“You’re here just in time.” Novak’s voice sliced through the air, prompting her to meet his unflinching gaze. The prolonged eye contact was oddly soothing, even as his eyes burned with a strange malevolence. It was as if all the rage and violence he had ever encountered had pooled there. Tee frowned, then gasped softly in understanding; she was seeing Novak’s soul in those eyes. When he was sure she’d seen the truth, he schooled his features once more and directed his attention back to Benzo.
Novak circled the battered man, as if admiring his handiwork. He stopped in front of him and held the Russian coin in front of Benzo’s face. “Do you remember this? Do you remember me?”
Benzo could barely see through his puffy eyelids, but in an instant he had seen everything he needed to. “You.” The word sounded garbled and sloppy through his broken teeth and swollen lips.
“You escaped your destiny that night, but no more running for you.” Novak retrieved his switchblade from his pocket and used it to slice through Benzo’s jeans, revealing the star tattoos Tee had mentioned. “What, you been passing yourself off as Bratva to get girls or something? Let me tell you something, fucker. You don’t get to play Born Bratva.” He turned toward Tee. “So now you know.”
Novak tossed the coin in the air and caught it effortlessly, without even looking. It was as if the coin were somehow irresistibly drawn to his hand; as if it knew that was where it belonged. “I killed to get it, and I’ll kill to keep it. It reminds me of what it means to be truly Born Bratva. Something you will never understand.”
He nodded at Sip, who strode over to a workbench in the corner and picked up a blowtorch. He turned to face Novak and began walking toward him, but Novak stopped him and tilted his chin toward Tee. “That’s not for me. Give it to her.”
Tee frowned as Sip approached her, holding out the blowtorch like an offering. She felt lightheaded as the situation and her role in it came into sharp focus. He approached her slowly as one might approach a skittish colt. He used his free hand to gently pry Novak’s gun from her hand, then tucked the weapon in the back of his pants.
“Come with me,” Sip said quietly. “I’ll help you.” He took her arm and led her over to where a semi-conscious Benzo hung limply from the rope.
Novak had taken a few steps back to give her plenty of room for what she was about to do. “Those stars have got to go. They’re an abomination. No way am I gonna leave that ink intact. He and I have unfinished business, which I will be finishing soon enough. But he put you and a lot of other women through hell. You made it out alive. They didn’t. You should do the honors.”
Tee didn’t say a word, only looked up at Sip helplessly. He gave her a slight nod and, seconds later, handed her the torch. But when she tried to hold it in position, her palms were sweaty and her hands trembled. Suddenly, big, warm hands surrounded hers and held the torch steady. Sip was standing behind her and had practically wrapped his body around her to keep her upright. “Ready to take care of business?” he murmured against her ear.
She nodded frantically, gulping as, together, they moved the flame toward its target. The stench of burning flesh assaulted Tee’s nose and Benzo’s shrieks echoed futilely in the night. She would have backed away instinctively if Sip hadn’t been so big and warm against her back. She felt untouchable; capable of anything.
When the deed was done, Sip took the torch back to the workbench, then returned to Tee’s side.
Novak had taken up his position in front of Benzo. The coin was in one hand and a gun was in the other. “There’s only one way to be Born Bratva, and a tattoo doesn’t cut it, asshole. I want you to take that message into the portals of hell with you and spread it around to anyone I may have missed.”
He calmly placed the barrel of his gun between Benzo’s eyes and blew his brains out. The silencer muted the sound of the gun firing, but there was nothing to be done about the blood and gore.
“This…” he said, turning to face Tee as he swept his arms out wide, “…the blood, the secrets. This is what true friendship and trust are built on. Don’t ever forget that or I’ll kill you.” He shook his head slowly. “I don’t want to kill you, Tee.” But I will. He left it unsaid, but she heard it well enough. He took several steps backwards toward the door as he held her gaze, then he turned and strode out into the storm.
Tee looked down at herself and blushed. She was still wearing Novak’s t-shirt and nothing else. And she was soaked to the skin. She looked up at Sip and it was as if she was seeing him for the first time. For a long moment, they stood in silence, just taking each other in. When she finally spoke, Tee’s soft whisper reverberated through the confines of the barn. “Hi, Sip.”
