Forever my Badman (Russian Bratva Book 7)

by Hayley Faiman

  “This is a lot, leaving New York, being here, everything,” I whisper lifting my head and resting my chin on his chest.

  “It is, but I brought you here. I should be kinder,” he murmurs as he tucks some hair behind my ear.

  “It was hurtful of me to take your ring off,” I admit. “We were both tired and emotionally charged that night.”

  “Tell me about your day,” he says, changing the subject. Though, I notice he doesn’t apologize; not in so many words, at least.

  I play with the ends of her hair, waiting to hear about her day. I missed her last night. I’ve only slept with her a few times, and yet, it felt wrong to be without her. My temper got the best of me last night. With the mention of her going to the orphanage, and then taking my ring off, I blew up. My fear of Pasha finding out our whereabouts before I want him to, it sent a chill up my spine.

  “The babies, oh, my gosh, Mika you—wouldn’t believe how tiny some of them are. I wanted to bring them all home with me and just hold them all day,” she says as her voice climbs with her excitement.

  I look down on her and grin. She’s absolutely beautiful, her face and eyes lit with pure excitement as she speaks of these small babies. It makes me think about her as a mother, and I hope that all of this talk means that she’ll be just as excited for her own children, our children, as she is about these orphaned babies.

  “So, you held babies all day?” I ask. She furrows her brow and shakes her head.

  “There were so many children, Mikhail,” she whispers. Her using my given name, fuck, it goes straight to my cock, every time. “Leonie and I played with the small children, and then we also played with the older children as well. Games, puzzles, reading. They were so happy to have adults to interact with. It’s so sad,” she says.

  “Why is it sad?” I ask in confusion.

  “The babies, they aren’t held much. There are too many of them. The kids, they play with each other, but you can tell that aren’t given affection freely. It was just sad,” she shrugs.

  “You’re going to be a wonderful mother, you know that?” I ask as I cup her cheek.

  “I’ve never thought about it; not until now,” she murmurs.

  I lift up slightly, lowering my head and pressing my lips to her warm, soft ones. Her eyes soften, the sadness leaving them for a moment. Then, just as quickly as it faded, it returns.

  “What else is it?”

  “How many of those babies are Bratva babies?” she asks. My heart pounds in my chest. “I know about what happened to the girls, girls like your sister. But, Mika, I also know that though it’s stopped, none of the girls were really searched for,” she murmurs.

  “There were probably some amongst the children you saw today.”

  “That makes me sad. We should care for our own. I hate that it happened for so long—that we didn’t watch out for our own people,” she whispers.

  “I know.”

  I hold her, not saying anything else. There is nothing else to say. It is true. All of it. It makes me sad as well. The thought that, although my sister was taken in a country like America, where she should have been free, she wasn’t, she was never free. If she were any other child, she would have attended school and had opportunities, even if our parents were gone; but because she was a Bratva child, she wasn’t given that.

  She was stolen, sold for sex to someone, and ended up living her life as a whore in a brothel in Moscow—birthing four children full of disease, and then dying alone.

  I close my eyes, thinking about the fact that my parents brought her into the world, knowing what her future could have been, and ultimately was. Yet, they had her anyway, and kept her.

  I’m angry, not for the first time, at my parents. Yes, Ivan and the Bratva did the deed of killing my parents and taking my sister, selling her like cattle. But my parents made it possible by bringing her into the world and then keeping her.

  “Sleep, lapochka,” I murmur, my voice sounding gruffer than I intend.

  “Thank you for saving me from Gavril. I’m sorry I put our whereabouts in danger. It wasn’t my intention,” she whispers. I inhale deeply though my nose, letting the air out of my mouth as I hold her a bit tighter.

  “That’s over now, yeah?” I grunt.

  “Yeah.”

  THERE’S WEIGHT PRESSING AGAINST my back, and it’s hot—hotter than any blanket I’ve ever had over me before. I turn my head, which is not easy to do, since I’m face down on my stomach. I manage to turn my head toward Mika, and I come into contact with his tanned throat. I feel his knee hitch between my legs and come into contact with my center.

