Forever my Badman (Russian Bratva Book 7)

by Hayley Faiman

  “You can wear the shoes while I fuck you. Then, I never want to fucking see them again,” he says, his eyes darkening slightly.

  “Thanks,” I say scrunching my nose.

  He hands me his undershirt and I guide it on over my head, yanking my veil off and tossing it in a pile with my cut-up dress. His tank is just a little too short to cover my ass, and I wonder how on earth I’m going to walk out there, to my uncle Sergei, in this little amount of clothing. Although, I am wearing more than his… friend.

  After he’s shrugged his shirt back on, the buttons left undone, leaving his bare chest on display, Mika holds out his hand. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to concentrate for the flight, not when the only thing I want to do is lick every single inch of him.

  “Come, lapochka,” he murmurs, calling me sweetie pie in Russian again.

  I shiver. He’s only ever called me that while he was inside of me, and I can’t stop my mind from wandering each time he’s said it again this evening. I follow behind him and sit down in the seat directly across from Sergei and his friend.

  “This is Raisa. She’s mine,” Sergei announces as I buckle my seatbelt.

  I feel foolish in my outfit, but I can’t seem to care right now. My eyes drift down to my wedding ring, which is still very much on my finger, and I cringe. I replay the events from the evening all over again, including my husband being shot in the face right next to me.

  “Are you ready to know what’s happening?” uncle Sergei asks, breaking me of my thoughts. I jerk slightly and then nod.

  “Your father is unstable. Gavril fucked over the Bratva. He’s a traitor, just like his brother. Though, we didn’t know it for sure until tonight. I still don’t know why Pasha pushed the marriage, but I will find out. You and Mika are under my protection for the foreseeable future,” Sergei announces.

  “I—I don’t know what to say,” I whisper.

  “Thank you?” he chuckles.

  “What happens with me?” Mika asks. “My position?”

  My eyes shift to his, and I see the worry etched in them. I can’t believe he’s worried about his position at a time like this. Who the fuck cares?

  My father married me off to some traitor, someone that tried to hurt my family, and Mika is worried about his position? I bite the inside of my cheek, careful not to speak out of turn, knowing that my uncle would not stand for it.

  Uncle Sergei isn’t my real uncle, it’s just something I’ve always called him. He’s old school, very old school. A woman has her place, much like the one at his feet. Women are to be seen and admired, but never heard.

  My place as a Bratva woman was taught at a young age. I think my mother had more of a say-so than most women, but that was always in private, never in the public eye.

  He grunts, “Timofei knows where you are. Your position will be secured. If not, I will find something for you here. You’ve proven your loyalty to the organization.” My eyes widen.

  I turn to look at Mika, who looks relieved, his body relaxing into his seat and a heavy sigh escaping his lips. I narrow my eyes at him, but keep my mouth shut, no matter how freaking hard that is.

  “I’ve called ahead and had an apartment prepared for you two. Sana, you’ll have to go out shopping, but I had a few things left in the closet to tide you over until you can get to GUM,” he murmurs.

  GUM. I’d almost forgotten about the shopping mall. Every time I would go to Moscow with my parents, my mother would always take me for a day of shopping at the mall. It’s one of the fondest memories I have of us spending time together.

  I wasn’t always an easy child. Or teenager. Or adult. In fact, I was a little spoiled bitch for most of my life. But when we would travel to Russia, there was just the four of us. Then, when Timofei and my dad went off to do whatever they did, there was just my mom and me.

  I had no girlfriends and no boyfriends around to try and impress. We were nobody in a big city—not like in New York, in Brighton Beach, where I was definitely somebody; or, at least, I always thought that I was.

  “Thank you, uncle,” I whisper, turning my head to look out of the window into the black sky.

  “You want a sleep-aide?” Mika asks in a low voice.

  “No,” I whisper, shaking my head.

  Mika wraps his hand around the back of my neck and draws me closer, until I’m against his side. His hand then slides down my neck, and he wraps his arm around my shoulders, his fingers closing around my bicep.

