Disbelief (Smirnov Bratva Book 2)

by T. L Smith

  When my hand touches my kitchen bench, I hear the door shut, then both locks snap into place. His footsteps come closer and his hand touches my shoulder. I try not to jump as it does, but I definitely flinch, and he notices straight away by removing his hand.

  “I need to shower,” is all he says. His footsteps retreat as he walks away. I hear my bathroom door open, and I walk into my bedroom. Lying back onto my bed, I wonder if it was the right thing to do—to let him inside my home.

  He doesn’t take long to shower, and soon after, I feel my bed dip when he gets into it next to me. His body heat suffocates me as I feel it emanating from him. His hand touches one of mine that’s lying on the bed next to me. He doesn’t squeeze or grip it hard he just holds my hand softly.

  I turn my body toward him, my free hand reaches over to touch him, and I come into contact with bare skin. “Do you have clothes on?” I ask pulling my hand back slightly, but he holds on tighter.

  “No,” he replies. I hear his breathing becoming heavier, mine matching his. My legs squeeze tighter, I want him. I think I have for a long time. The only reason I haven’t pushed is that a part of me is scared of what I don’t know about him.

  “Will you kiss me?” I ask.

  He lets go of my hand, I feel the bed dip as he moves. His hands go to either side of my body, just below my head and his body touches mine. He’s hard and directly on me, his cock touches my pussy. I try my hardest not to squeeze. Not to let him know how turned on I am, when his mouth latches onto mine.

  He tastes sweet, so divine. I can’t help myself when my hands go up, and lock onto his back—his naked back. I run my hands down, touching his waist, where his pants should be, but aren’t. He pushes himself onto me. A moan leaves my mouth, but his lips don’t leave me for a second. His tongue dances with mine. His lips full, soft but firm at the same time. He lifts a hand while kissing me, and it goes between us. His hand slips into my panties, and I automatically arch from his touch, even though his body still covers mine. I know I’m wet, and I know any second now he’ll know as well.

  His hand dips lower and he touches my clit. My tongue stops moving, my mouth opens wide. He flicks it hard with his finger, then rubs my wetness all over as he slips his finger into me. He keeps on kissing even though I keep stopping from his fingers distracting me.

  Then as if time stands still he stops, and I feel the air whoosh over me as he pushed up from the bed and leaves me. It takes me a moment before I realize he’s completely off the bed while I lay there panting and wanting more.

  “Why did you stop?” I ask, knowing he’s still in the room. Sensing his presence, I can hear his breathing even if it’s not as heavy as mine.

  “You wouldn’t like it.”

  I sit up, confused. What does he mean by that?

  “I’m pretty sure I would,” I tell him, my voice firm. My legs tightly clamped together.

  “You wouldn’t, and it would scare you.”

  “It’s just sex, Death.”

  I hear him moving around then listen to him getting dressed and it makes me mad.

  “It’s not! Don’t answer your door again if I’m there… or next time, I won’t stop.”

  “I will,” I shout at him as he walks away.

  He doesn’t respond, and all that I hear is the door slamming as he leaves.

  Chapter 7

  Death

  Past, Eighteen years old.

  I remember the first body that was solely mine. I remember how it was dropped onto my floor like it didn’t mean a thing. I guess it didn’t, but it did to me. That death, all death, meant a lot to me. It was the only constant. The only thing I knew I could trust in this life. There was always death, and I never doubted that there wouldn’t be. It was reliable. Unlike people. Kazier walked in after the men dropped the body off, his nose scrunched up when he looked down at the mangled heap of skin and bones. He liked the killing, loved it actually, just not the aftermath. That was why I was there.

  “You just going to leave it there?” he asked pointing to the body.

  I shrugged my shoulders. One thing that had never bothered me was a dead body. It was always so peaceful, so serene. I was fixated from an early age. I blame the lack of a father, and my only brother always doing the dirty work for Kazier’s father. A dead body was something I saw daily from the age of ten. To me, it was nothing. Just like another piece of furniture scattered around the house. I remembered saying that to Kazier once, and the look he gave me, I realized at that moment that possibly I wasn’t normal.

