“I need to fuck you. Fuck you so hard,” he practically fumed as he ground his hips viciously against her as she lay prone beneath him.
“Like you hate me…”
“God, yes,” he groaned, his eyes closing as sweat beaded on his forehead, “fuck you like I hate you.”
“Well, I need to come,” she taunted him breathlessly as she covered his hand with hers and worked his fingers even deeper inside her.
The look on his face was vicious as his free hand twisted in her hair so forcefully that it brought tears to her eyes, even as he curled his fingers inside her to stroke her G-spot. “Do you know when you get to come, Ptichka? When I am done using you….that’s when.”
Okay…I get it, you’re not in the mood to play.
Sliding his knees apart, he let his powerful thighs spread her legs even wider as he rose up and positioned the swollen head of his cock at her entrance. Sitting back on his heels, he gripped her ass tightly and raised her hips off the mattress, pulling her onto his massive, engorged cock. She knew she’d carry his bruises tomorrow, but she didn’t mind; bearing physical reminders of their time together made her feel close to him no matter where he was.
Glazov thrust into his wife brutally, knowing that, no matter how submissive her demeanor, she had given him tacit permission to have his way; to channel into her body his fury at the personal nature of the attack against him and his family. To fuck her like she was the enemy he sought to annihilate. Her willingness to fearlessly let him avail himself of her body stood testament to the fact that she was no enemy; she was his whole world.
When he felt telltale, silken flutters rippling along his length, he knew she was close. He kept up the punishing pace as he stroked her clit, bringing her swiftly to climax, her walls bearing down hard on his cock and bringing him to his own completion. He roared his pleasure as shudders wracked his body. His hips held in place mid-thrust, then bucked wildly until he collapsed on top of her, his warmth flooding the deepest recesses of her body.
Eventually, he rolled onto his back, pulling the covers over them as he tucked her into his side, his free arm resting back on his pillow. His eyelids were heavy, so he closed them and focused on how Kathleen’s hair trailed over his skin, how she pressed silken kisses along his chest, how her soft hands stroked and soothed his weary muscles. With each breath and every touch of his wife’s hands, he felt himself ease off to sleep. The beast was calm. For now.
Hours later, Glazov lay in the dark with his wife, skin to skin, her breasts pressed against his chest, her leg draped over his thighs. He pulled her closer, folding her into his body, knowing that she, too, was awake. His fingers trailed over Kathleen’s lower back as he uttered his most grievous worry, speaking dully, almost as if he were in a trance.
“You could have been killed, or one of our children—our firstborn grandchild, even.”
“So, you know,” she said softly, smiling against his skin.
“Yes, my love. I know… The burden of knowing is one I’m cursed to bear, always. I wonder sometimes…had I not been born into this lifestyle, where would I be?”
“I don’t want to think about it. To consider anything other than what I know would be to imagine my life without you and our children. I simply couldn’t bear it.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and pulled her a little closer. “I’ve spent my life answering the blood-born call of Bratva. I want something better for our children, our grandchildren. The old ways don’t fit into today’s world.”
“And…you are making changes, Glazov. You can’t take hundreds of years of legacy and change it overnight. It takes time.”
“And once again—”
“I know,” she said, lowering her voice dramatically. “‘Time is a commodity you don’t have.’”
“You know me well,” he purred as his finger trailed along the silhouette of her still-firm body. She yawned. He smiled in the darkness.
“I love you, Glazov.”
“And I love you, Ptichka. Now,” he said slyly as he rolled on top of her, “back to the matter of you not telling me about my firstborn grandson…”
“You sound like Natasha.”
A hearty laugh escaped from somewhere deep in his chest. “So, she, too, believes the Bratva gods have blessed me with a grandson.”
“The both of you are incorrigible.”
He clasped her chin and turned her face toward him because he knew she was pouting and it was so damn sexy.
“We play, you and I, but know this, my beautiful wife: be it boy or girl…I will give that grandchild and every grandchild we are blessed with, the very depths of my heart and soul. My family is my life and my devotion spans the generations. That is why someone must die for today’s atrocity…”
Chapter Five
The smell of sweat and blood, combined with the over-abundance of testosterone in Glazov’s system, had his blood pumping vigorously through his veins. He needed to fight—he need to hit something—he needed to hurt someone.
He loved this gym. Long ago, he had decided to build a training facility for Russian fighters. He deliberately recruited men in dire straits on the streets of Russia and brought them here on work visas to train in this gym. Glazov understood that hunger and the survival instinct often drove men to do things they would never do under ordinary circumstances. When a man was fighting for his life, there was fire in his eyes and fury in his fists.
At least Glazov knew he was leaving a positive mark on his legacy. He was taking starved souls and giving them hope and a fresh start. When your next meal was likely going to be from a garbage can, a life of luxury – even when it was earned through your own hard-fought success -- would never erase a man’s brutal memories of life on the streets.
“Boss, we’ve been through this before…the trainees are reluctant to fight you.” Glazov glared down at the man he had hired to train the fighters.
“Yeah, motherfucker,” Novak smirked, “he doesn’t want you busting up his precious trainees.”
