I’ve seen the way her expressions change when she doesn’t think people are watching her. I can’t take my eyes off of her when I’m in the same room as she is. I can tell there’s a vulnerability that nobody else see’s, that she tries to hide from the world, and she does that by acting like a bitch.
Oksana knows her worth, knows her place, and knows exactly how to play a man to get what she desires. She is definitely not some innocent, broken dove. Yet, there’s something deep down, something she keeps guarded and hidden; something she tries so hard to protect. I want to figure out what it is. I want to be the one to protect it, feed it, and watch it blossom. First, I have to get past the bitch. But I can’t deny that I kind of like the bitch in her. She’s fun to rile; fun to watch spark and then ignite.
“Mika,” she sighs. I tip my head down, expecting her eyes to be open, but she’s asleep.
I hold her a little tighter, then my phone starts to buzz on the nightstand. Reluctantly, I slip out of bed, grabbing my phone on the way. I walk out to the living area, staying naked, knowing that right after this conversation I’m going back to my Oksana.
“Rybin,” I bark my last name into the phone.
“How is my sister?” Timofei asks.
“Asleep,” I shrug.
“Mika,” he snaps.
“She’s okay. Sergei set us up in an apartment. I took her shopping today, and tomorrow she’ll have her own Byki,” I say.
“Where will you be tomorrow?” he asks accusingly.
“I’ll be working. I have money, but your sister requires upkeep,” I mutter.
“Your men are still bringing in their profits. They’re actually the highest earning team. I’ll keep them in line until you get back,” he rumbles.
“Yeah, well, I’m not sitting on my ass all day,” I grunt.
“Fuck, fine. Keep me updated,” he says, ending the call.
“I require upkeep?” Oksana’s hurt voice asks from across the room.
I spin around and my gaze collides with her extremely hurt one. I watch as her bottom lip trembles before she turns away. Only then do I realize that she’s wearing the shirt I’d discarded earlier in the evening. I don’t chase after her, though I probably should.
Chasing after her gives her the upper hand. I’ll go to her, but only when I’m ready. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, but what I said is true. Oksana requires upkeep. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing; it’s how she was raised. I’m just not going to be someone who feeds into that printsessa mentality. She’s my wife, she’s not above me in any way.
I walk over to the fridge and find a beer. I’m lucky Sergei knows me and had my favorite brand stocked in the fridge. I slam the edge of the bottle against the edge of the counter, ridding it of its top without having to search for a bottle opener.
I tip my head back and finish the entire bottle in two large gulps. Then I head back to bed.
Oksana is curled into a ball as far on the edge as she can possibly be. I drop my phone onto the nightstand with a clatter and watch as her body tightens. Apart from that, she doesn’t speak or show any other signs of life. I almost chuckle, but I don’t. She’s pissed. I crawl between the sheets, reach over to her, and pull her against me, her back colliding with my chest.
“You require upkeep, Oksana,” I murmur. She stiffens in my arms. “But what I didn’t tell your brother was that I want to be the kind of man that can provide his sister with whatever whim strikes her fancy. You want a mansion, you’ll have it. You want diamonds in every shape and size, they’re yours. You want to bathe in gold, you got it, lapochka.”
“I don’t want to bathe in gold,” she says. I know she’s probably rolling her eyes at me.
“Don’t give a fuck what you want. Whatever it is, I want to be able to provide it for you,” I admit.
“It’s just stuff, Mika,” she whispers.
“You’ve always had nice things, lapochka. You can’t understand what it’s like not to have them. You’ll never know, either; not if I have anything to do with it.”
“What didn’t you have, Mika?” she asks as she rolls over in my arms, her eyes searching mine.
I know she can’t see me exceptionally clearly, because it’s dark, but the moonlight is giving off a glow. She can see enough. I shake my head slightly, closing my eyes, refusing to look at her.
“Tell me, Mika,” she begs.
