Forever my Badman (Russian Bratva Book 7)

by Hayley Faiman

  “I’m going to be gone all day and probably most of the night. You need to go anywhere, take Ustin and Ony with you, yeah?” he rumbles as he’s buttoning up his shirt, walking from the closet.

  “Mikhail, what’s wrong?” I ask as I watch him. He lifts his head and cocks it to the side, looking confused.

  “Should something be wrong?” he asks.

  “Well, I’m not sure. You fucked me, walked away, and now you’re telling me you won’t be home all day or this evening. So, what’s wrong?” I demand.

  “Now I have to have a reason to want to fuck my gorgeous wife?” he asks as he tucks his shirt into his pants.

  “No, not at all, but Mika you’re not acting right,” I point out.

  “How do you want me to act? Hmm?” he almost barks, sounding angry.

  I shake my head, not wanting to fight. I have a doctor’s appointment today, and I do not want to be upset with him all day long.

  “You’re being hormonal, yeah?” he says gently as he sits next to me on the bed and cups my cheek with his hand. His eyes soften as he looks at me, a smile tugging on his lips. I want to smack him, but he looks so adorable.

  “I’m not being hormonal, but fine,” I bite out.

  “Hmmm, you take care of my boy today, okay?” he asks, dragging his hand to my belly and pressing against it.

  “I always do.”

  “I know you do, lapochka. Be nice to your mama, Misha,” he rumbles before he bends and presses his lips to my stomach.

  My heart melts, and I instantly forget what I was so irritated about, just at those few words and that kiss.

  “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  I nod, and without another word, he presses his lips to my forehead, gathers his jacket, and he’s gone. The front door closes, and I hear the lock slide into place as he secures me inside.

  I can’t shake the foreboding feeling that something isn’t right. It’s been building for weeks, but right now, today, for whatever reason, it feels extremely strong. Something is coming to a head, but I don’t know what it could be.

  Smiling, I stand and make my way to the shower to clean off, get ready, and eat something before I head over to Doctor Sokoloff’s office. It’s my regular checkup, and because I didn’t even know I was pregnant at first, he’s decided I should have ultrasounds at each appointment. I won’t lie, I feel really spoiled being able to see my little Misha every single time I go into the doctor’s office.

  I can’t wipe the smile off of my face as I close the bathroom door behind me to get ready for the day. Maybe it won’t be such a bad day after all. I’m going to see my growing baby boy, I’m going to lunch with my girls, and then we’re going to buy Misha some new baby clothes and more baby supplies.

  Mika doesn’t come home early. In fact, he doesn’t come home at all. There’s something wrong, a fact that I can’t deny. It’s a feeling I have. It’s been well over twenty-four hours, pushing thirty, since I’ve heard from him. I check my phone again as I finish getting dressed, and there are no new notifications.

  I shake my head, deciding that I can’t wait another second.

  I call my brother.

  “You okay?” he asks, sounding preoccupied.

  “Have you heard from Mika since yesterday?”

  The line goes quiet. I open my mouth to ask him again, afraid he hasn’t heard me, when he speaks.

  “Don’t leave your condo today, not even to visit Leonie or Quinn. In fact, text them and have them go to your place. I want the three of you together,” he orders before ending the call.

  My entire body starts to shake with nerves. It takes me a good fifteen minutes to send a text to Leonie and Quinn, my hands are shaking so badly. A few minutes later, both Leonie and Quinn are at my front door. Ony is on their heels and looking murderous, which only freaks me out more.

  “Ony, what’s happened?” I demand.

  He shakes his head but doesn’t explain anything to me. I watch as he moves around the condo and then informs us that we’re to stay inside at all times, keeping away from the windows as much as we can, which freaks me out even more.

  I blink, tasting blood in my mouth, and look around at my surroundings. It looks fucking bleak. I’m in a room, no windows, concrete walls, and I’m alone. I don’t even bother trying to stand and check the door, knowing that it is locked.

  There is only a deadbolt and handle. I have no doubt whatsoever that the deadbolt is locked from the outside. There is nothing for me to do but wait, which is uncomfortable as hell, because my hands are tied behind my back.