“Well, cousin, since you’re so concerned about the trainees…how about you and I go a few rounds?”
Of course, his troublemaking cousin had a smartass answer for everything. “Right. Ain’t never gonna happen…when I run up against a big, overgrown asshole like you, I just take out my Glock and the rest is history. Simple.”
“You and I both know why you won’t get in that ring with me: this isn’t a fairytale and I am your worst nightmare.”
“You’re everybody’s worst nightmare, cuz—you’re Alexander-fucking-Glazov.”
A new trainee strode over and leaned down to whisper in his trainer’s ear. The older man inhaled deeply as if he was contemplating the question. He thoughtfully rubbed the imaginary stubble on his chin before reluctantly nodding his head.
“Mr. Pakhan, sir, I’m honored to meet you,” the young man said with a small, formal bow, completely missing Novak’s impatient eye roll behind him. “My name is Kolya Ivanov and I want to thank you for bringing me here. I’ll do all I can to make you proud. It would be an honor to spar with you, sir.”
The kid had a hungry look in his eyes; Glazov would make sure he didn’t underestimate the little shit when he got in the ring.
“Finally…somebody with balls. Let’s go.”
Turns out, he was right. At the first stinging punch to his jaw, Glazov had to shake it off and concentrate to fight. Novak was the only one who noticed the Pakhan’s grin even though he was wearing a mouth guard. The boy was giving Glazov exactly what he wanted: a real fight.
Glazov’s face was soon bruised and his muscles ached, but he powered through the fight, confident that he had the same hunger he had been born with. Some people were born with an innate need to be successful in the endeavors they pursued. Nothing could take that away. No amount of adversity could kill his determination to see his Bratva legacy continue. Times might change, circumstances might change, but Glazov’s hunger remained.
When he finishe
d the grueling sparring session, Glazov congratulated the man who would now be his full-time sparring partner. A man who respected the Pakhan yet had no fear fighting him, was a man who respected boundaries but pushed his own limits. With all that had happened recently and with so many lines being blurred, it was good to know such men still existed. Yes, he would be hanging on to this one. In fact, after the brutal fight he had just endured, Glazov had every reason to believe he had a heavyweight champion on his hands.
The shower felt good as he let the water cascade over his sore muscles. He had exercised his body, now it was time to exercise his mind. He was looking forward to the challenge of finding the person who had betrayed him. The same way he welcomed a good fight, he loved a good mind fuck. Again, let the games begin…
In all the years Kathleen had been married to Glazov, she had never been shy about nosing around in his business. Discreet, yes; shy, no. She had simply learned the value of being careful. The Bratva men might have the brass balls but the women had an intuition that no man could ever match.
When you got the Glazov women together, you could multiply that intuition by five. They loved their family and would be relentless in their pursuit of anyone who threatened it. Plus, they were just plain pissed that someone had disrupted a wedding reception that had taken them a year to plan. That was why they had been vague in their explanations to their men so they could meet in Katherine’s sitting room. Refreshments had been served and the women were sipping tea and coffee while curled up on the cozy, overstuffed loveseats that faced an ornate picture window at the rear of the house. They only had so much time before the men realized their women were all gone at the same time, so she got right to the point.
“I think we all know why I called this meeting.”
“We knew you would,” Roksana said with a smile. “Let’s face it. You’ve never been able to stay out of the Pakhan’s business for long.” That elicited laughter from the rest of the women gathered in the room.
“That’s because it isn’t just your father’s business, my dear daughter.” She smiled wickedly in Roksana’s direction.
“I know that’s right,” Roksana agreed, because she was just like her mother.
“All right, girls, what are your men saying? Give up all the details from that dirty pillow talk,” Kathleen laughed.
Anastasia was the first one to speak up. “Dmitriy’s in a meeting right now with Glazov and Novak. He said he was meeting with Glazov after the Pakhan got done at the gym.”
“So, Papa finally found a sparring partner?” Roksana chuckled.
Kathleen rolled her eyes. “That remains to be seen, dear. The important thing for us to know is that if Glazov has called Dmitriy in, that means he’s going to be bugging every damn thing that isn’t nailed down. He drives me nuts when he gets like this. It makes it so much harder for us girls to snoop.”
“He’s always done that, Mom. Especially when it comes to you,” Natasha interjected. “The guys are convinced this is an inside job, so he’s really gonna be OCD about surveillance.”
Roksana chimed in next. “Yeah, but with the changes going on right now, there are a lot of disgruntled employees to choose from. The diamond business is a big unknown for them; they’re concerned about pay cuts and job changes.” Her expression got serious, as if she knew something they didn’t. “Sometimes our inner circle is so closed off that we don’t hear the gossip between the women who sleep with the men who work for the Pakhan. Perhaps it’s time we open up our circle just enough to get the pulse of the employees.”
Kathleen was quiet as she considered what her daughter had said. Like any organization, Bratva had its share of groupies, women who used their bodies as currency as they made their way through life. Although her husband was strict in his belief that married men not cheat on their wives, Bratva still had its share of single men who slept around with the women, often sharing them back and forth or, on occasion fucking them at the same time.
