Chosen by the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 9)

by Hayley Faiman

  “Where do you think you’re going?” my father asks, stopping me at the entryway.

  Stiffening my spine, I turn around to face him. “I was going to ask whatever Byki is out there to give me a ride to my old company. I figure they’ll allow me to use a room if I pay them.”

  “Why would you do that?” he snorts.

  I let out a sigh and lift my chin. “I need to dance. I’m sitting around waiting for whatever fate you decide to bestow on me, and I’m getting lazy and fat,” I state.

  My father’s eyes narrow at my words. “Do not ever call yourself that, Kiska. Not ever,” he growls. Rolling my eyes, I just wait for him to continue. “Your Konstantin hasn’t contacted me. It’s not me waiting to decide your fate, it’s all on him at this point.”

  “He won’t call you, Papa,” I whisper. “I’ve told you. He doesn’t believe in contracts. He has no desire to be part of one.”

  “Then he doesn’t deserve you,” my father grunts.

  I shake my head and reach for the door handle.

  “Kiska,” he calls. Turning to face him again he sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Be home before midnight, yeah?”

  “Yeah, Papa,” I whisper.

  I walk out to the driveway, and just as I predicted, there is a Byki waiting around. I ask him for a ride as his phone rings. He grunts before he hangs up and lifts his chin toward the car. I know my father gave him instructions on where to take me and for how long. Today, I don’t care. Today, I just want to dance.

  Maybe Konstantin doesn’t deserve me.

  Maybe it’s me who doesn’t deserve him.

  I don’t know. All I know is that I need him, and I need him to fight for us. If he doesn’t, then we’ll lose each other. We’ll lose and then it won’t matter that I choose him and he, me, it won’t matter at all. I’ll belong to another, and he’ll have to watch me marry him. We’ll always wonder, what-if, and that will be the worst of it all. Especially since I already know he’s who I want—forever.

  MY FIST LANDS AGAINST the prick’s face. I hear, and feel, bones crunching with each blow I deliver. “I swear, I didn’t know,” he cries.

  Releasing the hold I had on his shirt I let him fall to the floor. “You didn’t know?” I laugh.

  He shakes his head. “I didn’t know. They just direct deposited the money in one lump sum a couple years ago and told me what to do and how to do it. I’m just doing what I was paid to do,” he cries. I watch as snot and blood stream down his face along with his tears.

  I take another look at him. He’s a nerd, a complete fucking nerd, he’s probably never been hit in his life. How he was contacted, how he got involved with the Bratva and fucking with them, I have no idea. I plan on finding out though.

  “Who paid you?” I ask.

  Tipping my chin down, I stare at the pile of useless flesh on the ground, the whimpering useless piece of shit. “I don’t know who he was involved with. I only knew him as Callum,” he cries.

  My eyes widen. Holy shit. Callum O’Neil. Taking my cell phone out of my pocket I call Timofei. I think he should know that his now, deceased, brother-in-law was the one who started all of this shit with his shipments. If I didn’t already think that Callum was a piece of shit from what he attempted to do years ago, I definitely believe it to be true now.

  “Vetrov,” he grunts.

  I tell him what warehouse I’m at and to get here as soon as possible. I don’t say another word to the man at my feet. I watch him curl up into the fetal position and cry as I wait for Timofei to arrive. What a fucking waste of flesh and organs.

  It doesn’t take long for Timofei to walk into the warehouse. He grunts as he reaches me. “Callum, that fuck. He did all of this before I killed him. He paid this fuck to mess with our shipments, and then what?”

  Shaking my head, I let out a sigh. “He probably wanted to keep you occupied so he could fuck with you and Devyn.”

  Timofei hums at the mention of his wife’s name. When they were first married, Devyn’s brother Callum, and father, tried to kidnap her, and arrange a trade with her and a member of the Italian mob. It didn’t work out too well for them, Timofei took out her brother, and Devyn herself took out the father.

  All this time and nothing else has happened, the Irish are now under Bratva rule, and there was a peace treaty with the Italians. Everything has been running smoothly, everything but these misplaced shipments.

