Forever my Badman (Russian Bratva Book 7)

by Hayley Faiman

  Grabbing my little Alexander McQueen clutch from the bed, I make my way into the living area, smoothing down my long hair as I go.

  “I’m ready,” I call out to Ustin.

  I watch as he stands and walks over to me, his chin dipping down and his eyes colliding with mine.

  “You are trouble,” he booms.

  Then he places his hand loosely, but firmly, around my bicep and tugs me along as he walks toward the door. I’m too in shock from his words and his actions to protest. He drags me to the elevator, and we silently ride down to the parking garage, his hand never leaving my arm. Then he practically shoves me into the car before he settles behind the steering wheel and speeds away.

  “You shop?” he asks.

  “GUM,” I answer. He nods but doesn’t look at me.

  “My woman likes to shop,” he announces.

  My eyes widen, trying to figure out what kind of woman Ustin has, and I just nod. I watch as he pulls out his phone and punches some buttons. The rest of the car ride is in silence and I take the quiet moment to watch the city as we drive by. It’s busy, bustling with people going here and there, they have a purpose, they have things to do and me? I’m shopping.

  I sigh, wishing I were more, doing more, and being more. I don’t realize the car has stopped until a man opens my door. The valet helps me out of the passenger side. I thank him and hurry to Ustin’s side.

  “She’ll be here in five,” he announces. My eyes bug out.

  Apparently, he’s secured a shopping buddy for me.

  He guides me to a little coffee shop and brings me a caramel macchiato. He sets another down next to me before he takes a sip of what I assume is plain, black, coffee. He looks like the kind of man who drinks black coffee, along with a dozen raw eggs every morning.

  “Ustin,” a soft voice speaks. I turn to see a little petite blonde hurrying our way.

  My head whips back to Ustin and then to her, and I can’t help my mouth from dropping open. She’s five-two, if that, and about a hundred pounds, soaking wet. I don’t know how he hasn’t broken her into a million pieces.

  “Hello, I’m Leonie,” she says. Her English is actually fantastic.

  I stand and hold out my hand, introducing myself to her. She smiles brightly before she skirts past me and places her hand on Ustin’s chest as he leans down, way, way down, and gently presses his lips to hers.

  Maybe he’s a gentle giant?

  “I don’t know anyone here. Ustin said you were new. He hates to shop, but he knows I enjoy it.” She smiles as she curls into his side.

  He grunts as his response, and his hand slides down her shoulders to her waist, giving her a squeeze. She untangles from his body and walks over to me, linking her arm in mine after she grabs her coffee off of the table.

  “We will have fun,” she grins brightly up at me.

  “Where are you from?” I ask as we walk into the busy shopping center.

  “Switzerland. Ustin saved me,” she says as we walk into Agent Provocateur. Ustin stands just outside of the door and keeps watch.

  “He did?” I ask in confusion.

  “My husband was abusive. He was also in trouble with the Bratva,” she whispers. “Ustin was sent to take care of him when he saw me, my face black and blue. That was it. Nino was a memory and Ustin my future,” she says with a smile.

  “Wow,” I gasp in surprise.

  This woman seems so happy, so incredibly happy and bubbly; and she’s so tiny, I can’t imagine a man ever taking his hand to her. We spend the rest of the day on lighter subjects, like sexy panties, clothes, shoes, and handbags. By the end of the day, Ustin still looks scary. But when his eyes shift to Leonie, I can see the absolute adoration he has for his woman.

  It’s beautiful.

  “Would you like to go to lunch tomorrow?” I ask Leonie as we make our way out of the GUM center.

  “I can’t,” she pouts. “I’m working.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “I volunteer in an orphanage,” she says.

  “Really?” I ask.

  “You can come with me. The children are so fun and sweet. Oh, and the babies,” she whispers with tears in her eyes. “Sometimes I just spend all day long holding them. I know it is not fair, but they need love.”

  Immediately, images of Mika’s faceless nieces and nephews flash through my mind. The innocent lives that were thrust into orphanages because they were born with an incurable disease. Before I realize it I’m nodding.

