Distrust (Smirnov Bratva Book 1)

by T. L Smith

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Distrust

  Book 1

  T.L Smith

  Copyright 2016 TL Smith

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the Author. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  WARNING

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This e-book is intended for adults ONLY. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Cover – Romantic Book Affairs

  Formatting - Angels-Indie-formatting

  Editing by Swish Design & Editing

  Proofread – KMS Editing

  Proofread – Fiona Dreaming

  Cover image –Marshall Perrin by Wander Aguiar

  Dictionary

  Pakhan – Mob Boss

  Bratva – Russian Mafia

  Noun – The feeling that someone or something cannot be relied upon.

  Verb – Doubt the honesty or reliability of; regard with suspicion.

  She was a ghost, in heels.

  She was there, then she wasn’t.

  She would play with my emotions like a well-played guitar.

  Then she would disappear. Making me want to strangle her.

  Maybe she wasn’t a ghost, maybe she was the giver of sin. Because we sinned every time we touched, every time she was near.

  Her lips were shaped like a heart, deceiving you at every word.

  Her body was created straight from my fantasies, one I craved to bend to my will.

  Her heart, well, who the hell knew. She kept that shit locked tight.

  And I couldn’t find the key.

  Prologue

  Kazier

  How many encounters, touches, shared looks, kisses, do you think it takes to know you love someone? Is it instant? Is it over a period of time? Is it when you know all the downs, plus the ups?

  I didn’t know. All I knew was she was a bitch in heels, very sexy heels. She fucked with my emotions so bad, I wanted to strangle her every time she popped into my life, then fuck her senseless.

  She wasn’t a constant, she was just there. When I least wanted her to be. Even when I thought I didn’t crave her, she knew better. She knew no matter what, if she were there, I would take what was given.

  Her touch was my kryptonite, her hands my sin, her body my wild addiction. I couldn’t get enough and it was a problem. It would always be a problem. We don’t work. My life had plans, and I didn’t know hers. I was never given the opportunity to know hers. Her words were scripted, she knew what to say and when to say it. She never let much slip.

  Even with all that I fell hard, for someone I wasn’t sure I should—scrap that, for someone I knew I shouldn’t have. But then again it was too late, from the minute I saw her I just didn’t realize that she would be my undoing.

  I hated her with a passion. I craved her like a fire licking its flames. I wanted the need to burn out. We weren’t destined. I knew this. Except I wanted whatever she would give me, even if I had to take it.

  I stood there like I was under a spell, staring down at her sleeping form. She was always gone when I awoke. It was like she knew the instant I was asleep.

  She was completely bare, not even the sheet covered her. Her skin so soft, so smooth, I wanted to never stop running my hands over it. The first time I saw her, I knew I had to have her, by the second time I saw her I’d had her. But I think she had it planned all along. Like she was drawing me in, readying me for her. She didn’t need to, I wanted her the minute I saw her and I think I will for the rest of my life.

  Elina moved in her sleep. Turning so she faced me, her golden eyes still closed, hidden from me. I stepped forward wanting to touch, to take every moment she gave me, and not waste it on sleep. My hand touched her ass, her eyes peeked up at me, those heart shaped lips smirked knowing exactly what I wanted. Her body turned so she was lying on her back, showcasing all of her. She was the most confident person I’d ever met in their own skin. I knew exactly why—it was utter perfection. I tried to find a flaw, every time, just to crack her charade. It had never happened. No matter how many times I’d had her in my bed or under me.

  My knees touched the bed, my hands cupped her pussy, her back arched. She knew what was to come, and she was ready for it. She was my perfect fit. Pity I couldn’t keep her. Pity I couldn’t lock her away. I wanted to. I wanted that room, the one with a steel door and a throw away key. Because all she gave me was fragments. And it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough.

  Chapter 1

  Kazier

  Two Years Ago

  My cock’s had a dry spell, I fucking hate dry spells. I wanted to fuck, I wanted to fuck hard. I wanted to feel the warmth of woman’s pussy wrapped around my cock, stroking it, licking it, taking it, with everything she had. Not a single woman had ever satisfied all my needs, not one had made me crazy for them. And I’d had my fair share of women. I’d fucked all kinds, I didn’t discriminate. My cock didn’t see color, problems, or issues. All it craved was warmth. That’s not saying I didn’t have standards, I did. I didn’t just let any woman touch me, and I didn’t fuck every woman that approached, because a lot did. My name held power, women craved power.

  Men hated those that had it. Especially my cousin, he hated me the most. And he should, I did fuck his wife after all. She was good, just not good enough to get shot over. Which also happened.

