Chapter Two
Glazov had anticipated this wedding day for a long time. The entire household had been occupied with the preparations, and now the day had finally arrived. For a man in his position, the details were simply a means to an end, the culmination of a lifetime of dedication. That was particularly true of his wife, who had done a magnificent job orchestrating today’s festivities even though she had not had a wedding day of her own. Not really. Nothing like this.
There had been a wedding ceremony, yes, but theirs had been brief with no fanfare. An orthodox priest had been summoned, and Yafon and Glazov’s childhood nanny, Irina, had served as witnesses. Sweet Irina’s joy at seeing her former charge finally married had almost made the occasion feel…normal. Almost. Yes, Kathleen’s wedding day had been nothing like today’s celebration; she had worn a dress she did not pick out, agreed to vows spoken in a language she didn’t understand, in front of witnesses she barely knew.
Kathleen had always assumed the ceremony was to protect them from FBI interference and, while that was true enough, Glazov knew better. It had been the only way to make her his own, to keep his Ptichka from flying away.
He felt no guilt for robbing his wife of her dream wedding. Guilt had never been an emotion he understood. Guilt was a luxury he could not allow to cloud his judgment. He felt only pride for the sacrifices Kathleen had made and the example she continued to set as a Bratva wife. She was a strong woman given to deep convictions and even deeper passion, and he was the beneficiary of both. For that, he was grateful.
The day she walked into his gambling house, he knew he had to have her. His desire for her had been, and continued to be, all-consuming. The only way he would have felt any regret where she was concerned was if he had not stepped up and taken what he wanted—her. There had been no courting, no sweet persuasion, although he had taken great pleasure in using his sexual prowess to make sure she was as addicted to him as he was to her.
Over the years, his obsession had only grown and that lustful hunger still gnawed at him whenever she walked into the room. He was more in love with his wife now than he had ever been. His cock stirred restlessly as he considered stealing her away from the celebration for a while. He needed to bury himself inside her again and would like nothing better than to return her to their guests with her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen, aching from his possession with every dignified step she took as she played hostess.
But that would have to wait. He felt the need to confer with Yafon once more about security arrangements for Vladimira’s departure -- and he might also ask Yafon few probing questions about the moment he had just witnessed between the two of them.
He shook his head abruptly and frowned, pushing down the relentless premonition of danger that had been his constant companion for the last few days. Some of his men were given over to superstition when it came to him; they were well-versed in his ability to sense trouble before it came.
He locked eyes with his cousin, Novak, across the room. Novak took in Glazov’s narrowed gaze and immediately turned to his wife to excuse himself. And that’s when it happened… shots rang out.
The staccato crack of gunfire was almost drowned out by the sound of shattering glass and the cacophony of terrified shrieks pouring forth from the non-Bratva guests. Glazov instinctively dove for his wife, sending them both to the floor as he covered her body with his own. Bodyguards surrounded them, forming a tight circle, shoulder-to-shoulder, their guns drawn. This was the moment they’d been trained for. They would gladly give their lives to ensure their Pakhan didn’t lose his.
Now he understood the oppressive sense of doom that had been wrapping itself around him like a shroud in recent days. He understood it and he embraced it, just as he embraced the death and gore that would surely follow in its wake. After all, could a man with as much blood on his hands as Alexander Glazov ever truly start over and begin again?
Even as pandemonium reigned around him, Glazov’s survival instincts kicked in and a deadly calm settled over him. The gunfire had stopped and the tight circle of guards stepped back as a familiar voice rang out above all others, calling for calm and barking out orders for guards to search the property. As he raised up on an elbow, Glazov was not at all surprised to see Novak standing tall among the huddled wedding guests, a gun clenched in each hand and a whole lot of crazy burning in his eyes as he relentlessly created order from chaos. It was what he was good at, after all.