  “Yes, I would love to come,” I say, my voice gentle and soft.

  “Ustin, that’s okay?” Leonie asks, turning to her man.

  “Da,” he agrees.

  “See you at home,” she murmurs. He shakes his head with a grin and watches her walk to her car.

  “She’s very sweet,” I announce a few moments later, once we’re settled into the car and he heads toward our apartment.

  “Da,” he grunts in agreement. With a smile I turn to look out the window.

  The rest of the car ride is silent, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Ustin is obviously not much of a conversationalist, but that’s okay. I find that my mind has been so wound up the past few months that the complete quiet is pleasant.

  Once we’re back at the apartment, I decide to put all my clothes away and then get ready for dinner—whatever it is that Mika has in mind for dinner, that is.

  I wonder what he’s been up to all day long, and I worry that he’ll find a place for himself here and never want to go back to the states. I love Russia, don’t get me wrong; but I love my home, and I have no desire to leave the states.

  “He’s not happy,” Sergei announces as I walk into his office.

  “Pasha?” I ask, lifting a brow.

  “Yeah, Pasha—who the fuck else?” he chuckles.

  I shrug. I didn’t think that Pasha would be happy. I stole his daughter on her wedding day, while his son killed her husband. Then, he found out the piece of shit dead husband was a traitor. I wish I knew why he betrayed the Bratva to the Cartel.

  There are only two reasons he would do what he did. One, he was getting a kickback from the Cartel, or some kind of payoff. Two, he was avenging his brother’s demise. Honestly, it was probably an equal mixture of both.

  “I’m not taking her back until I know that he’s got his shit under control,” I state.

  “I agree. You’re under my protection here, both of you. I don’t like that he didn’t check out Gavril more before agreeing to the engagement. It doesn’t make him look good, especially in his position as Pakhan.”

  I don’t reply that I didn’t like that he forced Oksana to be with the man in general, but I know and understand the customs of the Bratva more than anyone. It didn’t matter that she’d chosen me. It didn’t matter that I’d fucked her. She’s property of her father until he decides who she’s to marry, and it wasn’t me.

  By taking her with me, I’ve partaken in a complete act of disrespect, one that can get me killed, and possibly even her. Being under Sergei’s protection is our only saving grace right about now—that, and the fact that Timofei was in on the whole thing.

  “Does he know where we are?” I ask.

  “He will, soon enough.”

  “What do you have for me to do today?” I ask, changing topics.

  “I have some Kryshas out collecting, if you want to join them. I also have some Torpedo jobs available, if you want to do that?”

  I think about his offers. I decide to take the contract kills, Torpedo jobs. I haven’t done that in a while. Honest to fuck, I could use the stress relief. I ask him for the files, and he hands me five separate ones that include photographs and the marks’ schedules.

  I thank him and take the paperwork to an empty office that Sergei told me I could use while I’m here. I spend the afternoon studying my marks, both on paper and in person.

  I follow them around until eight in the evening, then I decide to head home. A week of following my first mark, and I’ll be a
ble to finish the job; then I’ll move on to the next. I’m glad to have the work to keep my mind off of everything and to keep me busy. Plus, Torpedo work is extremely lucrative.

  “Ustin,” I say, lifting my chin as I walk into the apartment.

  Oksana is nowhere to be seen as I do a quick sweep of the room.

  “Tomorrow?” Ustin asks. I tell him to be here by seven in the morning.

  He lifts his chin before he walks away, closing the door behind him. I lock it then go in search of Oksana. It’s later than I had anticipated coming home. But in Russia, we dine late, always.

  I start to make my way to the bedroom, and I grin when I hear music pouring from the room. The closer I get, the more I can hear her voice singing. It’s some pop crap. I don’t know who it is, but I don’t care.

  Opening the door, I lean against the jamb and I watch her. She’s wearing a skintight dress that ends just below her ass, showcasing her long, lean legs. It’s a purple-grey color. Her hair falls down her back, swaying side to side with her body. When she turns around, her eyes widen and she lets out a small scream.