  “What do you want me to do with him, boss?” I ask Timofei.

  He doesn’t speak for a moment, his eyes taking in the blubbering man in front of us. “Only one thing to do, Konny.”

  With a nod, I pull my gun out and point it at his head. The man screams, a blood-curdling scream, as I pull the trigger. Once the blast sounds, there is a deafening silence. “He really was just an innocent bystander,” Timofei says.

  “Yeah boss, he was. He also couldn’t have truly believed what he was doing was right, and for the length of time he was doing it for,” I state.

  “Yeah,” he sighs. “Call a crew, get this shit cleaned up.”

  I do as he requests. Thankful that this shit is over with now. No more tracking down trains and hopefully, this man is the last of all who was involved. “I’m going home.”

  Leaving the scene, it doesn’t take me too long to go back to my apartment, the apartment building that I lived in with Kiska. For some reason, I can’t seem to move back to Brighton Beach, to my place there. It’s as though a part of me is stuck here, waiting for her to return.

  I stumble from my bedroom into the living room and sink into the sofa, unable to go any farther into my small apartment. I’m still fucking drunk from last night, or maybe last week. I can’t remember, the days seem to melt together anymore.

  A loud sound bangs on my door but the room is spinning too fucking much for me to even attempt to answer it. “Come in,” I call out, hopeful that the door is unlocked.

  When it swings open, I slowly turn my head toward it and cringe. Not only is Bronislav standing in my doorway, but so is Timofei, Dominik, and Yakov. Fuck.

  “You smell as bad as you look,” Timofei announces as he walks farther into the room, the other men following behind. I watch them, unable to speak, unsure of what I would even say at this point.

  My only response is a grunt. “Do you even know what day it is? Or maybe the last time you showered?” Yakov asks turning his nose up. My only response is to shrug. I haven’t spoken in so long that my throat would probably ache, my voice would probably be rough and scratchy.

  “You’ve been locked up here for two weeks, Konny,” Timofei announces. I blink, unbelieving that it was two weeks ago that I killed that hacker kid. It feels like it happened only yesterday. “Kirill has already put out feelers for another contract for Kiska. She’s not coming back here unless you bring her back,” he explains breaking me out of my thoughts.

  I lift my shoulder still refusing to say anything. She’ll be married off to someone else soon, and then it won’t matter. She should be with someone who is stronger than me. Someone who would go in and take her, not giving a fuck what her father thinks, wants, or says. Obviously, I’m not that man. I’m nothing but a piz`da who drinks all day and night, feeling sorry for himself.

  “He’s nothing but a worthless pussy. Determined to drown himself in his own self-pity, and sorrow. Leave him here to rot. Oh, and don’t worry about your stable. Bronislav is doing a great job of running them. You aren’t even fucking needed. Brigadier, more like waste of goddamn space,” Timofei chuckles.

  I narrow my eyes at him and stand on Jell-O legs. “You want to repeat that?” I ask, my voice hoarse and growly.

  “I could, but I think you fucking heard me.”

  Reaching behind me I ball my fist and throw a punch. It’s so fucking bad, and I’m so off balance by the vodka that I fall flat on my face onto the floor. Timofei bends down in front of me, his shoes in my view. I let out a moan when his fingers fist into my hair, and he wrenches my head back.<
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  “I will ignore the fact that you attempted to punch your Pakhan. If, and only if, you get your shit together. Why are you sabotaging yourself and hurting your Kiska?” he asks arching a brow, his voice even and calm.

  I make a pained noise in the back of my throat at the thought of hurting her. I would kill myself before I caused her pain, again. Timofei shakes his head. “She’s better off with someone else. I’m nothing. I come from nothing.”

  Timofei laughs in my face. “Look around here, idiot. None of us come from anything good. My father turned out to be fucking crazy. Yakov’s father… shall we fucking go there?” he asks, lifting a brow.

  “Kirill is a good man; her father is good. I’m not worthy,” I whisper.

  I feel sorry for myself. Fucking shit do I feel sorry for myself, and I hate it—which is one reason I’ve been drinking.