  But what was normal within our family anyway?

  I’d just purchased the house, it was the second time he’d come to visit me. I didn’t like him. Hell, I didn’t like anyone. But I did, however, respect the fuck out of him. He was bringing meaning back to our name. He didn’t treat us as dogs the way his father did, the way my father did. Technically, his father was still our Pakhan, but he didn’t act as if he was, leaving it all to Kazier.

  “You ever get sick of it?” he asked as he watched me pick up the body. I lifted it over my shoulder—it was still moveable. Obviously the guy hadn’t been dead too long.

  “Sick of what?” He nodded toward the body. “It’s what I know. You ever get sick of the blood or the killings?” I asked him, and he shook his head. I knew he didn’t, I saw him once after a killing, his hand kept on touching the blood, he was intrigued with it. I wanted to tell him then about my fascination for blood, but in an entirely different way, with a woman involved. Then I shook it off and took the body away.

  “I heard you have a fascination with blood. The rumors true?” he asked, tapping his knuckles on the door.

  “Why are you here, Kazier?” I asked him as I dropped the body. I didn’t want to answer his question. He didn’t need to know. Even though I wasn’t ashamed of it, I just preferred to not share my life.

  “Your brother called me, said you’ve been ignoring him. Wanted me to check that you were still alive.”

  I waved my hands around, showing I was indeed alive. “You can go now,” I said picking the body back up.

  He shook his head and tapped my shoulder as he walked out the front door, without another word.

  I walked downstairs to the basement. It was so silent that I could feel a headache coming on. I hung the body up, cutting in multiple places, draining as much blood as possible. I usually let it hang for a day, but that day I didn’t have any patience. I cut, and cut until enough blood had been drained so I could start the final process—the cutting. As soon as I had the guy on the table, I turned my music on and cranked it as loud as it would go. Heavy metal music exploded through the room, echoing off the stone walls. The room was full of barrels and glass bottles of acid laced the shelves at the back of the room.

  To some, this was the worst part. Most men couldn’t handle this. Not just the disposal, but the smell. The smell hit you as soon as you walked into this room. It was potent, and if you weren't used to it, it could take your breath away. Viktor once tried carrying a body in here with me one night, but he dropped it as soon as I opened the door and walked as far away as quickly as he possibly could.

  I bleed my dead bodies out. First, they’re hung up on a hook, then my surgical knife cuts all major arteries, draining them of all their blood. Then I start off with a saw, removing the legs from the torso. It was always the easiest way to dispose of the body. Trying to place the whole body in a barrel of acid was tricky, and usually ended up with acid everywhere. This why this room has been built to my purpose—drains coat the floor, ventilation is everywhere.

  I wore protective clothing and haven’t once had acid touch my skin—though the possibility of doing that was ever present—even a gas mask covers my face. Not all my skin is protected. It could easily hit me if I weren't careful enough. The music helps me with that, helps me concentrate and block out the world. The whole process calms me, it’s the only place I can go without judgment. I see the way people look and stare at me. I know I’m not ave
rage, my face is hard, and I don’t smile. I have ink, piercings, and look like I just stepped out from a lifetime jail sentence.

  People don’t trust what makes them uncomfortable—I make them uncomfortable.

  I applied pressure, cutting in deeper. I felt the first bone and utilized more force cutting with the saw. I haven’t tried using an electric saw. I suppose that would be faster, but would probably use more power. I preferred my small hand saw, I desired the distraction, and the lost time it gave me.

  The bone snapped as I sawed through the last part. Then I pulled the first leg free, like snapping a drumstick from a chicken. I could feel the sweat dripping down my face, and watched as it dripped onto the body below. It didn’t stop me, it made me keep going, pushed me further. A high took over me, a thrilling feeling. The music pumped through my ears, and I got to work on the arms, tearing limb from limb. I didn’t have a clock down there, and I never heard when someone came to the door. It was the way I liked it, I preferred to not be interrupted. That was why this house was perfect, the basement was like my own person purpose built dungeon.