  I don’t do anything but stare at her. Her makeup is dark. She’s wearing too much, but that isn’t what has me staring. It’s her dress. The only thing keeping her strapless dress up is a zipper that runs the full length of the tight fabric, from top to bottom. Her tits are barely contained, and my cock is straining against my zipper at the sight. But that means that every other man she walks by will feel the same. I can’t decide if it pisses me off or not.

  “Mikhail,” she whispers.

  I push off of the door, my mind made up. I march toward her, wrapping my hand around her waist and pulling her against my body, my hand traveling to the hem of her short skirt. I lift it up and over her hips, shoving the scrap of material she is trying to pull off as panties down her legs before I spin her around to face the edge of the bed. I place my hand at the middle of her back and bend her over slightly.

  Pressing my lips to her neck, the loud music still filling the air, my hand goes to my pants and I quickly unbuckle, unzip and push them and my boxers down to free my cock.

  “Mikhail,” she trembles beneath my touch.

  Without warning, I fill her sweet cunt and enjoy the way her back arches and her hair flies back with her head.

  “You have fun picking out a dress that would make me hard, lapochka?” I ask as I release the side of her hip.

  I reach back and slap my hand, hard, against her ass. She moans as her only response, so I slap her again, feeling her pussy coat my dick, soaking me.

  “Touch yourself, Oksana. Make yourself come all over me,” I rumble.

  I don’t stop fucking her, pounding into her tight, hot, little body. My eyes are focused on the way my cock slams and slides out of her, coated with her wetness—it’s so fucking beautiful. I groan when I feel the tips of her fingers graze my balls.

  “You play with fire, lapochka,” I warn on a moan.

  “I like the way you burn me,” she whispers.

  I reach out and slap her other cheek, which makes her pussy spasm around me. She’s so fucking close. My back tingles with the warning that I’m seconds from exploding. I try to tamp it down, hold back, and wait for her to come first.

  Her hips start to jerk, and I know that she’s almost there. The second her pussy squeezes me I slam inside of her a couple more times before I still. I come, filling her with my release.

  She moans and cries out as her body lurches forward. I don’t let her go anywhere, my grip on her hips keeping her perfectly nestled against me, her warm wet pussy fluttering around my cock. Then I slowly fuck her, letting her pussy milk the rest of my release. Once both of our bodies stop twitching, I pull out of her, but I don’t pull away, not until I watch my cum leak from her. It’s fucking gorgeous.

  “Mika,” she breathes.

  “Let’s go. I’m hungry,” I grunt as I pull up my pants and fasten them again.

  I watch as Oksana stands on wobbly legs and walks to the bathroom. I look around the room, noticing she’s got some things on the bed. I make my way over to them. There are a few cufflinks, some sexy panties, and a couple ties. My fingers trace the lacy panties, and I feel the material. It’s soft as fuck.

  “I almost wore them tonight,” she says, her voice soft and almost small.

  I look up and tilt my lips in a smile, releasing the material and then looking at her. Her hair is a little wilder, her face has a pretty flush to it, and her dress has been righted. She looks like she’s just been satisfied by her man, and I can’t help the pride I feel, knowing that man is me.

  “The cufflinks and ties are for you,” she murmurs as she slips on her high heels before she walks toward me.

  “Thank you, lapochka,” I rumble. Wrapping my hand around her waist, I bring her closer to my side before I dip my head and press my lips to hers.

  “Ustin had his girlfriend join us today. She was fun. We shopped all day long,” she says as she takes a step away.

  I press my hand to the small of her back, and together, we walk out of the apartment.

  “I didn’t know he had a woman,” I respond as the elevator car goes down to the parking garage.

  “She’s Swiss, blonde, petite, and very sweet,” she rambles.

  I listen to her. I don’t hear every single word, but I enjoy listening to her babble about her day as we drive toward the restaurant. I don’t tell her about my day. For starters, she can’t know about my work with the Bratva.

  Once we’ve arrived, I help her out of the vehicle, and we walk toward the restaurant. There’s a line, but the restaurant is Bratva owned, so we bypass everybody else waiting for a table.