  “Morning,” he murmurs as he presses against my pussy with a little more pressure.

  “Mikhail,” I rasp.

  “Goddamn, your voice, saying my name just out of sleep—it’s the sexiest thing I’ve heard next to the noises you make when you come on my cock,” he murmurs, his voice deep and husky. “How do you want to come this morning, lapochka?”

  “Mikhail,” I gasp.

  “Cock, mouth, fingers, what do you want?” he asks before his lips brush against mine.

  “Cock,” I say with a blush.

  “You like my dick filling that tight little cunt of yours? Hmm?” he hums as he rolls so that he’s on top of me, his chest pressing against my back, his hard length resting between the cheeks of my ass.

  “Yes,” I shamelessly admit.

  “Are you already wet for me?” he whispers against my neck as his lips drag down to my shoulder. I feel his teeth sink into my flesh, and I can’t hold back the moan as I arch my ass against him.

  “You’re so warm,” he murmurs as his hips flex between my cheeks.

  My face heats with embarrassment, and I’m thankful he can’t see me. In the next breath, he’s inside of me, to the hilt. I try to lift my hips to give him a different angle, but his knees tighten around mine.

  “Take it the way I give it to you, Oksana,” he rasps as he fucks me.

  My legs are closed, his knees on either side of my thighs, and his cock sliding in and out of my center. It almost hurts. It seems like I’m too small, too tight, and being immobile has me feeling more on edge than I’ve ever been before.

  Mika’s hand fists in the back of my hair as he pulls my head, my neck arching, and his face filling my vision. His other hand is wrapped around my breast, squeezing me hard.

  “Mikhail,” I whisper.

  “Fuck, you feel so good, Oksana. You feel like mine,” he breathes.

  I decide to relax, to do as he’s requested and take what he has to give me. I’ve never been disappointed before, and I doubt I’ll start now. I close my eyes on a moan as he pounds inside of me. A few minutes later, he stills, and I open my eyes in confusion.

  “Ride me,” he orders.

  I open my mouth to protest, but he’s already pulled out of me. He lies on his side of the bed, waiting. I crawl over to him, my body shaking with each move before I throw my leg over his hips. I take hold of his length and position myself over him before I sink down slowly.

  “Fuck,” he groans.

  He lifts his thighs, and I lean back against him, my hips slowly rolling as I ride him. His fingers pinch my nipples, tugging on them simultaneously before one of his hands travels down to my clit.

  “I’m not ready yet,” I whisper as I continue to lean back, fully enjoying the way he fills me and the way he feels inside of me.

  Mika ignores me, his thumb pressing against my clit as he rubs firm circles against me. It doesn’t take long, no more than mere seconds, before I’m shaking and calling out his name as I come around him. His hands move to my waist, his fingertips gripping me tightly before he thrusts up inside of me. He fucks me hard and fast, then he comes on a groan before he releases me. I fall forward, my pussy still pulsing as his cock twitches.

  “You don’t work today?” I ask once I’ve caught my breath.

  “I have to work again tonight, lapochka,” he murmurs. His fingers glide over my a
ss and then up my back before they descend again.

  “All night?” I ask, lifting my head to look at his face.

  “Hopefully, I can end this shit early, but it could be all night,” he says, his voice gentle and his eyes soft.

  “You’ll hurry home?” I ask, lifting my hand and tracing his full lips with my fingers.

  Mika sticks his tongue out and licks my fingertips, catching them with his teeth and gently sucking them before releasing them. I gasp, my eyes never moving from his. I watch as his dark blue eyes turn black and practically glitter.

  “I’ll hurry home to my lapochka,” he rumbles.

  We spend the rest of the morning lying in bed. Mika even brings me a coffee, sweetened with milk and sugar, plus a dash of chocolate, just as I like it. I curl into his side, enjoying his warmth and the silence. Still exhausted from staying up for far too many hours the last few days, I need the rest.

  “Fuck, you’re serious?” Mika’s voice rings, startling me out of sleep.

