Pakhan's Rose

by V. F. Mason

  I raised my eyes to them, which instantly made them shut up, then kicked the man at my feet aside, as a result giving him one more wound on his forehead. The son of a bitch groaned in pain and grabbed his nose as blood slowly dripped through his fingers onto the floor.

  I didn't need to give my cleaner more work than necessary, so it was time to end all this shit.

  “Всего один раз, Пакхан. Больше это не повториться. Никогда.” (Vsego odin raz, Pakhan. Bolshe eto ne povtoritsya. Nikogda.) All the while, he pleaded and promised it was only once, and he’d never do it again. I took out my gun then put it at his forehead and prepared to shoot him. Finally, he shut up, while I lowered it to his heart, and the man froze in fear with one last look pleading for mercy.

  “There are no second chances with the Bratva.” And without waiting, I fired the gun as the man’s lifeless body slumped, his eyes open.

  Before I could even call him, Misha made his way through the other members and took out his black case as he studied the body with interest. He passed me a white handkerchief to clean my gun, and I gave it back. Then he kneeled on the floor and started doing his job.

  “Easy job, Pakhan.” He shooed us out with his white gloves, and I started on my way to the exit of the warehouse as my people followed me.

  “How the fuck did it happen, Yuri?” I barked, while his lips thinned. “How could he sell drugs to kids near the school under your fucking nose for so long?”

  “This was not my responsibility,” he replied coldly, and I barely restrained myself from choking him. “Nikolai is your brigadier. He is supposed to look into all the areas and make a report on them.” Then he pointed at Vitya. “And he has to be here to kick their asses. Don’t blame me for your mistakes.”

  My jaw ticked, not liking his tone. “Watch who you talk to, Yuri.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You know what, Dom? You are forgetting we all grew up together in this brotherhood. Don’t act all high and mighty when you need people like us running your business while you chase some сучка(suchka) in New York.” Calling my woman a bitch was the last straw.

  Quickly, I snapped my arm back, then, with all my might, punched him in the face, his head jerking back. He snarled but didn’t retaliate, because we had people watching. Had we been alone, he’d react differently. “Don’t talk about her ever again,” I warned, and he chuckled, although it lacked humor.

  “So that’s how it is?”

  Frowning, I folded my arms. “She’s the future wife of the pakhan. Show disrespect again, and I’ll end your life.” Yuri and I joined the Bratva at the same time. The only difference was he was found half beaten to death on the streets of Moscow, and Radmir helped him out. We trained together, fought together, killed together.

  Inseparable best friends until Savannah happened and ruined him, to the point of me not being able to stand him. Had it not been for his exceptional mathematical skills along with a finance degree, he wouldn't have been a kaznachei.

  “Clear, Pakhan.” He turned to Vitya. “Some guys in the Bratva are planning to ambush Michael for his ‘likes.’ You know, like preferring men?” Vitya showed no reaction to that statement, so he continued, “I thought you’d want to know Ivan and Kuzya had baseball bats ready to attack on Tuesday night. You know, since you are the Bratva’s enforcer and all.” The message between the lines was clear for everyone involved, so he dusted his knees and addressed me. “I’ll talk to the others who might be involved. I will keep you posted.” He slapped Vitya on the back. “Пака братуха.”(Poka, Bratuha) Telling us goodbye, he sat in the driver’s seat of his Mercedes and drove away, leaving us standing in the dust.

  “I’m going to kill them,” Vitya stated matter-of-factly, still with a completely blank expression.

  “You cannot.”

  His hands clenched into fists. “So you are telling me they can hurt Michael, and you won’t care?”

  Holding his stare, I said coldly, “As the pakhan of the Bratva, you do not have my permission to end their life based on their beliefs. They are faithful to the brotherhood.” Pausing, I clicked my fingers for the car to start as Vlad waited by the door for me. “That being said… if they turn up dead and I have no evidence or trace of the killer, I’ll have no choice but to accept it.”

  His deadly smile would probably scare some people. “Headquarters.” Somehow, the idea of my Rosa alone in that fucked-up place with only Michael to supervise her didn't sit well with me. My phone rang, as the display showed Damian, and I quickly picked it up. “Hey.”

