The Cleaner (Born Bratva Book 4)

by Suzanne Steele

  “No, Nikita,” he warns, his tone curt. “You and Natasha stay, I want you to hear this too.” The silence drags on until Roksana raises her head and looks at our father. “Your days of toying with Oleg are over, young lady. You’ve spent your life in the lap of luxury, you have wanted for nothing. Have you ever had cause to resent your position as my daughter? Have I not given you the same opportunities as my sons? You, of all people, know the ramifications of the undisciplined behavior you displayed tonight.”

  He doesn’t wait for her to respond and instead gets right to the point. “This is the last time you will drag this family into your childish games. Do you have any fucking idea the favors I have had to call in to straighten this shit out? That boy you were flirting with is a star fucking basketball player. I had to call in my fucking plastic surgeon to piece that boy’s face back together. There will be hospital bills to pay and, most assuredly, a payoff to the family. I doubt they would ever think to take a stand against us, but I am offering them a generous sum for their trouble and for his pain. He may very well look back on this episode as the best thing that ever happened to him. But you won’t.

  “You enjoy toying with Oleg so much?” he snarls. “Then you will marry him. You’ll have the rest of your life to play with him, and he with you. I think you will find that there are no fun and games with Oleg. He is one of the most lethal and sadistic men I employ. I have it on good authority that his penchant for inflicting pain is something he enjoys indulging in his private life as well.”

  Roksana’s eyes widen in shock and her mouth opens and closes like a fish, but no sound comes out. What is there to say, really? The die has been cast, the Pakhan has spoken. The only person who seems happy is Oleg, who turns to Roksana with a proprietary, carnal gleam in his eyes. He’s gotten what he wanted.

  “Oleg, you will care for my daughter. You will protect her, and you will die if you’re ever unfaithful to her. The men in this family aren’t whoremongers. As for your private life together, you are a man after my own heart. I trust that you will invest your time and attention to learn your wife’s limits even as you push them. She will no doubt benefit from a strong hand.”

  “Yes, sir. I will never touch another woman and I’ll protect her to my death.”

  My father directs his attention back to my sister, exhaling harshly. His disappointment in her lack of discipline is palpable.

  “This foolishness ends now. You will marry him. You will bear his children. You will see to his most private needs and be a faithful wife to him all the days of your life. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  When she doesn’t argue with my father, it becomes obvious that it isn’t just Oleg who’s in love here. Despite her efforts to portray her feelings for him as purely physical, her acquiescence reveals feelings that go much deeper. She loves him too.

  “Get the fuck out of here.” My father waves his hand dismissively and turns toward the stairs to return to his wife. No doubt he didn’t appreciate the interruption and will probably take out his frustration on my mother in ways that I prefer not to think about. We all scurry from the room like rats from a sinking ship.

  “Nikita.”

  “Yes, sir,” I stop and turn in his direction.

  “I’ll get with you on the details about this mess your sister has caused.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  As I turn the corner I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of Oleg as he pins Roksana against the wall and restrains her wrists above her head with ease.

  “You little cock tease,” he hisses.

  I back up around the corner where I can’t be seen. This is too good, Roksana’s about to get a taste of her own medicine. I sure as hell don’t need to see it, but no way am I not listening in on this shit.

  Her voice is raspy as she struggles, “You got what you wanted, now let me go!”

  “No, kotik. You know, your claws and your hissing only make my cock harder. I’ll take what I want with your father’s blessing, and when I do you will be tied down beneath me as I fuck your little instigating ass into submission.”

  “I will never submit to you!”

  Oleg groans in pleasure. “Keep talking like that and I’m going to come right here and now. Fight me, little kotik, that’s right,” he says, laughing as she struggles. “You can scratch and claw my back as much as you want when you’re my wife.”