  The torso laid by itself, the legs and arms now detached from the body. The guy was in his late thirties, I suspected a smoker as well. As I opened up his stomach and sliced through his insides, his lungs were partially black. In some cases, if the body were very fresh, I would store certain body parts for Kazier to sell on the black market—kidneys being his favorite.

  This body, however, I couldn’t do that with. I’d left it too long, and nothing was viable. As I tore his stomach out, I dropped it straight into the barrel of acid. It sizzled as it entered, then disappeared. I removed everything else my hand touched, not bothered by the care I took. Let’s face it he was dead anyway. And I liked the way it felt in my hand, the way the bowels were soft and squishy, the heart tender but also tough. Once I did that, I placed his legs into the barrel, making sure my mask and gloves were on. The bigger the body parts, the bigger the splash it made. His arms went in next, then the torso.

  I removed my gloves and mask and took a step back. I could see the acid slowly eating away at the skin, making its way through the flesh. Then eventually it would destroy the bones as well. I once tried this in a bathtub, needless to say, I lost the bath and some of the floor was etched away. Glass lined barrels became my choice, and to this day they haven’t disappointed.

  I leave the body in the barrel for up to three days before I call in a clean-up crew, and request a new barrel. By the time they empty it, nothing was left of the body. Wouldn’t faze me if there was.

  The basement’s fully vented. It was one of the building requirements that were instigated after I’d bought the house. It had to be fitted out with all the necessary requirements that were needed to keep the area from being detected. The smell was so strong, that if it wasn’t properly vented, you’d never be able to step foot in the basement again without serious physical injury. The venting system runs through washers and a cleaning system, so by the time it hits the atmosphere there’s no detectable smell.

  I made my way up the stairs, and as I did, my phone started ringing—my brother. He was the only one that called. Sometimes I went weeks without speaking to him, sometimes he called every day when it was particularly hard for him. I didn’t understand that part, he said it was easier over there. That here with me was not liveable, but it was never easy, least of all for him. I don’t understand it, at all, and think that he calls because he thinks I will.

  I did the same thing after all. The only difference–I enjoy it.

  Some preferred to read, watch movies, I preferred death, it was as simple as that. It was my escape, forever, or how long it would take me.

  Chapter 8

  Pollie

  Present

  He left, yet again. What does he mean I wouldn’t like it? I’m pretty sure I would like him touching me. Actually, I know I would. He’s left me in a daze.

  The next day, my notes are off, my distraction overtaking me.

  What has he done to me?

  Is it because I need sex?

  I didn’t think I was that kind of girl. I’ve gone ages without it, never craving it. I’m an easy going person, I don’t need things. Certain things I can live without, and I thought sex was one of them. I guess I was wrong, and I’m trying to convince myself otherwise. But now all I can think about is my hands on his skin. His smooth skin. My hands running up and down his toned body. His fingers between my legs, his mouth on mine. I want more.

  The class finishes up, and people begin to say their goodbyes. I don’t even know if I’ve replied appropriately to them. I start walking out—every step harder than the last one—and make my way to the driver that’s waiting for me.

  He greets me with a “Hello,” and I give him an address. It’s not mine, though. He doesn’t question me, and before I know it the driver stops because we’ve arrived.

  “We’re here, Miss.” His voice breaks through my sexual thoughts. My mind so preoccupied, I didn’t even realize we’d moved.

  His hands.

  His mouth.

  “Thank you,” I reply feeling for the door handle and opening it.

  “Should I wait, Miss?” he asks.

  I think about it, I should say yes, in case he doesn’t want to see me. Instead, I go against my better judgment and tell him no. I feel my legs begin to tremble when I climb his steps. I shouldn’t be here, I know I shouldn’t. I can’t help myself. Why must I be here? Why can’t I leave well enough alone? I have a weird desire to be around him like he needs me as much as I need him. Maybe he needs more. I don’t know.