  He cleared his throat. “Hey, brother of mine.” We got silent for a second, because whenever he said brother, all the memories of the cell flashed through our minds, and we didn't know how to deal with the new relationship we had, despite our semi-warm reunion at our parents’ graves. “Any news on Don?”

  “Yes, that’s why I’m calling, actually. He is stable now, although those burns and scars will be a bitch. The younger one wasn't as lucky,” he said grimly.

  “Just how unlucky?” Despite all this stupid shit with the engagement, I had nothing against Lorenzo. He was professional to a T.

  “Last time they checked his eyes, he couldn't see. They explained it was some shit with internal bleeding. Add it to everything else, and I’m seriously not sure about his psychological state.” Fuck, poor guy.

  “Any idea on who it might be?”

  His tone clipped, he replied, “None, but I’m working on it. All this requires a plan, so it has to be a person from within. Don’t worry, Dom. If anyone can find one fucked up person, it would be me.”

  Yeah, no one would fuck with Sociopath. “I never had this desire,” I suddenly said.

  He paused on the other end of the line, and asked, “What do you mean?”

  Clearing my throat, I tried my best to explain my point. “Those sadistic tendencies to inflict pain on people. Enjoying torture. I kill when it needs to be done for the brotherhood, but… actually getting a thrill out of it? No. That’s not me.” And that was part of the reason I couldn't form a normal relationship with him now. The all-consuming guilt ate me from inside, because had we traded places all those years ago? I wouldn't have gone on the path of revenge. I’d have wanted to live peacefully, never being part of this grim world again. But my brother, to avenge me, became a sociopath, and it killed me to know and admit I wouldn't have done the same for him.

  Damian grew silent for several beats and then sighed heavily. “Dominic, even back at the cell, I wanted to hurt them. Yes, the path I’d chosen had everything to do with you, but ultimately… had I been alone in the cell and got out? The outcome would have been the same. I needed their blood, suffering, cries of pain. I wouldn't have found peace otherwise.”

  “You did with Sapphire.”

  He chuckled, but then added seriously and sadly at the same time, “Some memories and nightmares you just can’t outrun, brother.”

  Wasn't that the truth?

  Man with the dragon tattoo

  “This was an attack on the familia. Serious measures were needed.” Dad gulped his whiskey and wiped his mouth, wincing from the bitter taste.

  “The pakhan left for Russia. Scheduling an assassination on his own territory is reckless and stupid,” I protested, and almost patted myself on the back for my great acting skills.

  Dad waved his hand dismissively. “What do you know? You’re too young.” His voice, as usual, was colored with distain and disgust, as he repeatedly told me not to join Cosa Nostra and give my talent better use. Father worshiped our mother and his boys, and in his eyes, we could do no wrong. Family picnics, fishing trips, lots of love. I had it all, but something was always missing, and it was difficult to control my raging temper when nothing went according to plan.

  So all the building rage boiling in my blood, I transferred first to animals and then women, getting off on all the pain in its most sadistic forms. Had anyone heard my story, they would try to search f
or the psychological triggers or bad treatment or abuse, so they could justify all the evil. But sometimes a person didn't need a reason to be bad, he was just born with certain desires that he or she couldn’t help. Or so I thought.

  Who came up with right and wrong anyway?

  “Don is our priority now. Let’s focus on getting him back in the saddle, before making decisions without consulting him first.”

  Dad nodded, pouring himself more whiskey as his eyes gentled when they settled on me. “When is the wedding?”

  Shit, Bianca. Dad just dreamed about grandkids and a happily ever after, and I fed his hopes with that little tidbit, which would never come true. “In six months.”

  He frowned. “Why wait so long? I’m not getting any younger.” The silver knife itched my knee, and my hands twitched to throw it at his neck so he’d shut up, but the fake smile stayed plastered on my face. “In time.”

  He shrugged, and said, “I like her. Bianca is a good girl.”

  Yes, indeed she was. My life was blessed when she entered my world. No one cried in desperation so truthfully or tasted so delicious. She still managed to hold that aura of innocence around her, although there wasn't a place I hadn't fucked.