  “Top ‘o the mornin’ to ya,” a man says a few minutes later as he walks through the front door. “I love saying that stupid ass shit,” he chuckles.

  “Ewan Murphy?” I guess.

  “Ah, so you’ve heard of me, then?” he asks with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “You know, it was very tempting to take that wife of yours instead of you.”

  I growl at his words, which only makes him burst into laughter. He clutches his stomach and then pulls out a gun and points it toward my head.

  “You know, you’re not a very stealthy hitman. We don’t kidnap when we do a hit in the Bratva,” I shrug, changing topics.

  “I got a phone call yesterday that I was called off of the mission,” he murmurs. “But you see, that doesn’t work for me.”

  I wait silently before he continues.

  “I want the rest of my payment, and I have a feeling Mr. Vetrov would give that to me if I offed you anyway. He’s a little insane, isn’t he?”

  Fuck.

  Obviously, Yakov contacted Ewan’s boss, Patrick O’Neil, and this fuck doesn’t care that he was called off of the hit. Shit.

  I close my eyes and think about Oksana, growing heavy with my child, her beautiful smile aimed at me, and I let that vision take over. I’ll never meet my son. I’ll never see him enter the world or hear his first words. I’ve been telling myself I wouldn’t see these things anyway, but now that the reality is staring me in the face, barrel of the gun first, a new wave of sadness washes over me.

  “Why don’t you just finish me?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

  “I should. But I can’t. My boss, he’s called me off. While I want to go behind his back, kill you and tell him I’d already done the job, he knows you’re still alive. I would just make it look like I’d killed you, and collect anyway, but Vetrov is insane, as I said, and wants your head, literally,” he says, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “I honestly don’t know how I’m going to proceed. But I need you available when I finally do make my decision. I should do what I want, instead of what’s being dictated to me.”

  I think about his words, wondering what he means by them. Before I respond to his observation of Pasha, choosing to ignore the rest, for now. “Yeah, I know he’s insane,” I chuckle. “I’ve had to deliver a head to the fuck myself.”

  “Yeah?”

  “El Patron’s,” I admit with a shrug.

  “That was you?” he asks in surprise—and, if I’m not mistaken, a little awe. I nod. “Fuck, that is shit legends are made of,” he murmurs.

  “Lot of good it did me,” I point out.

  “O’Neil doesn’t want you dead. He’s made that clear,” he rumbles.

  “But you want money?” I ask, arching a brow.

  “Makes the world go ‘round, now, doesn’t it?” he asks with a grin.

  “How much?” I ask. Ewan raises his brows in surprise before he grins.

  “You couldn’t afford it. Your old father-in-law put a hefty price on that head of yours.”

  “Try me,” I ask. Nobody knows exactly how much money I have, not even Pasha.

  My father had money, a hell of a lot of money, and it was all transferred to me when he died. As always, it was deposited into offshore accounts. I did a lot of shady as fuck jobs for the Bratva that earned me a lot of money, too. I always kept what I needed, and banked the rest to join my father’s.

  “Eight million,” he murmu
rs.

  “Give me my hands and a secure website. I’ll transfer it over to you,” I offer.

  “Yeah, right,” he barks.

  “You have that kind of money, so what makes you think that I don’t?” I ask, arching a brow.

  “Oh, you could have it, but you’re not going to readily hand it over. You’ll try to kill me before it’s done,” he says, lifting his chin.

  “You think so little of me?” I ask, knowing damn well that if I thought I could get away with it just as he’s laid it out that I would, in a fucking heartbeat.

  He laughs as he reaches for his ringing phone. As soon as he says hello, his eyes snap to mine. I watch as he clenches his jaw, a muscle jumping in his cheek before he lets out a smile.

  My men must have figured out I’ve gone missing. A slow smile appears on my own lips before he reaches toward me, and everything goes black.

  “Wake up,” a voice grunts. I feel a hand slap my cheek.

  My eyes slowly open, but the light makes the pounding in my head amplify by a million times. I let out a groan and am surprised to find that when I try to move my arms, I’m free.