  I open my eyes. I’m curled into a ball, facing him, but he’s propped against the headboard, his phone against his ear.

  “He’s fucking crazy; you know that, right?” he barks. “I’m fixing this in the next couple of days. What? No. I’ll update you,” he grunts. I watch as he drops his phone onto the nightstand.

  “Mika, what’s wrong?” I ask on a whisper.

  “Your father put a price on my goddamn head,” he growls.

  “What?” I gasp sitting up, holding the sheet to my chest.

  “He didn’t use regular Torpedos, either. No, he used private ones. That fucking cocksucker,” he yells.

  “Can’t you just call Timofei or Uncle Sergei?” I ask.

  “No, I fucking can’t. We’re getting married as soon as possible,” he rumbles.

  “I don’t know, Mika,” I mutter. “Maybe I should call him, explain things.”

  Mika turns to me, and his eyes are like daggers. I shut up. Then he speaks, and his voice is lethal and low.

  “You call him and I’ll paint your ass so red you won’t be able to sit for weeks,” he growls. I widen my eyes before I blink, then I nod.

  “I just want to help,” I say, my voice small and weak sounding.

  “You can’t. Only Pasha can call off whatever dogs he sicked on me. I’ll be damned if I call him,” he growls.

  “Mika, be rational,” I beg as I reach out for his arm. “Please.”

  “You don’t want to marry me?” he asks. His eyes—they’re completely wild, unhinged.

  “Of course, I want to marry you; but Mika, it’s been less than a week since we left New York.”

  “Should have married you the second we landed. I’ve waited too long. Get your shit together, whatever you want to wear, or go out shopping. We’re getting married tomorrow.”

  I watch as he throws the covers back and walks over to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. I look over at my phone and see that I have at least fifteen missed calls. I reach over and pick up the device, scrolling through the names. They’re all from Aleksandra. I think about calling her back, but I’m afraid that she’s going to accidently tell someone where I am.

  I turn the phone off, not listening to any of her messages, and then shove it in the drawer. I don’t want to look at it. It’ll only tempt me to call her back and assure her that I’m safe. Mika walks out of the bathroom a few minutes later, his towel wrapped around his hips, his body and hair still wet from his shower.

  “I’m leaving for a while,” he states.

  “I thought you were staying here all day?” I ask in surprise.

  “Need to get these jobs done for Sergei in case we need to move on soon,” he says distractedly as he starts to dress in a suit.

  “I don’t want you going out. You might not be safe,” I whisper.

  “Probably won’t be,” he shrugs.

  “Mikhail,” I cry.

  He turns to face me, his eyes blazing, anger rolling through him in waves. I can understand him being upset, but it’s not my fault. None of this is my fault.

  “You’re marrying me tomorrow. Today, I’m finishing a couple of jobs. You can go to whatever shop you need for a dress. Go anywhere else, and you won’t like the consequences,” he announces.

  “I’m afraid to ask,” I mutter to myself.

  “I would be, too, if I were you,” he states.

  I watch as he finishes dressing, and then he leaves without so much as a kiss or a wave goodbye. I stare at the doorway, listening to the apartment’s door slam closed, and I blink. I replay everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours. We made up from our fight, we had amazing makeup sex—like five times—then he got a call that my father, my own father, has put a price on his head.

  I’m pissed Mika just waltzed out of our place like someone isn’t looking to kill him for money. What if they do? What if my father actually succeeds in taking him away from me again? The first time hurt, when he said I didn’t have a choice anymore; when he told me I was to marry Gavril without discussion. This time, now that I’ve had him, it would kill me.

  What we’ve had the past few days hasn’t been easy, but it doesn’t take away the fact that it’s Mika, and he’s the only one I’ve ever felt this way about. He’s mine. As much as I’m his, he’s mine, too. If I could strangle my father right now, I would.

  I close my eyes, and I think about my mama. I miss her. None of this shit would be going on if she were still alive.

  “Mama,” I whisper into the empty room. “Watch over my Mikhail. Keep him safe. He and Timofei are the only ones who really care about me right now. Please, guide me, mama,” I cry, burying my face in my hands.