The episode had lasted no more than a few seconds, but in that time, a monster had been awakened within Alexander Glazov, and it would not be satisfied until blood was spilled and vengeance was paid. Up until that moment, Glazov had started to believe that the madman that lurked deep within him was -- although far from tamed -- sated, having long ago been satisfied with the chaos and catastrophes he had wrought in his youth. Not so. In an instant, the beast within him came roaring to malevolent life, seething with a bloodlust that nearly turned his vision red and had his fingers biting into his wife’s side as he held her firmly beneath him.
Glazov ran a hand urgently over his wife’s beloved form, checking for wounds, searching for even a single drop of precious blood. Satisfied that she was unharmed, he helped her to her feet and pulled her close, pressing her face into his neck and murmuring reassuring words into her ear. He locked eyes with Novak over her shoulder, a lethal awareness passing between them. Novak’s lip curled into a snarl as, with a curt nod to his cousin, he stormed out of the ballroom, flanked by a contingent of Bratva guards.
Against his will, Glazov was being drawn inexorably back into the cloak of dark, merciless violence he had tried so hard to shed. But it was a familiar darkness that welcomed him into its embrace. And, despite his good intentions to the contrary, it was all he knew. All he had ever known.
As his children gathered, unharmed, around him awaiting instructions, the day’s celebrations were all but forgotten. His gaze roamed from face to face with a father’s relief. His ever-expanding family was together. Present and accounted for. Unharmed. Born Bratva and prepared to die for it.
So be it. Let the games begin.
For the first time in Kathleen’s life, she felt like she could pull the trigger on whomever was responsible for the attempt on her husband’s life. There had always been an unspoken rule of war, that wives and children were off limits. Clearly the party responsible for this had no idea what respect and tradition were all about. They had crossed a line and now all bets were off.
She had seen it in her husband’s demeanor the last few days. The storm in his eyes and the creases of worry on his face gave testimony to his premonition of danger. She had learned over the years to pay attention to the vibes he gave off. He had an uncanny ability to foresee the storms on the horizon.
She was impressed with the way the bodyguards handled the chaos that defined the aftermath of the shooting. Years of Bratva training were obvious in the way they assessed the situation and gained control over the madness and mayhem in the room. On Novak’s command, there was a quick damage assessment and an immediate lockdown. Two guards had been injured, but they would recover.
Who could have done this? They had been so careful to keep the guest list limited to family and close friends. There had been no public announcement of the wedding. Mobsters were notorious for shooting up weddings -- large gatherings were considered a target-rich environment.
She had hoped there wouldn’t be bloodshed this soon. Maybe that’s what their enemies were counting on—catching them off guard. She was certain they hadn’t factored in what this incident was going to do to her husband. This was going to rouse the blood lust that had lay dormant within him for many years. There would be no caging the beast now.
The true, brutal nature of the Pakhan would be revealed anew. Whoever was responsible would pay with their life – but they would endure hours of crippling torture, the likes of which they could never have imagined, before death finally came for them.
Her husband was a sadist
at heart. He would enjoy the hunt, the capture, the interrogation, and the ultimate destruction of whomever was stupid enough to try and pull off this assassination attempt.
To say she was pissed was an understatement. To come after her husband was bad enough but to come after her children was unacceptable. For the first time, she wanted to be there to see her enemy meet their bloody fate at her husband’s hands. She had never asked that of him, had always been horrified at the thought. But not now. Kathleen wanted to see it, wanted to see her mate in his true form, all muscle and sinew and bloody hands. And afterwards, she wanted those hands all over her.
Little did their enemy know, he had awakened a beast every bit as dangerous as her husband—maybe more so. He had pissed off a Bratva mother and that wasn’t a smart thing to do.
Chapter Three
Glazov slammed his fist down on his desk, rattling the drawers and sending papers and pens flying.
“An attack against me, at the wedding of my children?! On a sacred occasion?! In my home?! Un-fucking-acceptable. I want whoever did this brought to me – still breathing. I want to present their head to my wife on a fucking platter, but I will be the one to do it.”