  His words drip with lust and more than a little sarcasm. We all know she’s an instigator when it comes to Oleg. I also know that even though Roksana is acting like she’s pissed about having to marry Oleg, she wants the marriage every bit as much as he does. But she isn’t going to make it easy for him, that’s not her style. His laugh is one of the coldest, menacing sounds I’ve ever heard.

  “You’re mine now. You know your father as well as I do, he will not change his mind. And don’t pretend you aren’t looking forward to me branding you,” he jeers, a guttural hum escaping his lips, accompanied by the rustle of fabric. “Yes, ‘Property of Oleg’, in Russian, of course. Perhaps I’ll have my name tattooed on this luscious breast, or between the dimples above your hips, or the nape of your neck.”

  There is silence for a few seconds, followed by a breathy, feminine gasp. Oleg’s voice is hoarse as he continues to taunt her, “…or maybe right here, eh? Maybe I’ll brand you on this silky, bare skin just above your cunt. It’s mine now, so why not? But I want the world to see that you are mine, so, perhaps the nape of your neck instead. Don’t worry, love, it won’t show beneath that flaming red mane of yours, unless I instruct you to wear it up.” There’s that cold laugh again.

  “You can’t make me do anything.”

  “By the time I’m finished training you in my brand of pleasure and pain, you’ll be begging me to tell you what to do. You’ll crave the sting of my hand on your ass, the feel of our bodies sliding against each other, skin on skin. We both know the way you want to be taken, now you finally have a man who knows how to fucking do it.”

  “Fuck. You.” Her voice is hoarse, her breathing labored.

  “I’m going to do so much more than fuck you, Roksana. For the rest of your God-given days I’m going to make every inch of you mine. I won’t rest until I’ve claimed you in every way a man can claim his woman,” he seethes.

  Man, if I thought Natasha and I were hot, these two are explosives ready to detonate. I shake my head to clear it. I think Oleg’s got the right idea. I need to get the hell out of here and slam Natasha up against a wall.

  The Pakhan’s decree has set in motion a shift in the balance of power between Oleg and Roksana. Because of her status as Glazov’s daughter, she has had the upper hand with Oleg and she has not hesitated to remind him of it. But no more.

  Oleg will no longer see her as merely the Pakhan’s daughter. He will view her as his property and treat her as such. It will be good for both of them. Oleg needs a woman who can withstand his brand of intensity and I have no doubt Roksana will feed off of it like a damned junkie. Although a casual onlooker might disagree, the truth is they were made for each other.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Cop Killer

  I know every nook and cranny of this house. I know which floorboards squeak, I know which windows are left locked and which are not. I know the twelve wooded acres it sits on. I even know why he insists on living out here in the boondocks. People who have something to hide arrange their lives accordingly. Slaps and screams can’t be heard when the nearest neighbor is two miles away. And it’s a good thing, too, for once. Because I intend to make him scream tonight.

  These woods hold secrets—his secrets. It wouldn’t shock me if there are bodies buried beneath the soil of his land. Like so many in positions of authority, he thinks he’s untouchable, thinks he’ll never be held accountable for his cruelty. And he probably would have been right if I hadn’t chosen this new, righteous path in life.

  I’m the last person he’d ever expect to make him pay. I’ve been surrounded b
y cowards who turned a blind eye in order to protect their precious jobs or stay on his good side. They had their chance to do the right thing. No one would listen, no one would help. That’s all in the past now. I’m here tonight to forge my future.

  I wait in the shadows, behind the louvre door of the coat closet in the foyer, my back pressed against the wall. Headlights pierce the darkness, casting sinuous waves of light along the wall as he pulls in. He strolls into the foyer and tosses his keys into the ceramic bowl I bought for the console table in the entryway. So predictable. He leaves the room, muttering to himself about taking off his fucking uniform. He never did take any pride in wearing it, it was just a means to an end, a way to demand respect without having ever earned it.

  My husband is a dirty cop, a disgrace, not worthy of the badge. The son of a bitch takes blowjobs from street whores in exchange for not locking them up. He and his buddies are in deep, funding their retirements with payoffs and proceeds from the sale of illegal drugs that mysteriously never make it to the evidence room.