  “Reservations for two under Rybin,” I announce.

  “Mr. Rybin,” the hostess says with a dip of her chin before she starts to walk into the dining area.

  I keep my hand at the small of Oksana’s back as we follow the hostess to our table—a table in the back, against a wall, with a seat facing the entrance. Luckily, the hostess knows the deal and takes me to the perfect table. I help Oksana to her seat, and push her in before I take my own.

  “What will you do tomorrow?” I ask as I gaze over the drink list.

  “I’m going with Leonie to an orphanage,” she states.

  I slowly place the menu down and lift my eyes to look directly into hers, unbelieving of the words she’s just spoken.

  I DON’T KNOW WHAT he’s thinking as he stares at me, his forgotten menu on the table. I gulp and wait for him to say or do something, anything. I wish that I knew him well enough to interpret his facial expressions, but I don’t.

  “Why would you go there?” he asks, his voice lethally low, sounding almost pissed off.

  “Leonie volunteers at one several times a week. She invited me. I can’t shop everyday, Mika,” I whisper.

  “Leonie, this is Ustin’s woman?” he asks.

  I nod, pressing my lips together so that I don’t smart off. I’ve been talking about her since we left the apartment. I watch as he nods once, then he lifts his dark blue eyes to mine, and there’s an indescribable heat in them that has me pressing my legs together.

  “Okay. I want you to be careful there, Oksana, do you understand me?” he asks.

  “I will, Mikhail,” I whisper. I watch as his eyes flare, pressing my thighs together even tighter.

  “After we eat dinner, I’ll eat you for dessert, yeah?” he says, as if he’s reading off of the menu.

  “Mika,” I gasp.

  He grins as his teeth sink into his bottom lip. His eyes drop to my panting, heaving, chest and then lift back up to mine.

  A waiter approaches, and Mika orders something before he walks away.

  “I ordered you a sweet white wine,” he announces.

  “Thank you. It’s my favorite,” I murmur.

  “I know. What do you want to eat?”

  “I can’t read the menu; can you order for me?” I ask, feeling embarrassed.

  “Your mo
ther and father did you a disservice, lapochka,” he says, shaking his head. Then I watch as he calls the waiter over and orders for us.

  “What did you get?” I ask while he takes a pull from his beer.

  “You’ll like it. Unless you don’t like Russian food?” he asks, arching a brow.

  “The Oleandr is my favorite restaurant ever,” I say with a grin.

  “American Russians. It never tastes the same as it does here,” he says with a wave of his hand. It makes me giggle. I can’t help myself.

  “Did you have a good day?” I ask. Suddenly, it’s as if his mood shifts and something dark takes over.

  “It was fine,” he states, leaving no room for discussion.

  “I called my friend today. Aleksandra,” I stupidly blurt.

  “You did what?” he asks, his voice deep. Now I’m thinking I’ve just ruined dinner.

  “She was sitting next to me at the wedding, and I just knew she would be sick with worry. I had to ease her mind,” I quickly explain.

  “You shouldn’t have done that. Fuck. Now they know where we are,” he shouts.

  “I didn’t tell her anything.”

  “Your phone has a Russian country code. Are you fucking stupid?” he asks as he stands up.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, reaching for his arm. He shakes away from my grasp.

  “I need some fucking air,” he growls as he walks away, leaving me alone in the restaurant.

  I close my eyes. I messed up, apparently. I messed up big time. The light catches my ring and I look at the pretty canary yellow diamond and admire it. He thinks I’m nothing but a spoiled little printsessa. That all I want to do is shop and go to the spa. He doesn’t even want to get to know me. Then he yells at me because I want to ease the mind of my best friend?

  I slip the ring off of my finger, wishing to throw it on his place setting and walk away. If I did that, I would have nowhere to go. I’d be alone in a city I don’t know well, with no papers, no passport, nothing. I open my clutch and slip the ring inside. I don’t want to look at it anymore. In fact, it kind of makes me sick.