I’m going to hit you where it hurts the most, Glazov. It isn’t your money and power that I’m after. I want your heart, still beating, in my hand. Ptichka is your heart.
Glazov, the monster. He had to have known the throne wasn’t rightfully his but he had taken it anyway. He hadn’t cared that he was stealing from his own brother. He was so power hungry that he had thought nothing of stealing it. At least that’s how the stranger saw things, and that was all that mattered.
“I’m coming for you, Glazov,” he muttered to himself as he stuffed his limp member back in his pants, “and you know it, too. You’re not stupid; you know who I am and you know I’m watching, and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.”
He didn’t believe all that superstitious crap about the Pakhan. All that stupid shit about a curse falling on anyone who defied him was just an old wives’ tale. Weak people needed an irrational belief system to make them feel safe. But not him; he was stronger than that and soon everyone would see just how strong he really was. And soon everyone would see Glazov for the imposter he was.
They would accept the stranger as their Pakhan, and anyone who didn’t want to be a part of Bratva’s future under his rule would be eliminated. But only after they had been made an example of. Kingdoms had been built on bloody battle fields for thousands of years. He would settle for nothing less.
The shooting at the wedding reception had been just the beginning, a calling card of sorts. He had barely escaped and still marveled that he had accomplished such a feat. He had made his intentions clear that day. Now it was time to stop the threats and exact his revenge.
Chapter Twelve
“What the fuck, Oleg!?” Roksana roared as she glared at her husband. “You grazed my arm with that fucking slasher. ‘Think you keep the damn thing sharp enough? I’ll never understand why you need a knife that big, unless you plan on gutting somebody. Hey, that’s an idea; we could gut somebody and tie their intestines in knots. I wonder what they look like in real life. And feeling them in our hands, that would be cool.”
Roksana pulled her arm up and was sucking the blood off when another knife came whizzing over her head. Without thinking, she charged him, knocking the big man to the ground and landing on top of him. She grabbed one of the knives that was still within reach and held it to his throat, ignoring the way his cock surged against her abdomen, and refusing to give in to the overwhelming urge to roll her hips against it, just to say hi.
He arched a skeptical eyebrow at his wife. “Save that shit for the enemy, not your husband.”
“Fuck you, Oleg. You cut me!” she hissed indignantly.
“Aww…you got a boo-boo.” He grabbed her arm, closing his eyes as he brought it to his mouth and lapped at the trickle of blood. “There. All better, kotik?”
“Maybe.” She smirked as she looked down at the man she had recently married. He was so ruthless and cold with everyone but her, and it had all started with those eyes of his. She’d never seen eyes like that before, so blue, so extraordinarily beautiful…and so dead. Looking into Oleg’s eyes was like staring death in the face. His expression was always the same so you rarely knew what he was thinking.
The Pakhan had seen early on that they were well-matched; they shared the same penchant for violence and enjoyed inflicting pain. Whenever Oleg told her it was part of her charm, the people around them thought he was joking, but she knew better. She’d known from a young age that she enjoyed hurting people. She had a violent temper and God help anyone who got on her bad side.
As a child, she had liked starting fights. It wasn’t enough to just beat up an enemy, she wanted to hear screams of anguish. And Roksana had a way of manipulating people, getting them to do things they didn’t want to. Once a little boy’s arm was broken in three places after she conned him into climbing a tree with her. He lost his balance and, while she didn’t quite push him, she didn’t lift a hand to help him either. She had ignored his cries for help, simply watching in fascination as he fell.
When Glazov asked her why she did it, she stared at him blankly and said that it had been fun to trick him, that boy knew she was mad at him and yet he still let her talk him into climbing the tree. In her eyes, it was the boy’s fault. He was gullible. Half the fun had been deceiving him—that, and his screams. She said the sound of him crying out like a wounded animal was like beautiful music.
When her father asked her if she would ever hurt an animal, she had replied, “No! I’m saving that for my enemies, and if I see anyone hurt an animal, I’d do more than push them out of a tree. Silly Papa, you know everyone in our family loves animals.”
Glazov had marveled at his ten-year-old daughter’s words. Most families would be horrified to discover their little princess was a sadist, but not Glazov. He felt nothing but pride. He believed children were born with a certain bent, and that if you directed them appropriately they would succeed at what they were meant to do. Clearly his daughter was meant to be a Bratva interrogator. In the ensuing years, he redirected her sadistic tendencies so she could hone her skills for the benefit of the organization.
Interrogation was a fine art, as far as Glazov was concerned. People always gave up the goods and talked when they reached the breaking point, when the pain became so great that they begged for death. It took great imagination and mental discipline to come up with innovative ways to torture enemies, and his daughter was a true visionary, a master at her craft.
“Hey, Oleg, I know something you don’t know,” she said in a mischievous, sing-song voice.
“What? That you sound like a fucking kid on the playground?”
“Fuck you! Fine, I’m not telling you shit now.”
He grabbed her wrist, twisting it back in an awkward position until she was forced to drop the knife. And there they were: those cold, dead eyes that were the center of her universe.