Some of the women were successful in their own right; they had simple needs that were met by the men they socialized with. However, some of them were little more than hookers and would do just about anything to be on the arm of a Bratva man. Many of the groupies actually thought they had a chance at scoring the ultimate prize – a wedding ring. What they didn’t know was that, although Bratva men might fuck whores, they didn’t marry them. Ever.
“Mom…Anastasia and me, we can get this done,” Roksana said with a ruthless gleam in her eye. “These girls will do anything to be friends with one of the girls in the family. You know how they are, they’re all dying to be in the inner circle. Now, leading them to believe they are insiders and them actually being insiders, those are two different things. Anastasia can keep up with the Intel Dmitriy is working on and we can all come together on what we’re gleaning from our men.” Her face assumed the same cold expression her father had when he was out for blood. “Then we find the bastards behind the attack and kill them.”
“Okay, ladies,” Kathleen said as she rose from her seat and started herding the group toward the door. “Let’s do this: you and Anastasia subtly -- and I do emphasize the word ‘subtly’ -- begin acquiring information from the women, and the five of us will meet up here every few days to discuss any clues to the identity of whoever’s behind the shooting. When we’re sure about the information we have, we’ll turn the boys loose on them. Problem solved.”
Roksana’s eyes still had that look as she answered her mother. “If I don’t kill them first.”
“No, Roksana…this is personal. Your father wants their blood dripping from his hands. Whoever’s responsible for this is going to answer directly to the Pakhan.”
“Fine by me. But I can assure you, Oleg and I will have a front row seat for the interrogation. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he will even let us help.”
There was no sense in Kathleen arguing with her daughter. Once she had something in her head, she was just like her father—there was no stopping her.
Glazov’s body and mind were clear once again. Yes, all it took was a hard fuck and a brutal fight to get a man back on track. Hmm, he thought with a smirk, more like a hard fight and a brutal fuck.
He had always known it would take a certain kind of woman to withstand him. His wife was a fighter, a survivor. There wasn’t a whole lot you could throw at the woman that she couldn’t handle.
He had called his inner circle into his office to discuss fallout from the attack: an update on those injured, results of the search efforts, plans going forward. Usually he would limit such preliminary discussions to Novak. Novak knew how to take things with a grain of salt when Glazov was angry. Novak was like a brother to him; he could tell the difference between Glazov venting and Glazov issuing an order.
“Dmitriy, if it moves I want surveillance on it. Nobody knew about the wedding but Bratva and our closest business associates. If there is a mole in this organization, I want to know who it is.”
“Yes, Pakhan.” Dmitriy nodded, already cataloging in his mind everything he would need to fulfill the Pakhan’s wishes.
“You know how it is; disgruntled employees—people unhappy with the changes you’re making,” Kodiak mused aloud, pensively rubbing his long fingers over the stubble along his jaw.
Glazov looked at his son, who had his legs stretched out and his usual high-dollar sneakers on his feet. He and his brother, Nikita, were so different—Kodiak’s olive complexion and dark hair consistent with his Italian heritage, Nikita so blonde and fair -- yet they were so alike in their territorial devotion to the family’s work.
Nikita was the spitting image of Glazov in his power suit, his blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail -- just like his father. Sitting ramrod straight, his face set in stone, Nikita spoke quietly. “Disgruntled, my ass. That’s a fucking, straight-up betrayal.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t—that’s a no-brainer. I’m just telling you where that shit is coming from. It’s rooted in greed, man.”
Gl
azov pondered what Kodiak was saying. He made an excellent point. “So, you believe it’s spawned from greed and not ego?”
“Yes, sir. I do. Some of the guards are worried they won’t be making as much money because we’re going straight. Maybe it’s a form of protest.”
Novak spoke up, confirming what he’d already been thinking.
“He’s on to something, cuz.”
“I think so too. But that’s what concerns me; I’ve always been more than fair with the men who work for me. I’m disappointed they would jump to conclusions if that’s the case.”
Novak smirked, “Nobody’s got the balls to step up and ask if they’re going to take a pay cut. News flash: you’re the Pakhan.”
Glazov leaned back in his chair, nostrils flaring. “Yet they have the audacity to put my wife, children and unborn grandchild in danger?” He didn’t miss the ‘oh shit, he knows’ look that passed between his sons as he continued. “Greed may play a role here, but this smacks of ego as well; someone trying to prove something. Greed and ego can be a lethal combination. I’m going to send a clear message when I find the son of a bitch who did this, and skin him alive.”
He directed his next statement to Oleg. “There will be no avenging the Pakhan on this one. You just bring him to me. I will handle it personally. This man’s blood will be on my hands and my hands only.”
Although most people couldn’t read Oleg’s stoic expression, Glazov saw the almost childlike disappointment in his eyes. Oleg was as much a sadist as Glazov was. The thought of skinning Glazov’s unknown enemy alive was tantalizing to a man like him. Oleg was a favorite of Glazov’s because he specialized in torture and interrogation methods. He was also the only man who could handle Glazov’s daughter, Roksana. To date, there had never been a man who had been able to keep their mouth shut after spending quality time with Oleg and a hot poker…or a whip…or a drill.
Diamond Days (Born Bratva Book 6) Page 3
