with the enemy—ever.
“If I didn’t think you’d put a bullet in me I might feel sorry for the girl,” I say with a laugh.
“It’s good to know we’re on the same page, Anastasia,” she replies. “Mercy leads to betrayal, always. It’s the first rule of the game: never sympathize with your rival—they’ll just use it against you. Your survival depends on your ability to separat
e your emotions from the work that must be done. The enemy will always look for a chink in your armor—let your guard down and you die.”
“But you let your guard down with me.”
“Different situation.”
“Why?”
She turns to me with eyes that are flat, emotionless. “I always have you under my control. I’ll never make the mistake of underestimating you or becoming complacent. Under the right circumstances, anyone will betray you.”
“Then I won’t bother trying to convince you I won’t.”
“Wouldn’t do any good anyway.”
“Cut her some slack, Roksana,” Dmitriy says good-naturedly. She only turns away and glares out the window. These people take intensity to a whole new level. Roksana’s always coming out of nowhere with sucker punches—doses of reality that hit me between the eyes and leave me reeling.
I breathe a sigh of relief when we pull into the long driveway leading up to the massive house that has quickly become home to me. The conversation was getting too strained for my liking.
“We’ve still got surveillance to do, who wants to listen in?” Dmitriy asks.
“I do,” Oleg replies, his voice low and menacing. He obviously expects something really bad to happen to these people – and he ought to know.
I notice Roksana’s eyes looking up so I lean in to see what’s captured her attention. Glazov is watching us from an upstairs window. Somehow he seems to be able to read my mind. It keeps my nerves on edge, and I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants.
We manage to reach the surveillance room without being summoned to the Pakhan’s office. Dmitriy doesn’t waste any time getting computer monitors and speakers up and running. We still don’t have visual, but up until now we haven’t needed it. It appears we’re right on time; the woman is arguing with her boyfriend on the phone and, as luck would have it, she has the call on speakerphone.
“Miguelito, maybe if you’d been here instead of with your side bitch, you could have helped me.”
“You expect me to believe that the Grim Reaper is watching you from the woods?”
“I know what I saw.”
“You know what you think you saw.”
“Man, I’m telling you, I called my abuela and she says we need to make an offering to the patron saint of drug dealers, Malverde.”
His contemptuous laughter rings through the air. “That’s your problem, girl… When you came from Sinaloa, you brought all of your family’s superstitions with you. Didn’t you get the memo? You’re not in Mexico anymore, you’re in America now.”
Her voice is solemn as if she’s speaking a sacred truth. “It doesn’t matter where I go; the supernatural always finds me. And now my sins have brought the wrath of the underworld upon my soul.”
Chapter Forty Four
Oleg
Every time I finish fucking with an enemy, my primal instincts flip into overdrive and all I want to do is fuck my woman until the bed breaks. The brutality of the world I live in never fails to awaken the monster in me. And tonight the monster wants to eat her alive.
I wait until Roksana’s in the bathroom washing off her make-up. That’s where the mind games began earlier tonight, so why not start there? I step up behind her while she’s bent over the sink splashing water on her face. She straightens as she pats her face with a hand towel, jerking back in alarm when she sees me behind her in the mirror.
I move in quickly, clamping my hand over her mouth and pulling her tight against me.
“Maybe I should come up behind you one night just like this, tie your ass up, shove you in the back of the SUV and take you to the warehouse.” I trail my lips along her neck, grazing the shell of her ear as I close my eyes and indulge in a little fantasy time in my own head. “I’d love to see you naked in chains.”
Her head shakes back and forth in an effort to escape my hand as I pinch two fingers over her nose so she can’t breathe.
“Don’t fuck with me, devotchka—I’m not in the mood.” She relaxes in my arms and nods her head obediently. “Nice try,” I scoff. “You think I believe you won’t fight the first chance you get? I know you, like nobody else knows you.”
Her eyes plead with me for the life-giving air I’m withholding from her. I move my hand from her nose and fist a handful of hair instead.
“Now here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to get your ass into that bedroom and take off your clothes. Do not speak to me.”
I pull her head back toward my shoulder, forcing her to look up at me while I growl in her ear, “You understand me?” She nods and doesn’t make a sound, which suits me fine. I don’t want to hear it. I’m not here to chat; I just want to fuck her like I hate her.
She struggles to stay upright, walking backwards as I pull her into the bedroom. I release her next to the bed and lower myself into a chair in the small sitting area by the window.