I close my eyes and think about Mila. I think about my parents and wonder if I should even go there with Oksana. Does she need to know this about my childhood, how incredibly sad it all is? Then an image of Mila as a child pops into my head, and it is like a stab to my heart. I think about how it felt to be in Russia, to be a child myself, and helpless to the fact that my entire world came flying apart with one phone call.
“I turned thirteen and everything in my life changed. I’d already been living here in Russia, studying and training with Tomas, my mentor. My parents were murdered and my sister taken and sold. She was ten. I found out from a phone call. Orphaned at thirteen, but at least I had the Bratva, right? I trained, I worked, and I vowed I’d climb the ranks. I was going to rescue my sister. I was going to find her and save her.”
“What happened to her?” Oksana whispers, her voice trembling.
“On the way here, Sergei informed me that after twenty years, he’d found out what happened. She died from disease. She’d been working in a brothel for years, and she’d birthed four children, all born with disease. They lived in orphanages because my sister was still required to sell her body, diseased or healthy was no matter. She’s dead. Cremated, too. Her ashes are probably mixed with a hundred other whores just like her. So you see, Oksana, I’ve had nothing but Bratva, work and climbing ranks since I was thirteen years old. It’s all I know,” I admit to her, my jaw clenched hard.
“Mika,” her breath hitches, then her hands move to slide around my waist and up my back, holding me to her body as her face nuzzles my neck. “You have me now. You have me.”
“I didn’t tell you that to make you feel sorry for me,” I say, feeling uncomfortable by her declaration.
“You have me, Mika,” she whispers, lifting her face from my neck. Her lips gently brush against mine.
“Mikhail,” I murmur.
“What?”
“My name, it’s Mikhail,” I rumble.
“Mikhail,” she breathes.
“Fuck me. Say it again.”
“Mikhail,” she says, her voice a little huskier.
“You call me that, now,” I demand.
“I’m Oksana, and you’re my Mikhail,” she grins.
“Yeah.”
“Are you through being mean to me?” she asks, arching a brow at me with a smile tipping her lips.
“Quiet,” I grunt.
I watch as she throws back her head and laughs. It’s the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in my entire fucking life. I watch with avid fascination. Then, with a smile still on her lips, she lowers her head and her dancing eyes meet mine.
“We will have a beautiful life, you and me,” she announces. “As long as we always talk about whatever is bothering each other.”
I don’t say anything, too mesmerized by her eyes, her admission of the beautiful life we’re to have, and the way she’s smiling at me. As if this is exactly where she’s always wanted to be.
“You’re mine, Oksana.”
“Yes, Mikhail, I am yours,” she whispers.
“Marry me,” I state. It’s not a question. She doesn’t have a choice.
“Of course,” she nods. “How old are you?”
I press my lips to hers in a hard, closed-mouth kiss. “Why does it matter? You’ll be my wife, carry my children, and always be at my side, no matter what?” I ask.
“Tell me, I think I should know how old the man I’m about to marry is,” she murmurs.
“Twenty-nine, lapochka.”
She hums as her lips brush mine, “I’ll be at your side, Mikhail, Always.”
&
nbsp; I don’t tell her that I’m going to hold her to that. Always. My woman, my fiancée, mine.
I roll, over but the other side of the bed is empty. With a frown, I slide from between the sheets, walk to the bathroom, take care of business, and then go in search of Mika—or Mikhail, as I discovered last night.
I learned so much about him in just a few sentences, so much that was devastatingly sad. I think about his poor baby sister, taken at such a young age, and basically tortured until her death.
My feet freeze as I take in Mika from behind. He’s shirtless, his boxer briefs hugging his ass and thighs perfectly—but it’s his body ink that has me rendered speechless. I knew he was tattooed, all the men of the Bratva are, but I didn’t realize he’d be completely covered.
I’ve never seen his back before. His front has the normal St. Basil’s Cathedral on his chest; the domes have some significance, but I don’t know what it is. As a woman, I was not privy to the meanings of their blue tattoos, but I do know that each stroke of the needle means something.
“How long do you need to stare? I made coffee,” he says as he turns his head to the side and grins.
“I didn’t realize how much ink you had,” I shrug as my feet take me to his side.