  I stood there studying my cousin. His dark hair pulled back, the deep, jagged scar which ran the length of his eyebrow hid how deep the gash had been, and those very dark, intense eyes were trained on me. He didn’t expect to see me. This was, after all, his club. He was seated in a private booth, the only person around him was his whore of a wife, whose eyes were now blazing with lust and staring right at me. He noticed straight away, and I watched in fascination as his hand reached out and grabbed her bare thigh. She blushed knowing she’d been caught, then she turned to face her husband. His dark eyes come back to mine. He nodded his head to two of his men and they approached us with caution, knowing full well that I carried more than appearances show
ed, and my hands were my greatest weapon. I didn’t need a gun or even a knife. These hands could move faster than the eyes could keep track. Stephon knew this, hence the reason for his disfigured face.

  “Gentlemen,” his men greeted us. Anton and Viktor stood on either side of me.

  We were about to walk to Stephon’s table when something caught my eye, or should I say someone caught my eye. I waved for my men to continue, and realized right there and then that it was my first mistake to show weakness for someone. Not one woman had ever immobilized me before, until her. She was on the dance floor, a tight dress wrapped around her swaying hips, her hands up in the air, and her tits proudly on display. And every man that was close to her was watching, with their mouths open and tongues hanging out.

  She had a whole section of the dance floor to herself. Her eyes were closed, not realizing all eyes were on her. And it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I stood there, confused, wondering why I couldn’t just put one foot in front of another and make my way over to Stephon. After all, he was the reason I was here in the first place, to finish up loose ends.

  All of a sudden, her eyes opened, but her hips continued to sway. And her eyes, those beautiful eyes, they looked straight at me.

  We stood there, her dancing, me standing, only a few feet separated us. There were people between us, but none of that seemed to matter, all I could see was her.

  A hand landed on my back, I broke eye contact and realized that I hadn’t moved for at least fifteen minutes. Viktor looked down at the beauty, then back to me. He nodded his head indicating it was time to go. I was about to say no, even knowing full well I couldn’t stay in that place, due to the danger that it held. When I turned back, she was gone, like she was never there.

  That was my first taste of my devil, and it wouldn’t be my last.

  Chapter 2

  Kazier

  Present

  I like the sound of blood, it’s a strange sensation. I like how it drips, each and every drop so magnificent in its own right. Each drop looking for a destination, like it hungers to go somewhere to survive, to live.

  The splatter of blood intrigues me the most, especially when a gun is involved. The blood basically runs, trespassing on anybody that comes too close. It touches the skin, clothes, wherever it can. Blood doesn’t discriminate. It will go to anywhere and touch anyone. When a knife is involved, it’s like a breathtaking waterfall. It doesn’t start off slow, it gushes, especially when a major artery like across the neck is involved—my favorite site.

  I sit back and watch as my men cut the man whose time on this earth has come to an end. Viktor goes directly for the throat, one long gash, straight along. It’s so even that I sit in the chair watching it, my leg bouncing up and down intrigued by the display.

  The men get up to leave, abandoning the body where it falls. I sit, watching the waterfall stream and drop, it coats everything around him making a beautiful dark red puddle—soaking into his clothes, seeping into the cracks between the tiles.

  I’m usually the one cutting, shooting, doing the damage, especially when the business is personal, except when I want to watch then it’s like my own private show. They make it quick, they never indulge me. It’s like they’re aware I could stay here in the same spot, watching until it’s dry, waiting till the last drop drips out.

  I hear the honk of a horn. My leg is still vibrating up and down, waiting, watching for it to stop. Then the honk starts again. That incessant noise will cause an audience if I don’t leave soon. I drop down so I’m close, my hand reaching out, wanting to touch. My fingertips graze over it, the warmth coats my fingers. I run my fingers along the tiles, creating marks and lines, decorating, just wanting the blood to keep moving. Then another honk sounds, I look one last time, then wipe my hands on the man’s shirt.

  He should have listened when he was warned his life was at risk. This man should have never crossed a family like mine. Sometimes they never learn, and ultimately all they get is death either by my hand, or someone else’s.

  I snatch the can off the floor when I walk past and pop the lid then cover the floor in gasoline, letting it soak over him and as much of everything near him. I drop the can, grabbing a cigarette from my pocket, then the matches. I strike the first and it’s a dud, nothing happens. The second match lights, the fire licking and flickering in its plume of reds and oranges around its head. Bringing it carefully to my cigarette, I watch as it burns through the wood making that crackling sound. Once completely lit, I flick it away from me.

  Fire is like a dance, a wild, unpredictable dance. It’s a beautiful thing to watch—it can quite literally, hold you in its trance. Fire is like Elina, you can’t get too close because if you do, be prepared for the burn.