  “Get some sleep,” he grunts.

  I can’t deny he’s warm and comfortable. I’m still not sure his intentions are pure, that all of this wasn’t to gain even more power through me—something my mother warned me could very well happen. But I want him. I’ve wanted him since the moment I laid eyes on him, and I’m selfish—I’m keeping him.

  I can’t take my eyes off of her as her body starts to relax against mine. She’s falling asleep as I skim my fingertips along her arm, feeling her soft flesh against my rough skin.

  Sergei clears his throat, and I turn to him. His woman is now resting her head against his thigh, her eyes closed, and she appears to be sleeping. The master/slave thing isn’t for me; but he looks happy and she looks content, so who am I to judge their dynamic?

  “Mikhail, you asked me for something not long ago. I’ve not discussed it further, as I had no information to give you,” he murmurs, calling me by my birth name. It’s a name nobody even knows me by, except him, apparently.

  “Mila?” I ask, feeling way more hopeful than I should. It’s been twenty years.

  “She passed. I’m sorry, Mikhail,” he says softly.

  “How?” I ask.

  “Disease,” he admits. He doesn’t tell me anymore detail. I already know it had to have been HIV. I close my eyes and curse. “She had four children, but they were all entered into the orphanage system.”

  “Because of her occupation?” I ask, trying to get information on my family—my nieces and nephews.

  “They were born with disease, Mika. Nobody in the organization would take them. She couldn’t care for them, so she did what was best for them,” he informs, though his voice is full of obvious compassion.

  “And now?” I ask.

  “None were ever adopted. I’m sorry, but they’ve all since passed,” he rumbles.

  I nod in understanding. Nobody wants to willingly take on children with medical problems, especially incurable ones like Mila passed on to her children.

  Fuck.

  My poor sweet sister.

  “I’m glad that Ivan Chekov is dead,” I grind out.

  “We all are,” Sergei states.

  “And both Zima’s,” I growl.

  “Gregori and Gavril are stains on the Bratva, traitors,” Sergei announces.

  “Is Mila’s body buried anywhere?” I ask out of curiosity.

  “She was cremated,” he murmurs.

  I nod.

  “Get some rest. I have a feeling your new woman is going to be a handful.”

  “You think?” I ask, looking down at the woman who is nestled to my side.

  I don’t know Oksana well, only having met her at a party her father threw. A Christmas party. I was instantly drawn to her and needed to be inside of her. Later that night, I got what I wanted. I had it again the next day before I went back to Denver. We exchanged a few texts, but I knew she would choose me, that we would have a lifetime together.

  When she didn’t, I became angry and bitter. The night of her engagement party, Valentine’s Day, what a fucking crock of shit. I fucked her, angry fucked her, and thought it would be the last time I had her.

  She swore to me that she wanted me, that she hadn’t touched him, and didn’t want anything to do with him. I was so fucking pissed off. But not once did I get the impression that she was a handful, not in a bad way, at least.

  “I know,” Sergei chuckles, interrupting my thoughts.

  I lay my head against the back of my seat and close my eyes. I do need some res
t, but not because Sana is going to be a handful, but because I want a handful of her ass. I plan on locking her up in whatever house Sergei has ready for us and fucking her for at least seventy-two hours straight.

  She’s mine.

  I’ve been dreaming of this for months. The few tastes I’ve had of her didn’t quench my thirst in the slightest.

  “SANA. IT’S TIME TO wake,” Mika’s deep voice grumbles.

  I force my eyes open and tip my head back to see the thick cord of his throat. He dips his chin, and I’m met with his eyes, so dark blue that they look almost black.

  “Where are we?” I ask, my voice husky with sleep.

  “Moscow,” he answers.

  I sit up in surprise and look outside the window. It’s sunshiny and bright out. I turn to Mika, then look down at my lack of clothes, and then finally glance back up at him.

  “I can’t go out there like this,” I whisper.