  My hand comes up to knock, my knuckles rapping on the door. I repeat it several times, with no answer. Just as I’m about to give up, footsteps come up behind me. I drop my hand and take a step back.

  “He won’t hear you.” Kazier’s voice comes from behind me.

  I turn toward his voice. “Why?”

  “He’s working. He never hears anyone,” he says it like I should know.

  I hear Kazier push a key into the lock, then he pushes the door open.

  “You coming?” he asks me.

  My head drops and I wonder if I should go in, especially if he’s working. Do I want to interrupt that? “He’s working, he may not want to see me. I don’t want to disturb him.” I turn to leave when his voice stops me.

  “Come in, Pollie, don’t stray away. If you want to be with him, you’re going to have to accept him.”

  What does he mean by that?

  “I do accept him,” I say walking toward the door. As soon as I enter the familiar smell that encases this house takes over. I don’t know exactly what it is, and a part of me doesn’t want to know.

  “Stay here…” Kazier’s voice pauses, “…I’ll go get him.”

  His reaction makes me wonder why I shouldn’t move. Why he insisted I stay here.

  I sit on his couch, music blares loudly, then it stops. Footsteps are heard coming closer shortly afterward as I hear Kazier speaking to Death, and when they both reach me, no one speaks. My fingers run up and down the top part of my cane. All thoughts I had of him earlier now vanished. Now I’m filled with... wonder.

  I want to know more.

  I know I do.

  “Elina misses you,” Kazier says, his voice is close. “I’ll tell her you do as well.” Then his footsteps disappear leaving me sitting in the room which is deathly quiet and I feel like I’m by myself, but I know I’m not. I can feel his stare on me. And the smell… the smell matches him, Death.

  I sit in an uncomfortable silence, neither of us speaking. A million thoughts start to run rampant through my head.

  Is he right for me?

  Is he wrong for me?

  Should I be here?

  Why won’t he speak to me?

  Why won’t he touch me?

  And most of all, why do I like him so much without even knowing him?

  “You left,” I say breaking the silence. I hear his steps as he comes cl
oser, his hand touches mine.

  “I need to shower,” he says pulling me up by my hand. At first, I think that means he wants me to leave. Instead, he doesn’t let go, he keeps hold of it and pulls me in the direction opposite to the door. “Steps,” he says letting me know we’re walking upward.

  I’ve never been around his house. I always stayed in the doorway, or in his living room. My fingers run along the railing as we walk up, he stops at the top and turns right. Then I hear him turn a handle and push the door open. I’m instantly met with his smell. The one that clings to him, not the one that he has after working. It’s still a dense smell, like a murky musk. But it’s masculine, I can’t explain it. I always recognize it, and I love the sensations it brings me. I could sleep with that smell, day in and day out, and never get sick of it. He walks me over to his bed, I feel the edge hit my legs. He drops my hand and walks away, I hear the shower turn on. I sit on the bed, thoughts screaming in my head. Lost in time, I hear his footsteps pad toward me and my hand goes up when I know he’s standing in front of me coming into contact with his bare skin.

  “Why did you leave?”

  “I can’t have conventional sex.”

  My eyebrows scrunch in confusion. What the hell does he mean by that? “Sex is sex, right?”

  “Not to me, it isn’t.”

  My hand starts to drop lower, they run over the edges of his well-defined body.

  “Can you attempt conventional with me?”

  His hand touches my hip, he squeezes tightly. I can feel him contemplating the idea. “I don’t do conventional. And you… well, you wouldn’t like my conventional.” He stops as his breath comes to my ear. “You’re too good for my kind of regular. I’d ruin you.”

  I become still, my hand stops just above his waistline.

  “Try my regular?” I ask lifting my other hand. I don’t understand his regular, I don’t even know what he means by that. I want to ask, but something inside me stops the question. I know I want him, I know I do. So I’m hoping he wants me just as badly. He wouldn’t let me be here if that wasn’t true. Would he?