“Okay,” she finally relented, “I’ll tell you.”
“We both know you’re telling me because you can’t help but run that pretty mouth.”
“I don’t run my mouth.”
“With me, you do.”
“Well…then you should be flattered. Anyway, I heard my father and Novak talking”—
“You mean you were eavesdropping on a conversation that was none of your business?”
“—like I said, I heard them talking. You aren’t going to believe this shit. Remember the rumor about my father having a brother?
“I do. But before you continue,” he said, holding up his hand for silence, “you know how rumors run rampant. Everybody wants to be in the know and usually they don’t know shit. You are speaking of your father, so choose your words carefully.”
“Anyway,” she continued, ignoring him. “Apparently, it’s true. Father and Novak think that’s who’s responsible for the shooting. Let’s find him and flush him out. We can present him to my father as a gift. Just think of it: what do you get the Pakhan who has everything? His enemy’s head on a platter.”
“Woman, you are determined to get us both killed. You know the Pakhan wants to be the one to draw blood on this one.”
“I didn’t say kill him—I said bring him in. Hell, we can put a big ol’ bow on him. I bet I can convince you, lapochka.” Her hand slid down his torso, palming the erection that was already at full staff from having her body resting on top of him. She unzipped his pants and pulled it out. With her eyes locked on his and a grin tilting her lips, she slowly slid down his body until her mouth devoured him in one try, taking him in, balls-deep.
He felt like she was swallowing him whole with the way she opened her throat to him. As he pushed past the back of her throat, the silken muscles gripped his length, sending jolts of pleasure sparking off every nerve ending in his body. He shivered as tingles traveled his body, ultimately landing at the base of his spine before surging out to his extremities once more.
Her mouth worked him with an expertise unlike any other, and the orgasm hit him hard. He cupped the back of her head as ever
y muscle in his body clenched mid-thrust, his balls pulling up tight. He pulled her head in toward him when he started coming. She never so much as flinched when his warm seed hit the back of her throat.
“Damn, woman, you are going to kill me,” he gasped, throwing his forearm over his eyes as he struggled to catch his breath.
“And you’re going to help me find this son of a bitch and bring him in. You just don’t know it yet. We don’t even know where to start though.”
“Start with him targeting your mother,” he suggested, smiling lazily as he watched her dab at her lips with her finger, then suck an errant drop of his essence from her fingertip into her mouth.
“Why? She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Because,” he replied, all humor gone from his face, “any time you want to hurt a man, the first thing you go after is his woman. It’s the first rule of revenge.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Bazarnik. Viggo. Welcome. First and foremost, I’m pleased you both made the journey with no problems.” Glazov nodded graciously at each man before turning his attention to Novak, who was staring both men down while twirling that Russian coin between his fingers.
The two men who had been brought in to meet with Glazov were as different as night and day. The one thing they had in common was their expertise as cleaners.
Viggo was built big like most of Glazov’s Bratva guards, with closely cropped gray hair, just shy of a military cut. He wore thick, black rimmed glasses. Although he had the look of an American businessman, there was something ominous about his demeanor—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on but unnerving just the same.
Bazarnik, on the other hand, looked like a heavy metal rocker bad boy. He was a Krysha -- a special brand of Bratva enforcer known for being particularly ruthless and cunning. The word translated as ‘roof’—as in, they ‘covered’ whatever was asked of them. Some Kryshas wore fine suits and ties, but Bazarnik was a different breed and was covered in tattoos and piercings.
Glazov never could figure out why the women were so crazy about Bazarnik. All he knew was that Bazarnik was crazy, you could see it in his eyes. And maybe that was what drew women to him like flies—those crazy-ass eyes. Or maybe he had a golden dick. Glazov didn’t give a fuck how crazy he was or what his sexual proclivities were. But he did care about the man’s physical appearance attracting unwanted attention. Judging from Novak’s frown as he eyed the man’s body art, perhaps he shared Glazov’s concern. Glazov smirked as he looked from Novak to Bazarnik and back again. Pot, meet kettle.
Glazov had been hesitant to bring him over from Russia, but the kid was one of the best at what he did and Glazov needed all hands on deck.
“There are certain things that will be expected of both of you. We can’t afford to have unnecessary attention brought to the organization. Bazarnik, you will be responsible for watching over the jewelry store downtown—or at least that will be what your cover is.”
Glazov’s eyes grew cold as he considered his next words. He leaned in, looking directly into Bazarnik’s crazy eyes. “Everyone knows you have a penchant for fire—you and I know you are a full-blown pyromaniac. But I am a great believer that talent is talent, regardless of what polite society may think of a particular skill set. However, if you burn anything of mine down, I will kill you with my bare hands.”
“Never, Pakhan. I would never do anything to hurt you or the organization. You have my loyalty and respect, always.”
Glazov relaxed back in his chair, nodding his approval. “Good…then you will indulge your lust for the flames on the jobs I give you. If you get the itch, then take a trip out to the fire pit. I’m not fucking around, Bazarnik. I will be watching you. Do not disappoint me.”