  He lumbers back into the living room and pours his usual bourbon. As he slings the alcohol back, he makes a call. Some people order pizza on Saturday night, but not Bob. He orders a hooker. They’re easy targets who are paid to put up with his shit. They allow him to demean them, humiliate them. I assume they’re well aware of what they’re getting into. I guess they have their reasons for doing what they do. I refuse to ever be on the receiving end of his bullshit again.

  He places a second call and immediately begins mouthing off to whoever’s on the phone.

  “I got no idea who’s killing off cops like flies but if the bastard comes after me, I’m telling you right now, I’m gonna take him out…You can be afraid if you want to, I got nothing to be scared of. I’ve already looked the grim reaper in the eye more than once...Yeah, I’m like a cat; nine lives, baby.”

  I recognize the fear in his voice that he tries to cover with a lot of bluster and big talk. He disgusts me. I’ll enjoy killing him.

  “Yeah, right. You big pussy, I may need to rethink keeping you as my partner… Hey, man, gotta go, my whore just showed up….Ha, yeah, you’ve never minded my sloppy seconds before. I’ll be sure to send her your way, if she can walk after I’m done with her.”

  There’s a knock on the door as he ends the call. His heavy footsteps sound hollow on the parquet floor. He wastes no time, yanking her inside and slamming the door before launching into a tirade.

  “You fucking cunt, I told them to send me a blonde, not a fuckin’ brunette.” He grabs a handful of her hair and shakes her head back and forth as he gets in her face. “Is this a fuckin’ wig, bitch? Did you come to my house in a fucking wig?!”

  “No--” is all she gets out before I hear the crack of a backhand to her face. She screams, “I want to get out of here! They said you were rough but I can’t take this!”

  “Yeah, I like it real fuckin’ rough, bitch. I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you bleed, just the way you whores like it.”

  I hear fabric tearing and then another backhand reverberates through the room. I peek around the corner in time to see her hit the ground with a dull thud. I’ve seen and heard enough. His bullshit ends tonight. The misogynistic son of a bitch is going to do more than look the grim reaper in the eye tonight -- he’s going to be escorted straight to the gates of hell.

  I pull the balaclava down over my face and make my move, launching myself across the room before either of them registers my presence. The woman is still screaming, her limbs flailing wildly on the floor as she crabwalks frantically, scrambling to get away from him.

  I do the best I can to disguise my voice. “Let her go, Bob!”

  “What the—Are you shitting me? What the fuck are you doing here? What, are you going to be her hero?”

  The first shot hits his shoulder and spins him around—that leaves five more in my nine-millimeter Glock.

  “Son of bitch, you shot me!”

  “Get out of here, lady,” I shout as I wave the gun toward the door, being careful to keep it pointed away from her as she scrambles to her feet. She’s got just one chance to run and save herself from the mayhem that’s about to go down.

  “She ain’t no fuckin’ lady. She’s a whore, preying on men like me. Flat-backing her way to get their money.” This stupid son of a bitch simply refuses to shut his mouth. I close my eyes and pray for patience. I don’t want to rush this.

  The woman’s hair is now matted in knots from being pulled so hard, her tears running in black streaks down her face. She’s kicked her foot out of one shoe and struggles to keep her balance. I find myself hoping that tonight’s violence will convince her to explore other career options. I decide to let her go, but only after a stern warning.

  “Don’t breathe a word about what happened here tonight or I’ll find you and I won’t let you go when I do.”

  She wastes no time grabbing her stray shoe and hightailing it out the door. Seconds later, I hear her car engine revving and then the sound of gravel peppering the undercarriage of her car as it careens down the driveway.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me, Bob. How’s this for ‘quality time’?”

  I pop a cap in his knee and his scream doesn’t even sound human. Now we’re getting somewhere.