  “You want to wallow in shit, that’s up to you, Konstantin,” Dominik states. “You want our help, that’s up to you, too.”

  Clearing my throat, Timofei releases me, and I lift to sit on my ass, resting my back against the couch. “Your help?”

  Timofei shakes his head. “You have done so much for the organization. Put your life on the line, more than once. Yeah, you want our help, you fucking got it. We’re here for you, as Bratva brothers, but also as friends.”

  Swallowing the knot that’s at the base of my throat I nod. “I love her,” I whisper.

  “We fucking know,” Bronislav grunts. “Now, let’s go get her. Zoe has been a fucking mess. Peter is even a mess, and that little prick is annoying when he’s sad.”

  Smiling, I think about Peter annoying Bron, and my smile widens. “She’s going to be so pissed that I’ve been ignoring her,” I breathe as the realization hits me that I’ve abandoned her, yet again. I’ve been acting like a selfish asshole.

  “First things first, shower, then we hop on a plane. I’ve already got a meeting scheduled with Kirill,” Timofei states.

  My breath hitches at his words. “You do?”

  He lifts his chin. “I do. Plane leaves in an hour. You better fucking hurry.”

  “How did you know that I would go?” I ask.

  Yakov is the next to speak. “You love her. You’ve had your head up your ass, but we know what love looks like since we’re all a bunch of lovesick pussy fools. So, hurry the fuck up. I want to be home in a couple days.”

  I do as he says. I get my ass up, and I take a cold shower, washing the stink off of me. I still don’t know how long it’s been, but I miss my Kiska. I’m tired of feeling helpless and worthless. I am going to get my woman back, and then I’m going to fuck her for three days straight. Make her promise to never leave me again.

  I’ve been trying to stay busy, which means I’ve been dancing—nonstop. I leave my house at six in the morning and have stayed at my old studio until midnight every night. It helps ease the pain of being without Konstantin. He doesn’t want me. It’s obvious now. Weeks have gone by, and as far as I know, he’s not even attempted to contact my father or me.

  “Kiska, I need to see you,” my father calls out from his office as soon as I lock the front door.

  Straightening my shoulders, I make my way into his space. I have no clue what he’s going to say to me, it could be anything. I know that he’s made it very clear he’ll be looking for another man to match me with. It’s the exact opposite of what I want. Unfortunately, my father doesn’t really give much of a shit what I want.

  “Yes?” I ask as I stand in his doorway.

  He lifts his face to me and gives me a small smile. “Come. Sit,” he orders.

  I do as he asks, again, something that is the exact opposite of what I would like right now. When I’m seated, he leans back and lets out a sigh. “I’ve given the man time, Kiska,” he explains.

  “I know you have. So, who is going to be my husband now?” I ask abruptly.

  He shakes his head. “You’ve been avoiding your family, spending every waking hour at the dance studio. I’ve allowed you to lick your wounds, but enough is enough, Kiska girl,” he grunts.

  “I’m trying to stay in shape,” I practically growl. “Unless you think it’s completely pointless because you aren’t going to let me dance anymore?” I ask, trying to keep from bursting out into tears.

  I want to cry, just thinking about only being on that stage once. I didn’t even get a real taste of the life I wanted, I was too freaking stressed out about Akim and his threats. I blink back my tears and wait for my father to continue, to tell me exactly why he’s got me in here with him.

  “I think if you want to find a local company, then it’s perfectly feasible,” he shrugs.

  My eyes narrow on him. I know he’s already said I wouldn’t be allowed back in New York, but I don’t want to live here at home, either. I’m eighteen, this is the only time I’ll be able to be on my own. I know that I’m not free, and even the illusion of being free isn’t ever going to happen again, but I want to at least be alone in my own space.

  He clears his throat before he holds out a stack of folders. I take them in my hands but set them in my lap without looking at them. “These are the men who have contacted me since Akim’s untimely death.”

  My brows furrow, and I look from the folders, then back up to him—waiting for him to continue. “I’m allowing you to choose this time,” he says, making it sound like he’s offering me the world.

  “Papa?” I breathe.