His arm automatically slides across my shoulders, and he pulls me into him as his lips touch the top of my hair. Then he dips his head a bit further and brushes his lips across mine.
“Did some shit,” he shrugs.
“Like what?” I ask as I reach for the coffee.
“Shit. Nothing for you to worry about, lapochka,” he murmurs.
“You’ll tell me what they all mean one day?” I ask, bringing the mug to my lips.
“Nyet, I will not,” he says curtly. It startles me.
“Why not?” I ask, looking up to him.
Mika steps back and places a hand on his hip and the other on the counter. Then he lifts his head and his dark blue eyes meet mine.
“I don’t like to think about the things I’ve had to do in this life. There’s no way that I would burden or darken your spirit by giving them to you. They’re unchangeable. They’ve happened, and there’s nothing I can do to take them back. There is no reason to discuss them, to relive them.”
“Okay,” I whisper, suddenly feeling like a bitch.
“Come to me,” he demands gently.
I scoot toward him slowly. When I’m close enough, he takes my coffee from my hand, sets it down on the counter, and then wraps his arms around my back and pulls me closer. His face dips and his lips touch mine in a soft brush of a kiss.
“I’m sorry I asked,” I whisper.
“Never be sorry for asking me something. If I can tell you, I will. If I can’t, then I’ll explain to you that I can’t, and why I can’t, like I just did. We are still learning about each other, Oksana. These things will take time,” he murmurs before his lips brush mine again.
“You’re leaving today.”
“I am. But Sergei is sending a trusted man to be your guard for the day. You’ll shop and maybe find a spa, have a relaxing day?” he asks, giving me a grin.
“What if I don’t want to do those things?” I ask.
“What will you do then?”
He looks genuinely confused, and I realize that is exactly what he thinks I do all day long. While he’s not completely wrong in his assessment, I don’t think that I’m quite that lazy.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll call Raisa to see if she wants to hang out,” I shrug.
Mika’s body starts shaking and then he bursts out laughing before he looks down at me. His chuckling finally dies, but a smile still lingers on his lips.
“What?” I ask.
“Raisa is a slave, lapochka,” he states.
“And?”
“That means she’s not like a regular woman. They’ll be no girlie chats with her, no shopping and coffees. It’s not her purpose, neither is it her place. Did you notice she didn’t even look up, not once, the entire flight from New York? She was also not present at your wedding. She was at the hotel, waiting for Sergei. Her entire existence is to wait for and to please Sergei,” he explains.
“That’s crazy.”
“It may be to you. But that is her life,” he rumbles. “Just like it was Ashley’s life with Yakov for a very long time,” he says. I watch as something dark passes through his features.
“Ummm.”
“Now, shop for the rest of your wardrobe. Relax at a spa somewhere. Enjoy your day. We’ll go to dinner tonight,” he says, giving my body a squeeze with his arms.
“Yeah, okay,” I whisper, disappointed.
“Hey,” he whispers, placing his fingers beneath my chin and lifting my head for me to look up at him. “You’re okay?”
I take in his concerned look—his furrowed brow, his mouth pressed tight while his eyes scan my face, searching. I decide to plaster on my fake smile, the smile I’ve been wearing since the day my mama was taken from me. I watch as he arches a brow, but the rest of him physically relaxes.
“You have a cellphone there on the counter. It was delivered this morning. You’ve got my number, Sergei’s, and your Byki’s programmed.”
“Okay,” I nod.
There’s a knock on the door and Mika quickly lets me go to answer it. I hear him speaking, but he’s too fast and I can’t understand him. A few minutes later, he walks in with a gigantic man behind him. He’s huge, like the Hulk, except he’s not green. My eyes widen as my neck cranes back to look up at him.
“This is your Byki. His name is Ustin. He speaks a little English, but you’ll have to brush up on your Russian,” he chuckles. “Have a good day, yeah?”
I nod and hold my breath when he leans down, brushing his lips across mine. He’s then gone to the bedroom, I assume to dress for the day. I stare at Ustin for a beat before I turn to my coffee.