  Opening my eyes fully, I move my head to the side and see Yakov sitting next to me. Then I look in front of me, and my eyes widen when I see none other than Patrick O’Neil sitting across a table. He’s looking right into my eyes, nothing but a cold dead stare looking back at me. He looks as ruthless as the rumors claim he is.

  “What the fuck?” I whisper in confusion.

  “He wasn’t supposed to hurt you,” Yakov rumbles.

  “I got him here, safe and sound,” Ewan speaks as he walks up and sits next to O’Neil.

  “As I told Ewan, the hit is off. Obviously, he’s still wanting compensation. We’re here to reach an agreement on that,” O’Neil grumbles.

  “Pasha is no longer a valued member of the Bratva. He no longer has the authority to make decisions for the group as a whole,” Yakov says.

  “Did somebody forget to tell him that?” O’Neil asks suspiciously.

  “Just like you had your issues and we gave you time to handle them, we ask that you award us the same curtesy,” Yakov explains. O’Neil nods his agreement.

  “The marriage?” he asks a few seconds later.

  “Is still on. No contract will be severed, no matter who is in power. Timofei Vetrov is still very willing to fulfill his marriage to your daughter,” Yakov says with a dip of his chin. I watch as O’Neil visibly relaxes. “We’re generously going to offer your man two million dollars and hope that this is enough for the hit to be cancelled?”

  “No fuckin’ way,” Ewan says, slapping his hand on the table.

  “You’ve already received a deposit form Pasha, is that correct?” Yakov asks, his eyes shifting from O’Neil to Ewan, who squirms in his seat.

  “You did?” O’Neil asks. I hide my smile.

  “It was a small sum,” he says. It’s clearly a lie.

  “Two million isn’t small, and the cut your boss gets from that isn’t small either,” Yakov announces.

  “Two mil?” O’Neil asks. Ewan’s face turns red. “I’ll deal with you for keeping my percentage from me later. Mr. Chekov, there’s no need to pay him anything else.”

  “We want to make this right,” Yakov murmurs.

  “We’re good. Let’s call it even. The wedding is still on, and from now on, Pasha ceases to exist to me. I look forward to a prosperous future together,” O’Neil says as he stands up, holding out his hand to shake Yakov’s.

  Yakov stands and shakes his hand, resuming his position until the two Irishmen are out of the door.

  “How in the fuck did I get here?” I ask, looking around, realizing that I’m in Yakov’s office.

  Yakov explains how the hit was supposed to be cancelled once they figured everything out. Ewan was already in Denver, and according to his spending records, he’d already been to The Church a few times and scouted the club, planning his hit, which was coming at any second. They had to get news to him fast. O’Neil was the only way. He had to explain to him exactly what was going on.

  “O’Neil wouldn’t outright cancel anything until a meet was set,” he says. “In order to do that, I wanted proof you were still alive.”

  “I’m bruised, but alive,” I chuckle.

  “Fuck. Now we have to dethrone the American king,” Yakov states. “Not going to be as easy as killing my father.”

  “That’s the fucking truth,” I sigh.

  “The women will be gathering in Denver for a baby shower for your Oksana in a couple weeks. It’s a surprise, so don’t say anything. But that will be a good time for us to devise our plan. Timofei doesn’t want to act until after his nuptials, which are still several months away,” he explains.

  “Think we can hold Pasha back from doing anything else fucking crazy until then?” I ask.

  “No fucking clue, but we still have Konstantin on the inside to be our ears,” he says with a shrug.

  “What happens when I don’t die? He’s expecting my head on his desk,” I mutter.

  “Wow, treating his own son-in-law no better than the head of the Cartel? That’s low,” he laughs.

  I grunt. Because—no fucking shit.

  “Hopefully, Ewan’s head, which will be delivered anonymously to Pasha’s office sometime within the next hour, will teach the old man not to fuck around behind other member’s backs?”

  “Yakov,” I say in a low rumble.

  “Just a thought,” he shrugs.