  Bianca. Bianca.

  Adding Rosa to our mix would bring impossible-to-stand pleasure, so I couldn't wait.

  A month and a half.

  Just a month and a half until my knife would sink into her heart as my cock fucked her raw, dry pussy.

  A fist connected with my cheek and my head swung to the side to the loud cheering of the crowd. “Yes, Radmir! Give it to him!” Misha shouted, but at the same time, added, “Come on, Dom! Hit the guy.” Shaking my head to get all my addled senses straight, I went for the kill when I threw my arm back and hit him right in the nose, and at the same time, my other fist punched him in the gut so he had bent in two.

  Both of us stood in the middle of the fighting ring, our boxing shorts wet as sweat slowly dripped from our chests and foreheads. We breathed heavily, each one of us measuring the opponent, looking for a weak spot to hit harder, and in the end, to win the fight.

  One of the first things the Bratva did was teach their newbies how to fight.

  As it turned out, Vasya Konstantinov was the pakhan of the Bratva, who didn't take kindly to me trying to rob him, but he was impressed with my stealthy approach. He saw talent in it, so he offered for me to go back to Russia with him and learn to become a full-patch member, or die on the streets.

  Needless to say, I chose the former, but I couldn't leave Marty and Duncan behind, so I begged for their lives.

  Surprisingly, he agreed, placing them in an elderly home and warning me that he would take all the cost from my cut, whatever the hell that meant.

  Living in the Bratva was no hearts and flowers. As a newbie, I did all the errand work, studied Russian, which was fucking hard, built muscles and stamina in the gym or running around in the mornings, learned to drive all sorts of vehicles, got interested in guns, as they really caught my attention, and finally fighting.

  You couldn't be a member if you knew shit about protecting those involved in the family. Which brought us back to here, where Radmir, Vasya’s sovietnik, decided to fight with me to see how much I’d grown in the last year and a half in the house.

  He swung one more time, but he made the mistake of taking a step too quickly, so I darted after him and delivered the final blow that sent him to the floor. Everyone whistled, and my eyes made contact with Vasya’s. He raised his vodka shot and winked, clearly liking my progress.

  Holding my hand out to help Radmir get up, he surprised me with his smile, as he commended, “Good job, Dom. I’m proud of you.” He one-arm hugged me, and murmured, “Forward. Never back.”

  Nodding, I let go, and to the continuous cheer of the crowd, I went to have a hot shower—turned out it still existed—to remove the grime of the evening.

  Forward. Never back.

  He said the same words to me after I had my first vodka shots and spilled my secrets to him with Vasya in the room. Their faces darkened, but they only kept on saying the same thing.

  Forward. Never back.

  And today, I finally understood their meaning.

  Rosa

  “Sex on the beach, please.”

  Kostya’s brows rose in surprise as he noticed my presence back in the room, and then he frowned. “What are you doing here?” Seriously, could he be any friendlier?

  “Got bored of waiting.” By his displeasure, I got the feeling it wasn't the usual occurrence with Dominic’s women. Maybe he just fucked them immediately once they had arrived, and little old me was an exception in this scenario.

  Kostya reluctantly picked up the shaker when I didn’t budge or shy away from his stare. He mixed all the ingredients, adding vodka to it, and even placing an umbrella along with a pineapple chunk on the edge of the cup. “I didn't think it had fruit.” But some refresher would be nice for my dry mouth.

  “Consider it on the house,” he said with a straight face; otherwise, I’d think he was joking.

  The orange liquid smelled and looked delicious, and my lips wrapped around the straw. Just as I was about to take a sip, a woman plopped on the high bar seat next to me. She leaned over the counter, grabbed a Bacardi bottle along with a glass, poured herself a drink, and added Coke from the can. Raising it high, she addressed me, “Cheers, girl,” and gulped the whole thing in one swig.

  Blinking a few times, I studied her as she swung her chest to the beat of the music, which reminded me of the David Guetta song “Sexy Bitch.” She wore a khaki top, pants, and black army boots laced up the front. Her hair in a bun on the top of her head was blue, which along with her brown eyes gave a rather creepy look. As if she could know all your dark secrets.