  He stands, and I watch as he grabs his coat from the seat across the aisle before he holds it up for me. I stand on shaky legs and thread my arms through it before I wrap it close around my body. I’m thankful that it’s long enough to just cover my ass, but the tops of my thigh highs can still be seen.

  “We’re on a private tarmac, lapochka. Nobody will see anything,” he states, wrapping his fingers around mine and tugging me behind him.

  There are several cars waiting, and I watch as Sergei and his Raisa climb into one of them. Mika leads me to another and steps to the side as he presses his hand to the small of my back, helping to guide me into the backseat.

  I scoot all the way over to the side and wait for him to follow, but he doesn’t. Instead, he slams the car door closed and walks over to a man. I watch as he talks to him for a few minutes before he points to the plane. The man nods and then turns and walks toward the aircraft.

  “What was that?” I ask as Mika slips in beside me.

  “I told that Shestyorka to burn your wedding dress,” he murmurs as a different man starts the engine and the car begins to move.

  “Mika,” I gasp.

  “I cut it in half, Sana, what did you think was going to happen to it?” he asks, arching a brow. “Or did you want to keep it as a memento?”

  “No, of course not. I just, I don’t know,” I whisper, looking down at my hands.

  I see my ring, and I cover it with the opposite palm. It’s not that I’m necessarily attached to the ring, but it’s absolutely gorgeous. It’s a huge cushion cut diamond, surrounded by tiny black diamonds, all in a platinum setting. A pretty platinum band with small white diamonds accompanies it as my wedding band.

  “I know you’re still wearing it,” he murmurs as the car drives closer toward the busy city.

  “It’s pretty,” I say softly.

  “You want to keep it because it’s pretty? Is that what you want, pretty things?” he asks.

  I look up from my hands and am surprised to see his face looking down at me, nothing but rage in his eyes. I open my mouth and then close it.

  “It’s diamonds, Mika. You don’t just throw them out. It’s not like a dress, even though the dress cost a hundred thousand dollars,” I murmur.

  “Are you fucking with me?” he asks.

  “About?”

  “The dress?” he asks.

  “No. Camilla, the bitch wedding planner from hell, picked it out,” I shrug.

  “Give me the ring, Oksana,” he demands, holding his hand out.

  “We should get it appraised,” I say, not giving him the ring.

  “Give me the fucking ring,” he growls.

  “Diamonds, Mika.”

  Mika’s eyes flick down to my hand and then back up to me, and he does nothing to hide his anger. Then, without warning, he reaches out, grabbing ahold of my hand and pulls the ring off of my finger before he rolls down the window and casually throws it out of the moving car.

  “Mika,” I shout.

  “You think of keeping another man’s ring, I don’t care if you just keep it locked up in a safe, that is disrespect. I will not tolerate it,” he growls.

  “Mika, I could have turned it into a necklace. Hell, I could have sold it,” I cry out.

  “You want it so bad? I’ll have the driver pull over and you can go and get it,” he says, his voice calm.

  “Seriously?” I ask with wide eyes.

  “Then you can get back on a plane and go right back to your daddy. He can arrange another marriage to some piece of shit for you, too.”

  “Mika,” I whisper as tears fill my eyes. “Why are you being so mean?” I ask.

  “You’re mine now, Sana. You chose me, and you’re not to have any part of another man touching you, including fucking jewelry,” he growls.

  I blink once and try to keep my tears at bay. I succeed, barely. I bite the inside of my cheek instead, keeping my gaze steady with his.

  Fuck. Him.

  I don’t respond. I wait. I’ll respond, but I’ll do it without the audience of the driver. Luckily, we arrive at a gorgeous, modern building that screams rich and luxurious—totally Bratva.

  Once we’re inside of the building, I continue to bite my tongue until we’re locked inside of our apartment. I’m not even able to enjoy how the space is fully decorated, including the comfortable looking black leather sofa and loveseat.

  “You own me now?” I ask, whirling around to look at him, my arms crossed over my chest.

  “Yeah,” he grunts.