Novak was the only one who had the balls to talk to him when he was this angry. “That’s the thing…we kept that guest list tight and right. We didn’t announce it. We kept everything on the down low...”
Leave it to Novak to word things with a hip, no-nonsense attitude. They were as different as night and day, Glazov and his cousin—yin and yang. The only similarity they shared was their penchant for kinky sex. The need for control in the bedroom ran deep in both of them. Glazov could only assume the need for complete control was due to the uncertainty of their lives because they were gangsters.
He had kept this meeting between just the two of them because right now he didn’t know who he could trust. He had yet to find the source of the betrayal. But he would.
“…which leads me to believe we’ve got a leak, one that’s a little too close to home.”
“I hear you. Anybody been asking for a raise lately? Anybody seem jealous or disgruntled?”
Both men knew how easy it was for an employee to begin to think too highly of themselves. They saw what others had and wanted it for themselves – earned or not; deserved or not. They began to think of ways to make outside money, and what easier way to do that than to sell information to the enemy?
Novak’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Then again, this could go far beyond our organization. It could have something to do with one of our peace treaties. Antonio Wayne and Ricardo Ramirez are having problems with the Sinaloan cartel. Seems they abducted one of Diego’s women and that set everything off. Maybe the Sinaloans are breaking any peace treaties they have and looking to expand their territory.”
“Sounds like I need to have a chat with Santiago.” Glazov could feel his jaw ticking in irritation. If the Sinaloans were going rogue it could only mean trouble for all of them. Although fear wasn’t an option, they’d be fools to not acknowledge that the Sinaloans were killing each other in the streets at an alarming rate.
“Fucking animals. Glazov, you won’t be talking to Santiago any time soon.”
“Why is that?” Glazov asked with a scowl.
“Because his own men don’t even know where he is. He’s on the run.”
Chapter Four
The energy in the room shifted even before Kathleen looked up to find Glazov standing in the doorway of their bedroom. She could feel the predatory energy that surrounded him, the air practically crackled with it as his rabid eyes settled on her. She went utterly still, clenching the sheets in her fists as her wide-eyed gaze darted around the room, quickly taking stock of the distance from the bed to the bathroom, then from the bed to the closet.
As if either space would offer a shred of protection from the sensory onslaught that was headed her way.
Her eyes jolted back to her husband, noting how his breathing had deepened and become ragged. His muscles appeared to be locked in place, poised to pounce if she so much as moved a muscle. Icy blue eyes glittered at her from across the room when he took the first slow, deliberate step toward her, as if daring her to try her luck.
She sprang from the bed, nearly throwing her laptop to the floor as she sprinted toward the bathroom, her choice made. In a leap so swift that it hardly seemed human, Glazov reached her in an instant and wrapped an arm around her waist, yanking her effortlessly off the ground and over his shoulder. He crossed the threshold into the bathroom with ease even as her arms and legs flailed helplessly in the air. He smirked to himself as she pummeled his back and cursed a blue streak about the questionable lineage of arrogant Russian cavemen.
A sharp smack to her ass echoed throughout the room, then Glazov was depositing her onto the marble vanity. He towered over her as he slammed his hands onto the marble surface on either side of her hips. She gasped at the sound and he took full advantage by taking her lips in a searing, claiming kiss.
With a low growl, he leaned in, shoving her thighs apart, cupping her ass, and yanking her toward him. He threaded a massive hand through her auburn mane, clasping the back of her head. She leaned into his touch until he clenched a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck and harshly jerked her head back.
“Where do you think you are going, Ptichka?” he murmured as his lips grazed the shell of her ear, his breath deliciously warm against her skin. “Still think you can escape me after all these years? Tsk, tsk,” he purred as his free hand roamed her torso. His arrogant touch felt intrusive as he stroked and squeezed her flesh, his hand eventually settling over her breast as he lightly teased the nipple with his fingertips.