  I leave her alone. I shouldn’t, but I’m angry—an emotion, it seems, I’m extremely committed to these days. I slide into the driver’s side of the black, sedan Mercedes. I’m too tired to actually go through with this job, but I’m doing it anyway. I want the income, and I want something to do that will keep my mind off of—everything.

  My phone rings, and I look down in surprise to see that it’s Ustin.

  “Rybin,” I bark.

  “Your woman called me,” he murmurs. “She wanted me to keep an eye on you,” he chuckles.

  I’m not sure how to respond to that. So I don’t, yet. I think about it for a few moments.

  “I’m working, doing a job for Sergei. I’m fine,” I grunt.

  “Just wanted to let you know,” he offers.

  “She shouldn’t leave today, except to find something suitable to wear. Keep an eye on the building, yeah?” I ask as I pull into the parking lot across the street from the hotel. I know my mark is inside, finishing his brunch.

  “Sure,” he agrees before ending the call.

  I reach beneath the passenger seat and pull out the briefcase. Inside, I find the gun I need. It doesn’t take me long to ensure it’s loaded before I attach the silencer. The streets aren’t too busy yet, but a few people are walking around, and there are several inside of the restaurant as well.

  I watch as the man I’m focused on kisses a very beautiful woman. I make note that she’s not his wife. Probably a prostitute. I shake my head, placing my gun in my lap. There are too many people around. Not that I’m worried about being caught, but it’s still better to err on the side of caution.

  My eyes follow him as he and his whore walk to a red car. It’s obvious and gaudy. I roll my eyes before I pull out and follow them. He stops at a light, and I roll down my passenger window as I pull up beside them. I hold out my gun, aiming it true, and pull the trigger.

  I know he’s dead when I speed off, his woman’s screams filling the quiet street. Plus, I never miss.

  I have two more men to take care of today, so I head toward the next. I don’t know exactly what they’ve done to earn their fates, but I don’t care. Money is money, and Sergei pays well for his kills. Much like the men who are looking for me, I’m in it for the money and nothing else.

  “Rybin,” I growl as I an
swer the phone.

  “How is my sister?” Timofei demands on the other end of the phone.

  “She’s fine,” I shrug.

  “Why is Aleksandra calling me, scared to fucking death, then? She said Sana called her a few days ago and hasn’t answered her calls since. Why the fuck did Sana contact her in the first place?” he shouts.

  “I gave her a cellphone to call her Byki or me. She took it upon herself to call her friend. Now that there’s a price on my head, thanks to your father, she’s been warned not to call her friend back,” I shrug as I watch my last mark on my list. I took down the first guy immediately this morning, now it’s time to wrap this shit up.

  The man is walking down the street, toward the bus. He always takes the bus to his office, even though he can certainly afford a taxi or even a private driver. I step out of my car, dipping my head as I handle the gun in my pocket, while still talking on the phone.

  “Fuck, you know her husband. He’s a Kryshas. He’ll tell Pasha exactly where you are if he finds out,” he hisses.

  I walk up behind the mark, my gun still in my pocket. I press it against his side and pull the trigger before I disappear in the crowd, walking in the opposite direction of my car. I’ll walk around the city block before I slide back in my car and drive off.

  “I know,” I agree.

  “My father is on a rampage. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s completely unhinged,” Timofei mutters.

  “He still grieves,” I state as I reach my car and slide inside of the driver’s seat.

  I’m heading back to the apartment, back to Oksana. I don’t know why I can’t stay away from her, why I leave her fucking crying and then go back and practically crawl to her like a cunt. I feel unhinged my fucking self.

  “Yeah, well, Oksana didn’t do a damn thing to cause ma’s death. He’s playing games, and there’s only so much the other Pakhan’s will forgive. He tried to bring a traitor into the family fold. Everybody is on fucking edge. The Cartel is fucking gone, no leads. We’ve had to call the Notorious Devil’s MC and the Irish to warn them to be on high alert. We have no clue where they will strike next,” he grunts.