“I will be ready in an hour,” I say slowly in English. I’m honestly kind of freaked out by him, and my Russian is awful.
Mika returns a few minutes later, completely dressed, just as I’m finishing my drink. He presses his lips to the side of my head before he walks out of the door, without a word to me or Ustin. I watch him walk away, enjoying the view and thinking about everything I’ve learned about his childhood. It’s so sad it makes my heart ache.
“Okay, I better go,” I murmur.
Ustin doesn’t speak. He grunts and lifts his chin. I wrap my hand around my phone and scurry toward the bedroom, locking myself inside. It takes me a good forty-five minutes to get dressed, but I rushed for one reason and one reason only.
To make a phone call.
I’m sure that I’m not supposed to call anyone back home, but I don’t care. I dial my friend, my best friend, Aleksandra. She’s been my best friend since the day we were born. Her father is my father’s Sovietnik. She’s been married for the past four years, and she says adores her husband, which I love for her, but I don’t think that he feels the same way about her. She was the matron-of-honor at my wedding, and the look on her face when Mika carried me off—I have to call her and tell her that I’m okay.
“OH, MY GOD, PLEASE tell me its you, Sana,” she whispers loudly.
“It is,” I chuckle.
“I’ve been so worried. Your father has been a complete maniac. He’s worried, but he’s more pissed off than anything,” she rambles. “Where are you?”
I want to tell her, I really do, but Aleks is a loud mouth. She’ll totally tell her father, or at least her mother, who will tell her father and then mine. Or she’d tell her husband, who would definitely tell my father, in a heartbeat. Her husband is a Kryshas, an enforcer, and he’ll squeal. He actually scares the shit out of me. I don’t know how she’s married to him.
“I can’t tell you, but I’m safe.” Thinking about Ustin in the other room, I mutter, “Really safe.”
“You and Mika?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I sigh.
Though the past couple days haven’t been perfect, Mika
is what I wanted, who I wanted. I can’t deny we have a pull between us. He’s guarded and he has some serious issues, but he’s who I want. He’s my forever. Mika can be sweet, I’ve seen glimpses of it in our short time of knowing each other, then he was softer before he left for work. The sweet, gentle, softer side of him, that’s what I want for the rest of our relationship—that’s what drew me to him in the first place.
“Is it good?” she asks, her voice dipping lower.
“I told you it was, like, forever ago,” I laugh.
“Yeah, but that was when he was trying to win you. What’s it like now?” she asks.
I can practically see her dark eyes dancing in delight and the silly grin she’s definitely wearing. I miss her already.
“He’s rough,” I admit. “But I like it.”
“Oh, does he bite? I love that,” she says before she giggles.
“Aleks,” I say feigning shock.
“Oh, shut up,” she laughs. “Seriously, though, stay there until shit blows over here. Not only is your father seriously pissed you’re gone, everyone is on lockdown. They’ve already moved the high-ranking men’s wives to safe houses. I’m not allowed to leave unless I have a guard, and I’m nobody,” she says.
“Be safe, please,” I whisper.
“Is this your number?” she asks.
“Yeah, my cell.”
“I won’t tell anyone you called,” she murmurs.
“Thanks. Timofei knows where I am, and he’s dealing with papa,” I admit.
“Be safe,” she whispers. Then we tell each other goodbye.
I feel a little better after talking with my friend, and I make my way over to my new mini-collection of shoes. I decide to forego my Rossi’s and grab a new pair of Jimmy Choo’s instead. I look at myself in the mirror one last time before I go out to Ustin.
I’m wearing a pair of high waisted, skin tight, dark wash, ankle cut jeans and a light pink, lace body suit paired with a white, three-quarter length sleeved blazer. My shoes are fuscia in color, and they come all the way up to my ankle with dozens of cutouts to make it look like there are tons of skinny straps holding them to my feet; there’s also a peep toe to show off my still beautiful wedding day pedicure. The heels are at least five inches, and they’re suede.
Forever my Badman (Russian Bratva Book 7) Page 4