  Chapter 3

  Kazier

  His middle finger taps on the glass. Tap, tap. He has these tells. Tell-tale signs as to when he’s getting angry, or when he wants to kill. I look down, realizing I’m doing the exact same thing, tapping my glass. My eyes burn through the glass, wondering what answers it holds for me because I need them. I want the answers. No one seems to have what I need! They have solutions, solutions I don’t want nor need.

  My father especially.

  I can’t disobey.

  Even though I do.

  No one in my family has disobeyed their elders for years.

  If they did, they didn’t live to speak of it.

  I wanted to disobey, I didn’t want what was to come. I wanted to choose, even knowing how impossible that would be.

  I looked back to him again, his fingers still doing the same thing—mine mimicking his. He’s a politician, a respected man. He’s also my father, but a criminal at heart. He’s sitting at our large dining table talking pleasantries with guests, whispering in Russian to his closer colleagues when he wants something hidden. He’s good, he’s always been good at keeping secrets, destroying lives. I suppose that’s where I get it from. Sounds kind of ironic don’t you think? Like that song, I Got It From My Mamma. Well, I got it from my father.

  People are still bustling in, bringing a tray of food or a gift as they enter. It’s rude to come to someone’s house empty handed. The table is full of food, the options are endless. I sit here being the good child, one that respects his elders in their home and putting on the face my father requests of me.

  I’ve tried paying attention, even when my name is called, but I just can’t. I haven’t seen her for two weeks. I need her like a wolf needs its last meal. I want her, and every one of my brothers knew this, they have seen our encounters. They’ve seen the way I push her against a wall and fuck her with my mouth. I couldn’t keep my hands to myself, I am like a horny teenage boy and I’m never like this—ever. I fuck. I enjoy fucking. I never crave, but I crave her, and two weeks feels more like a year.

  The guests have started to leave and I didn’t even notice. I’m too lost in how she snuck away, like a ghost. She’s so good at that, sneaking away. I always try to give her my undivided attention just to have her longer, keep her with me, but she slips through my fingers like water slides through your lips.

  How the fuck can I be this crazy?

  “Kazier!” My father’s voice snaps me from my thoughts. Anton kicks me under the table, I glare at him before facing my father. “You have come of age…” He pauses, picks up his glass of vodka, swirling it around and taking a sip then carefully placing it back down before his eyes penetrate me again. “It’s time to take your responsibilities to this family more seriously. I have given you time, let you deface your body, but now, it’s time you ran it all. You are the Pakhan—” He stops and looks around the table, the only people left are those allowed to be there when we talk. Their families are part of our family. They have the same responsibilities as me, possibly not as much, though they understand. “You will meet with her in a week,” he states finalizing the one-sided conversation. Standing and looking at each of us once more before he walks away.

  I haven’t alway
s been in charge, but when my father ran for office as a politician, I became the boss by proxy.

  Anton starts laughing as soon as he leaves earshot. Viktor grabs the bottle of vodka and starts to drink directly from it. I glare at both of them.

  “No more kissing and fucking like a teenage boy,” Anton says, laughing.

  I kick his shin hard under the table, and he yelps when he jumps.

  “What if we kill her?” Viktor says, continuing to hold the bottle he’s drinking from.

  “What?”

  I give him a death glare—the shit that leaves his mouth.

  “You know I could kill her. Then you won’t have to marry her,” he declares like it’s an obvious choice.

  Fuck! Marry someone I hardly know and haven’t even met… in two months.

  “We don’t even know her name,” Anton chimes in.

  Thinking of it, I slam my hands on the table, and they both snap their heads back to me.

  “You’re not killing her! Do you understand?”

  “Whatever you say, boss. Just remember… the offer stands.”

  “Get the fucking car,” I say, pushing my chair back abruptly, the scrape across the floor almost deafening. Walking off to the front door, they both follow behind like little puppy dogs faithful to their master.

  Anton dashes to grab the car parked down the street. He’s louder and more robust than most. Where Viktor is more the silent type and often speaks only to those he trusts.

  They’re both on steroids! Well, possibly not, but I do like to fuck with them. They are, however, built like brick houses. All muscle and power.

  Anton flies down the streets of Brooklyn, not even caring about the police. They don’t register on his radar at all. To us, they aren’t as dangerous as other people. People who will shoot, stab, at just the sight of us. After a few miles of driving at speeds that would make a normal person shudder, we arrive.

  “How much does he owe?” Viktor asks, stepping out of the truck.

  We all follow him in, entering the small restaurant via the back door. Garbage scattered on the ground crunches under our boots, while laughter is heard echoing out from inside. It doesn’t stop us from entering.