Glazov turned his attention to the other man. “Viggo, you are here because my usual cleaner, my daughter-in-law, is pregnant with my first grandchild and will be otherwise occupied for the foreseeable future. I have selected you to fill in for her because I cannot afford to sacrifice quality for such important work. Also, you are adept at flying under the radar. This is good. Bazarnik would do well to take a lesson from you in that regard.”
Novak chuckled from his usual seat next to Glazov’s desk. Bazarnik was one of the few people he liked but that didn’t mean he was going to cut him any slack. Right now, Bazarnik was looking at Glazov to ensure the Pakhan knew he had his full attention. Looking away when the Pakhan was speaking was a sign of disrespect and Glazov was one of the few people Bazarnik feared. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t be thinking of ways to burn shit up though. Stopping his pyromaniac ways wasn’t an option. It would just take some planning to do it in a way he wouldn’t get his ass kicked or killed by the Pakhan.
Glazov cleared his throat and directed his attention to his laptop with a vague wave of his hand. “That is all. Go unpack and get settled in. You’ll both be staying in the guest wing.” All the better to keep an eye on you…
Novak waited until both men were out of the office and the door was closed before he spoke. “You really think Bazarnik will be able to control his need to burn shit up?”
“He’ll control it but not stop completely. He’ll just find a way to do it that’s acceptable. He looks tough but he is scared of me.”
“Everybody’s fucking scared of you.”
“As well they should be. Anyway…we have other situations that need attention.” He smiled to himself as he thought of the scene in his office earlier that day, when he had encountered a very sexy, very tipsy Kathleen rummaging through the contents of the safe.
In hindsight, his impulse to test the rarely-used security cameras in his private suite of rooms had certainly yielded unexpected rewards. He was still reeling from a heady sense of déjà vu when she blew a kiss at the camera. The sight of her curvy ass in the air as she reached for one stack of documents after another had been too hard to resist. She still fascinated him and kept him guessing.
“Do I even want to ask?” Novak sighed, recognizing the obsessive look that always came over Glazov at the thought of his wife.
“Well, it does bring me to my next point. Today I came home to the singular view of my wife going through my safe.”
Novak laughed out loud at that. “I swear, she and Katrina are cut from the same cloth. Nosey as hell.”
“Your wife’s a reporter, she’s supposed to be nosey. Anyway,” he continued with a smirk, “when I…inquired…”
Another guffaw from Novak, who proceeded to rest his elbow on the arm of his chair and shake his head as he tapped a finger on his bottom lip. “Have I ever told you how much I love the fact that you ended up with a woman who never stops fucking with you? Let’s face it, somebody needs to do it. I cannot wait to hear this.”
“Yes, well, I was shocked to find out she was looking for information on our family—mainly, my father.”
“I hope you told her what an asshole the guy was.”
“It came up in conversation. The possibility that I might have a brother came up, too.”
“That son of a bitch isn’t your brother. I’m more of a brother than he is.” Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Novak was a little territorial when it came to Glazov. They had been through a lot. He knew Glazov needed someone he could trust without question, and he had paid the price to be the Pakhan’s right-hand man. No one was going to take that from him. They’d have to step over his cold, dead body because he would never let their bond of brotherhood be severed any other way.
“You are my only brother, Novak. No matter how many illegitimate children my father may have sired, nothing will change that fact. He’s the reason I don’t tolerate my men fucking around on their wives. The single men can fuck the whores as much as they want, as long as they protect themselves and aren’t stupid about it. But marriage is sacred; affairs or trysts never lead to anything but trouble and betrayal. Because this is what happens,” he said bitterly as he jabbed his index finger on the desk. “A ghost from the past comes back to h
aunt me, all because my father couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. This is some fucked-up timing for this to be happening.”
“Perhaps that’s why he decided to come out of hiding now. What do you think he wants?”
“In his fucked-up brain, he has always thought my legacy – my life and everything in it – should have been his. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants...or I kill him.”
“Looks like we’ve got our first kill since going straight.”
“Yes…that, we do. I’ve always believed that blood is thicker than water. But sometimes, blood is just blood.”
Chapter Fourteen
The basement door creaked as he pushed it open. He wondered if he should grease the hinges so she wouldn’t hear him coming. Then he smiled because it didn’t matter; she’d be chained up anyway.
He flipped on the light switch and made his way down the steps. He’d spent a lot of time preparing this room, each detail thought out to perfection. A cot sat against one wall, bolted into the floor so she couldn’t break anything off and hurt herself. A lone chest of drawers was bolted into the opposite wall, with the drawers secured so she couldn’t remove them.
He reached up for a picture frame that sat all by itself on top of the chest of drawers. Considerable time passed as he stared at it longingly. He looked forward to the day Kathleen would be here in the flesh, no longer just a fantasy.
He stroked a fingertip down the middle of the framed photograph, following the line of the tear down the middle. Of course, he didn’t have a picture of them together so he had taken his favorite one of her and taped it to a picture of him. He had reserved an entire wall for the hundreds of pictures he had taken of her since arriving in Louisville. From a distance, it looked like they were together. They looked happy.
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