  “Might as well take advantage of all this privacy out here in the woods, am I right?” I say as I take a step toward him. One knee down, one to go. I continue shooting until the gun’s empty and he’s dead. I close my eyes, savoring the first few moments of life in a world where he doesn’t exist. I could get used to this.

  I pull a knife from my pocket and begin digging bullets out of him. I can hear gristle ripping and tearing as I dig down into his flesh. I slide the bullets out with the tip of my knife, counting them to confirm that I have all six. I deliberately cut each entrance wound, slicing it to obscure any signs of the murder weapon. Might as well make the medical examiner earn his keep.

  I’m glad I can do something to make a difference in this world. Let’s face it, the world’s a better place already without Bob in it. I wonder how many women he raped before I saved this one. Of all the crimes a man can commit, rape is the most heinous. But no one will know about any of that. He’ll probably get a hero’s funeral, the bastard. A smile curves my mouth as I ponder my next move.

  I pull his flaccid penis from his pants and resist the urge to cut it off. Instead, I wrap his fingers around it and pose him like he was jacking off when he met his fate. It will take some time for them to find his dead, decaying carcass so he’ll go into rigor mortis in that position. He deserves to be disgraced in death. I know how cops view these things and he’ll be remembered for that. A fitting legacy for the bastard.

  I take one last look around. I have to say, I’ve enjoyed this kill more than any of them so far. I dip my gloved finger in his blood and write my signature on the wall above his bloodied corpse.

  Cop Killer

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Nikita

  As much as I hate to admit it, seeing and hearing the salacious power struggle between Oleg and Roks has me wanting to do the same thing to my woman. I head upstairs to my bedroom and cross the floor to the bathroom. And there she is, looking hot as fuck, brushing her teeth and wearing a silk robe that barely covers her ass.

  I walk up behind her, glaring at her reflection in the mirror as she finishes up. Her eyes meet mine as she places her toothbrush in the stand. She smiles smugly—she knows. I don’t know how, but she knows. I jerk the lower half of her body back toward me.

  “You think something’s funny? Does it amuse you that I got turned on by seeing a man exert such harsh control over his woman?”

  “Well…” she chuckled, waggling her damn eyebrows at me.

  “Interesting. Let’s just see about that, shall we? Spread. Your. Fucking. Legs.”

  Her eyes widen but she does what I say without hesitation, much to my cock’s considerable delight. I drop to my knees and knead the globes of
her gorgeous ass, enjoying how the supple flesh feels beneath my fingers. I bite down on one round cheek, hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough to make her cry out. I press the flesh apart with my thumbs and reveal her tiny, pink rosette. I stroke a finger around it and smile when the muscles clench in response. When she tries to move away from me, I bring my hand down on her ass, savoring the sharp sound that reverberates against the Travertine tile walls.

  “Shhh…Don’t move.”

  I want to keep her guessing, so I coax her to relax by stroking the red handprint that now stands out starkly against her porcelain skin, mixing a little pleasure with the pain. As soon as she softens, I spread her ass cheeks again and lean in, pressing my open mouth to her skin. She jerks in surprise, squirming against my mouth. I yank her back to me roughly and flick my tongue along the puckered rim. Her breathing becomes labored as the tight ring of muscle contracts and releases under my tongue, as if she’s trying to pull it inside. So I oblige, opening her up a little more with my thumbs and dipping my tongue inside. I’m rewarded with torrent of her incoherent, almost panicked sounds of pleasure. Knowing her as I do, she’s struggling to maintain control while facing the fact that she’s enjoying this particular brand of pleasure – a taboo that she has, up to this point, refused to explore.

  “Oh, God…” she gasps, bending over to rest her head on the vanity, her surrender complete. I hum my approval as I slide my tongue down the length of her pussy, slipping inside her creamy slit for a taste. She tosses her head back and moans, her hips jerking in response to the overwhelming sensations. I grab her hips and hold her still, forcing her to take my lips and tongue.