“You see,” he went on grimly, “I’m very angry right now and I think we both know who is going to suffer for it.” A brutal pinch at the word ‘suffer’ had her gasping sharply as the sensitive tip of her breast pebbled beneath his fingertips. “The thing I continue to find so intoxicating about you is that you enjoy suffering for your man. You enjoy giving me what I need. Do you know what I need now, Ptichka?”
“No,” she gasped as his fingers tightened around her nipple. Her core clenched at the sensation and the very real threat of more torment to come. “Oh, God…I’m…Glazov, no…”
She worried that she might climax from the combination of his fingers and his husky voice rumbling so harshly in her ear -- but if she did, she knew this new facet to his already impressive sexual repertoire would make her husband impossible to live with. So, she gritted her teeth and tried to stave off the orgasm that was hovering just out of reach.
“What I need right now, what I crave, is blood. Flesh, bone, and blood. I need to exact revenge on my enemies that want to destroy what is mine. Now, since I can’t kill anyone…at the moment…how about I just fuck you to death?”
He began nibbling up and down the length of her neck, stopping only to bite and suck at the tender flesh, hard enough that he would surely leave a mark. And it wouldn’t be the first time. His cock was hard as stone as his hips jutted against the sheer nightgown that barely covered her ass. She jumped when he seized the neckline with both hands, ripping the delicate fabric down the middle before tossing it to the floor.
She could feel her breathing quicken in tandem with his. He was right; she basked in his uniquely brutal sexuality, her body coming alive under his hands as he mingled pleasure with pain as only he could. She savored his raw masculinity, even his harshness, every bit as much as his unparalleled tenderness during times of gentle lovemaking. This would not be one of those times.
Soft, helpless whimpers escaped her lips, betraying the depth of her need for him. He tore at her panties and they fluttered to the floor.
“Such a wet, dirty girl for me. When did you become such a dirty girl, hmm?” he growled in her ear as he slid his hand along her slick folds before dipping two fingers inside.
They both knew the answer to his question; she was every bit a lady outside of the bedroom, but b
ehind closed doors she lost all inhibitions—every orifice was open and willing for him, ready to be used or punished or worshipped as he saw fit. She was his drug of choice just as he was hers. It had been that way for them from the moment they met.
As he ruthlessly fucked her with two fingers, she moaned and the walls of her pussy began rippling around him. She cried out his name like a feral animal and heard him laugh. He was making her desperate and he knew it.
“No, no, no,” he admonished cruelly. “You don’t get to come yet.”
“Damn it, Glazov, you’re making me crazy.”
“Good to know I still make you crazy after all these years.”
He lifted her from the vanity and pulled her into the bedroom by a handful of hair, his grip sharpened by the fury that threatened to consume him. His hands moved briskly as he removed his clothes, his eyes lingering on Kathleen’s curves as she reclined against the pillows. He approached the bed, nude, looking every magnificent inch the Nordic god that he was.
He palmed his erection with the supreme confidence of an alpha male in his prime, running his thumb up and down the angry-looking vein that coursed the length of his cock. She draped her upturned arms back over her head, arching her back as she drew her knees close to her chest, then spread them far apart.
His lips tightened and the muscle in his jaw clenched as he stared down at his wife’s glistening heat, offered to him with such complete abandon. A shudder ran through him and he gripped the head of his cock in what she knew was an effort to stem his rising need for her. He rested a knee on the bed, then draped his torso over hers, his hips coming home to rest in the cradle of her thighs.
She would talk to him about his worries later, but not now. No, she was more than content to give herself over to him, to be used by him. He was insatiable when it came to his wife because she gave as good as she got whenever he needed to fuck the anger out of his system. She had learned long ago that sometimes a hard fuck was the only way to calm the Pakhan’s wrath. She knew it would be only a temporary fix; his protectiveness for his family and his way of life would stoke the flames and he would eventually boil over to a full roll, when they would do this again. And so it would go until he exacted revenge on his enemies.
Diamond Days (Born Bratva Book 6) Page 2