  “I do not fucking think so. I did not go from under my father’s thumb, to narrowly skipping out on the tyrannical Gavril’s thumb, to beneath yours,” I sneer.

  Mika ignores my attitude and stomps toward me. I try to back away from him, but he’s too fast. I find myself pushed up against the wall a second later. His hips pin me to the hard surface, his nose almost touching mine, and his hands pressed flat, right next to each side of my head.

  “You think I’m going to hurt you when I call you mine?” he asks, his voice low and lethal sounding. I don’t respond, my eyes wide and my voice completely abandoning me. “You think I would ever hurt you, Sana? You think I’m going to pigeonhole you and turn you into someone you aren’t?”

  He waits a beat for me to answer, but I don’t. I gulp and wait for him to continue.

  “Answer me,” he barks harshly.

  “No,” I whisper.

  “I’ve lost in my life, Sana. I’ve had losses that you can’t even comprehend. I almost lost you, too, when I’d only had a taste of the sweetness you could bring into my life. Then when something finally goes my way, for the first fuckin’ time ever, you act like a bitch over some other man’s ring because the bauble is worth some money? Like I give a fuck about his wasted money, Sana.”

  I lift one of my hands to cup his cheek, seeing the obvious pain in his eyes. I don’t know what he’s so hurt about, but I’ve obviously added to that hurt, and I hate myself for it.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “Sergei essentially told me that you were materialistic. But I didn’t believe him. Not the Sana I know. Not the woman who curled into my body all those months ago and told me that she only wanted me for eternity. Not the woman who didn’t know the balance of my checking account, the woman who only saw a picture of me and had to meet me because she told me I was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. All that sweetness, was it just a game to you?” he asks. I swear my heart drops to my stomach at his words.

  “Take a shower. Get dressed,” he growls.

  “Mika,” I say with trembling lips.

  “Go,” he orders as he takes a step back from me. “I’ll take you to buy whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy,” he murmurs before he turns and walks away from me.

  I sag against the wall, feeling like the biggest bitch on earth. Like the most self-centered, materialistic person who has ever lived.

  Turning, I walk toward the master bathroom.

  It takes me a minute to figure out how to start the shower before stepping inside. I loo
k around and am thankful that there are a couple bottles of shampoo and conditioner, plus body wash available for me to use, and they look brand new. The products aren’t as good as mine, but they’ll do. I close my eyes on a grimace. I am a materialistic bitch.

  Once I’m clean, I go in search of clothes. I am surprised to see some thick leggings and a sweater dress hanging in the closet. My first instinct is to check the tags and see what brand the dress is, but I stop myself, realizing that makes me exactly what Mika thinks I am—again.

  I dress quickly, sliding my feet into my blue python shoes, which I refused to get rid of because they’re gorgeous. Then I make my way back into the bathroom to assess my hair and face.

  Looking around in the drawers, I discover that there’s only a hairbrush. No makeup and no other accessories. I run the brush through my damp hair and cringe. I look awful. My face looks tired and pale, and my long, dark blonde hair hangs damp and limp.

  I decide that it doesn’t matter what I look like. Nobody here knows me. It’s not as if I’m the infamous Emiliya Chekova or anything, so I turn out the bathroom light and head toward the living area in search of Mika.

  I suck in a breath when I see him. He’s standing at the floor to ceiling glass windows in the living room, looking out over the city with his back to me. He’s wearing a gorgeous, designer, black suit. On him, it makes my knees weak.

  “Ready?” he asks the window.

  “Yes,” I whisper, afraid to speak.

  I watch as he turns to me, but his face is masked. It’s blank, and it doesn’t change even as his eyes take in my body from head to toe. He jerks slightly when he sees my shoes, but that is his only reaction. He turns and starts walking toward the door, holding it open for me and waiting until I follow his lead and walk past him.

  “I have a car, so we don’t have need of a driver. If you need to leave the apartment for any reason, I would prefer if you had a Byki with you. I’ll make sure to set someone up and get you his information. I’ll get you a cellphone today,” he says as I struggle to keep up with his long gait.