  Her porcelain skin highlighted her bruises, while her fit, muscled body oozed confidence and the whole ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude. “Как тебя зовут?”(Kak tebya zavut?) Her voice was husky, as if she had a sore throat. I heard somewhere guys fucking loved it, because it reminded them of sex. Would my voice change during the act?

  But hey, on the bright side, I understood her asking for my name! “Меня зовут Роза.”(Menya zavut Rosa.) God, one could break their tongue speaking in their language. The next glass she was about to gulp halted near her mouth as Kostya cursed, and the shaker dropped to the floor. Both of them looked at me with their eyes wide and mouths hanging open.

  Um… was my name so unusual in Russia, or ugly? Sipping my drink, I decided I’d raise my middle finger to everyone who commented on it.

  “You brought her here, you idiot?” she shouted at Kostya in English, as my head moved from side to side, listening to their conversation.

  “How was I supposed to know? Michael told me she was the pakhan’s woman. So I took her to his hotel room.”

  Huh? Hotel room? They had a rather strange nickname for his fuck pad. The thought of the bed where he screwed many women instantly made me angry, so I sipped more of my drink and winced at how strong it actually was. Kostya sure didn’t hold back on the vodka. However, burning sensations heated up my skin and my mood shifted to happier.

  “You are an idiot,” she repeated, and the more the woman spoke, the more I considered her a friend.

  “She’s right. You are an idiot.” They both snapped their attention to me, and I laughed hard. Somehow, euphoria was washing over me and a hiccup escaped my lips.

  “What the hell did you give her?” the blue-haired woman asked him, and then sniffed my drink. “Kostya, he is going to kill you. Almost no juice.”

  The man raised his hands in defeat. “What? I thought she needed liquid courage.”

  “Blyat…” Their voices faded as Kid Cudi’s “Memories” started to play, and suddenly my muscles ached to dance and forget about all my problems with the music. With all the studying and dating, I forgot about my hobby. What good did it do me, really?

  Placing the glass on the bar top, I dart
ed to the middle of the dance floor and swayed my hips to the music, bending my elbows, spinning, and lip-synching to the song. My eyes closed as the beat took me prisoner, while nothing existed but this moment where I was incredibly happy.

  Dominic who?

  Yeah, exactly. Arms circled around me, pulling me back on someone’s hard-on, and I froze. Spinning quickly, a muscled man with his hair cut in a Mohawk grinned widely at me. “Какая красивая.”(Kakaya krasivaya.) His breath smelled of the alcohol and cigarettes he’d probably consumed greedily at this party.

  Pushing at his chest, I said, “Let go of me.”

  “American?” he asked, surprised, and what the ever-loving fuck? Did all these Russian guys speak English? Was it some kind of requirement to enter the organization? Had a good grade in English? Come on in, and if not, get the hell out.

  “In that case, you’re one hot babe.” He tried to push his knee between my legs, but I kept them closed and pushed again. I might have been drunk, but not so much I was already looking for a rebound.

  A loud roar from the doorway interrupted our argument. “Убери от неё свои руки!” (Uberi ot nee svoie ruki!) Dominic’s enraged command electrified the air as he strode toward us, menace shining from his eyes. In a second, he squeezed the Mohawk guy’s neck and threw him into the pool table as the guy crumpled painfully to the floor. The music cut off, people watching us with fear and curiosity at the same time, while no one spoke a word. “Kostya,” he barked, and the guy came immediately with the blue-haired warrior. “Why is my woman in the middle of this party with Gleb touching her?” The Mohawk guy chose this moment to moan, getting up wobbily, as blood slipped through his fingers on the floor. Dom must have broken his nose.

  “Pakhan, I meant no disrespect. No one told me she was yours.”

  Dominic glanced at me and then took out the cross on my neck for everyone to see. “This wasn't indication enough?” Then he frowned, creating a deep line between his brows. “How could you not know? Michael had specific instructions to introduce her. Where the fuck is he?”