  I should feel badly that Ewan’s head is about to roll; but sometimes, this kind of shit happens. Ewan was going to kill me for money, something he was willing to continue with even though his boss had cancelled the order.

  “I need to go home. I bet Oksana is worried,” I mutter, changing the subject.

  “She is, but Ustin and Ony have been with her, along with her girls. The plane is waiting for you, though,” he says with a wink.

  He stands and walks over to his desk, picking up his phone. He murmurs something before he hangs it up, and then he lifts his chin toward me.

  “There should be a change of clothes on the plane. Clean yourself up a bit so you don’t worry her even more, yeah? A car is waiting for you downstairs.”

  “Thanks, Yakov,” I murmur.

  “Pasha is out of control, and he should have already been stopped. This is the nail in the coffin, so I’m sorry it all came down to this,” he says. I lift my chin in understanding.

  I forego using the elevator and hurry down the stairs to the waiting car in front of the building, sliding into the backseat and finally—fucking finally—breathing easy.

  Closing my eyes, I let the fact that it’s over, at least the threat on my life, is finally fucking over, and I finally let out a relieved sigh. I don’t doubt that soon, whatever this is—what we’re going to have to do—getting Pasha out of control, will be fucking bloody.

  “Here you go,” the driver says and he turns around with a grin.

  “Konstantin,” I chuckle.

  “Everything good?” he asks, concern tugging his eyebrows together.

  “So far,” I shrug. “You ready for all this shit to be done?” I ask.

  “Fuck, yeah. Being a spy is fucking stressful,” he grins.

  “I bet,” I grunt as I open the door. I can see the plane waiting on the tarmac.

  “Hope this shit is completely put to bed, sooner rather than later,” he calls out as I start to walk toward the plane.

  “It will be,” I say, jutting my chin out and then walking away from him.

  It could be a lie. This shit could take a year or two, but I don’t think that it will. Pasha is too unstable for the Bratva to keep him in any kind of power for much longer.

  It’s too fucking detrimental to the organization to have someone like him in power for any length of time, especially after all the shit we went through getting the girls and the sexual slavery and selling under control after years and years.

  Right now, t
hough, all I can think about is Oksana and getting home to my woman.

  I FEEL LIKE IT’S been a week since Mika went missing. Well, to me, he’s missing. I don’t think that he really is, because Ony and Ustin are acting completely normal, and they have been. Aside from watching me and not allowing any of us to leave the building, they’re being completely normal.

  Timofei even came by to have dinner with me, and he acted as if nothing was wrong at all. He avoided every single question I threw at him about Mika, to the point where I was so irritated I just gave up asking.

  I shower and change into something comfortable, knowing damn well that I won’t be able to go anywhere. I laid in bed all night and tossed and turned, wondering exactly where Mika was, and when he’d be back home to me.

  Spending a couple nights apart shouldn’t feel as agonizing as it does. If everything wasn’t so up in the air, if I knew what was going on, maybe I wouldn’t be so worried all of the time.

  Walking into the kitchen, I sit down on a barstool at the counter, reaching for a muffin Quinn made yesterday, and my ring catches the light.

  My eyes travel to it and I stare. It’s big and beautiful, but all I can do is remember the fight Mika and I had. How he thought I only wanted material things, and how he threw my other wedding ring out a window of a moving car in anger. It makes me sad. I hate that he thought badly of me for even a second.

  It’s now that I realize I’m completely lost without him. I’ve been so wrapped up in him, in us, for so long that I don’t even know what to do with myself when he’s not around.

  In Russia, I went to the orphanage, and I had plans to go to the Bratva daycare center after we were pretty much denied being able to help other children at the homes here. But I haven’t done that.

  I’ve been focused on Mika, on our baby, and on whatever drama is thrust our way each and every day. Now that he’s not here, I’m lost.

  Completely and totally lost.

  I’m just finishing my muffin when the door bursts open. I slowly turn, expecting to see Ony standing there. Instead, I’m awarded with the sight of my beautiful husband. He looks worse for wear; he’s got a bruise on his head, and his face is dirty, but he’s breathing.