  He shakes his head once. “You have to choose one, Kiska. There is no way around it. You are a Pakhan’s daughter. However, I’ll not be forcing another man on you. This time, I’ll let you choose. If you’d like to meet them, I’ll arrange it. If you don’t, that’s fine too. Take their dossiers and study them. Pick one.”

  “Will I get to have fancy parties?” I ask, smirking.

  He narrows his eyes with a grunt. “No parties. I can bring them here to meet you, or we can go to them. It’s up to you. Understand, that I am allowing this concession to give you a choice. It’s something that I don’t have to do, but I feel like you’ve been through quite a bit, so I want you to have a say,” he explains.

  “We want you to have a say,” my mom says.

  I turn around to see her leaning against the doorjamb. It’s then that I know all of this is my mother’s idea. I could kiss her, I don’t. Instead, I stand and wrap her in a hug.

  “Thank you, Mom,” I whisper.

  Her arms encircle my back and she gives me a squeeze. “Don’t thank me quite yet,” she mutters.

  “Yes, don’t get too excited Kiska.” I watch my father stand, and he rounds his desk as he makes his way toward us.

  “Why?” I ask on a whisper.

  “Your engagement will be set for only six months from now,” my father states.

  Spots form in my vision and everything starts to go dark. My mom squeezes me a bit harder and whispers an apology. I take my files and run to my room, not wishing to see them another second longer. Six months. I only have six months before I’m chained to some man, some badman.

  Locking myself in my room, I throw myself down on my bed along with the files and instead of breaking out into a sobbing mess I open the folders. There are six men to choose from. I snort. This is no fucking choice. This is them trying to appease me, to shut me up.

  The first man is twenty-five, he’s a Brigadier in San Diego. He’s handsome, with blond hair and light green eyes. He’s clean shaven, and his jaw looks chiseled and strong. I don’t miss the fact that he lives only a few hours from here.

  The second man lives in Las Vegas. He’s twenty-eight, with black hair and black eyes. His features are similar to Konstantin, but he doesn’t look like my Konny. I shiver as I look at his eyes, they look dark, maybe even slightly evil. I set his file aside, no matter how glittery Vegas is, it seems like he would make it miserable.

  I chance looking at the third man. His file says that he’s only thirty, but he looks like he’s in his fifties. Time has not been good to t
his man at all. I close it and don’t even bother looking at the others. It doesn’t matter—they don’t matter. The only man I want is Konstantin, and I can’t have him.

  I pick up the blond’s file again. He’s close to home, and he’s handsome in a very pretty sort of way. He’s definitely not my type at all, but that’s a plus as well since he looks absolutely nothing like Konstantin. He doesn’t have Konstantin’s crescent-shaped scar, or the ink on his neck. He isn’t rough like my Konny. He’s a Brigadier in charge of thirty men. He’s never been married and has no children. Grabbing my laptop, I pull up my Facebook app and enter his name into the search engine.

  His profile is easy to find, it’s the same picture that’s in his file. It’s not private, and I frown. Usually, these men if they have social media it’s extra private. This is a pretty bold move for him to have a public account. I scroll through it and notice that there are only pictures of him. No friends and no family. It looks suspicious. I don’t know of any men in their twenties that don’t have pictures of them and their friends, or them and women—anywhere.

  Letting out a sigh I fall back on my bed. Placing my computer to the side, I wipe the tear that falls from my eye. I’m so mad at Konstantin. I’m so mad at my parents. I’m just angry. Angry at everything and everyone. Why can’t Konstantin swallow whatever it is that’s keeping him from coming to me? Why can’t he love me enough? Why do I even want him at this point? Dammit. Why do I love him?

  THE MEET IS AT Maxim Laskova’s home. I’m surprised that is where Kirill wanted to have this, though I can’t deny that I’m glad it isn’t at his home where Kiska will surely be. I feel like hell. My hangover from two weeks, yes two weeks, of binge drinking is officially catching up to me. My eyes are bloodshot, rimmed red and puffy. My hair feels like fucking straw and my skin dehydrated. I’m too old to fuck with my body this way, and I’m definitely paying for it all now.