“Hi, Tee.” His gaze lingered on her curves, his eyes widening slightly when he saw the harsh edge of a knife wound on her thigh. He didn’t hesitate as he took the few steps required to reach her. He scooped her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Something about the way her head rested against his shoulder felt perfectly…right. Her body melted against him in complete trust.
Sip’s arms tightened around her as he stepped outside. There was nothing to be done about the rain, so he curled his body around hers protectively to shield her from the elements as much as possible. Without another word, he carried her through the rain and into the next chapter in her life.
Epilogue
The note was waiting for Turner on his desk the following morning, sealed in a manila envelope like so many other documents that had crossed his desk over the years. The message had been simple and direct. He had no trouble deducing the source.
You’ll find the carcass of Peter Partout, a.k.a. Benzo, down by the river, where he chose to dump so many of his victims. Like begets like. Wouldn’t you agree, Agent Turner?
I saved your woman’s life. We both know he was coming for her sooner or later. I’ve always heard that when you save a man’s life (or, in this case, his woman’s) he owes you for life.
I expect to be left alone. I expect my family and associates to be left alone. No need to ever thank me. Actions speak much louder than words ever could.
Until next time…
The message had been short but definitely not sweet. It was Glazov’s way of letting him know he’d ordered Benzo’s death and he expected Turner to leave him the fuck alone now. The funny thing about it, though? Turner had no problem with those conditions.
~~~
Glazov watched as his cock slid in and out of his wife’s swollen, greedy pussy. Sometimes he just liked watching, savoring the sight of his body taking hers in a no-holds-barred, hard fuck.
Not so with his business, though. He’d gotten that shit straight with Novak and his men. He wouldn’t be cowed, no matter how noble the intentions, and he wouldn’t sit back and be an observer in his own life. He had made that shit clear. He and Novak would figure it out the details.
But right now, standing behind his wife as she knelt on the edge of the bed, he had a spectacular all-access view of her ass. He clenched her hips hard enough to leave marks he would enjoy seeing later. Spreading her ass cheeks apart, he could see every detail of his ownership as his cock breached her snug opening again and again.
Kathleen’s fists were clutching the sheets and her breathing had taken on the raspy, desperate quality he loved. It was his favorite ‘tell’. She was getting ready to come. Giving her pleasure was like a drug to Glazov. He loved breaking down her gentile barriers, turning her from an elegant lady to a shameless, writhing harlot who begged to suck his cock and be owned by him.
He gritted his teeth and groaned when her pussy clenched around him, signaling her orgasm. She knew what those little pulses around his shaft did to him. She was determined to make him come with her. It was her way of controlling this man who ruled the world. In that moment, she owned him, they both knew it, and he didn’t mind a bit.
Moments later, they were still moving together as they rode out the last vestiges of pleasure. His knees nearly buckled as he dropped his h
ead down on her sweat-soaked back. “You’re going to kill me, woman.”
She jerked away from him so quickly that he winced and was momentarily cock-shocked. “Don’t do that, woman,” he bit out. “Give my cock some time to go down.”
“Your cock never goes down, are you kidding me?” She eyed him and smacked his chest, laughing at him just before her expression grew serious. “Well, don’t say shit like I’m killing you. I don’t like it. I mean it, Glazov. Never joke about dying.”
Her protectiveness pleased him beyond measure. He slid a fingertip across her pouting bottom lip and leaned down to bite the soft, slick skin. He pulled her in close against him as he nudged her legs apart and entered her once more. “You were saying…?” Her words had made him hard again. She was worried about him. She needed his reassurance that all was well, so he would let her know the only way he knew how. He just hoped she was ready for him because he wasn’t going to hold back.
He had his wife wrapped around him, crying his name with delight as he pounded into her without mercy. Tomorrow morning, their children would be climbing all over him, covering his face with kisses before his feet even hit the floor. Then he would go to work and crush some skulls. Life. Was. Good.
The End…For Now
Look for Weathering the Storm (Born Bratva The Lost Years Book 3) Coming 2019
If you’ve enjoyed the Born Bratva Series, you’re sure to enjoy Suzanne Steele’s Colombian Cartel Series. Available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00C9L6YRQ
The Profilers (Born Bratva The Lost Years Book 2) Page 18