As if by magic, the decanter of chilled vodka I called down for earlier has appeared on the small table next to the chair. I fight the grin that threatens to curve my lips as I wonder what Alyona may have overheard when she so thoughtfully poured the shot that awaits me. Then again, she’s worked for Glazov for many years so I’m sure she’s heard far worse.
Roksana stands in front of me, frowning as she tries to read my mood and decide her next move. Until I decide for her.
“Strip.”
I never tire of seeing her nude. I savor every inch of creamy flesh she reveals as she obeys my command. I toss the shot back and pour another one, handing it to her. She dips her tongue into it provocatively and my cock stirs in anticipation as she drinks it down. I take the shot glass and pour myself another, promptly downing that one as well. I raise my hand toward her and move my finger in a circular motion. She slowly turns and I marvel at every curve, every sleek line of her perfect body. The Grim Reaper tattoo on her back reminds me of why I’m in such a dominant mood.
I crook my finger and lean back deeper in the leather club chair, letting my legs fall open to make room for her to come to me. As she kneels between my legs, her eyes lock onto mine. Her elegant hands get to work releasing my belt buckle before moving on to slowly remove my shoes and socks. I lift my hips slightly so she can slide my pants and briefs off. She places it all in a tidy stack on the floor, looking up at me every now and then for approval. She unbuttons my shirt, sliding her hands over my chest as she pushes the fabric over my shoulders, folding it before placing it on top of the other garments on the floor.
My cock is at full staff, weeping streams of pre-cum as it juts out, straining to get to her. She eyes it hungrily and looks up at me through her lashes. I nod subtly for her to proceed, then lay my head back and wait.
Tiny, soft flicks of her tongue leave trails of fire along my cock before it’s suddenly enveloped in deliciously wet heat. In my mind’s eye, I see the broad head disappear between those blood red lips as she takes me to the back of her throat. I white-knuckle the arms of the chair, trembling with every stroke and glide of her silky tongue.
With one hand working the base, she takes me deep over and over again. She cups my sac with her free hand and sucks me deep and swallows, working the soft flesh at the back of her throat against the sensitive head of my erection. It’s almost too much. I run my fingers through her hair, my chest heaving as I try not to lose it too soon, but it’s no use. I clench a handful of her hair at the roots and know I’m a man undone.
I pull her off and tilt her chin up with my finger, assessing her heavy-lidded gaze and swollen lips.
“Now, you will fuck me,” I snarl. “Sit on my cock and ride me like it’s the last time you ever will.”
She rises to her feet and I slide my hips down lower in the chair. Straddling me, she rises up onto her tiptoes to achieve the height that will enable her to slide her pussy lips over the broad head of my cock. I lazily cup her breasts, kneading the firm flesh as she lowers herself onto my shaft. As always, I marvel at how wet she is.
She lan
guidly rises and falls on my cock, the rhythm steady and smooth as she reaches behind me to remove the band from my hair. Her eyes are suspiciously shiny as she whispers, “Don’t say that, Oleg. I can’t bear to think of enduring this life without you.”
Those are her last coherent words before she gives herself over to the carnal energy that bonds us. The sexy sounds of pleasure that pour from her lips only serve to inflame me. I smack her ass several times in quick succession and grin when I’m rewarded with a surge of her wet heat on my cock and my thighs.
I slide a hand down her flat stomach to her pussy, where I roll my thumb over and around her clit. Her inner walls respond to the stimulation by rippling around my shaft, causing those familiar waves of tingly heat to radiate from the base of my spine.
“That’s it, baby girl, come all over your man’s cock,” I groan on a hard thrust as my balls draw up tight against my body. Her pussy clamps down on me like a velvet vice grip as she emits a hoarse cry and arches her back, thrusting her breast against my lips. I oblige, of course, suckling and tugging on the pink nub as she writhes and shudders through a series of aftershocks.
“Fuuuuck…” I clench my jaw and throw my head back, feeling the muscles in my cheeks and neck tighten as I welcome the hot rush of pleasure and come with a roar, thrusting deep inside her a final time.
After I catch my breath, I gingerly extend my legs, making sure they’re on board with my plans to get us over to the bed. I stand carefully, still buried inside her, and walk toward the bed. I grin as I catch a glimpse of us in the gilded cheval mirror; she’s got her arms and legs wrapped tight around me like some love-drunk baby monkey.
We fall into bed, still wrapped around each other. I nuzzle her neck as I start to doze off, my thoughts drifting. For the first time I find myself yearning to father a son with her. What the hell is this woman doing to me? We’re in no position to have kids in our line of work. But as I linger somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, my mouth develops a mind of its own and ventures into uncharted territory.
Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5) Page 16
