Kaznachei’s Pain

by Mason, V. F.

  In short, Melissa didn’t have any qualities I usually liked in women, even if all my so-called women were only for the night.

  But as odd as it sounded, I fucking never wanted a woman more. One glance and my dick stirred in my pants, demanding her attention, and before I could even dwell on it, I sent her the wine.

  However, she seemed in the mood for some romance and shit, and I didn’t do those things, so off my radar she went. Even if the thought unsettled me.

  Which was even more confusing, considering the date on the calendar.

  Eleven years.

  Eleven years in this world without her.

  The bile rose in my throat remembering her scream of pain and my blood-smeared hands, and I quickly gulped another glass, washing away the acidic feeling and hoping the alcohol would fill the void.

  Even though it never did.

  I was in desperate need of a woman to numb my pain, not to dwell on the desperation running through every vein and demanding an outlet.

  I thought coming to this bar would fix my problem, but it seemed it only multiplied it.

  Swirling on my chair, I leaned back on the counter and studied the women in front of me who either danced or occupied a few booths, and all sent me seductive glances. This place was infamous for holding Cosa Nostra dealings or other mafia stuff, so they had no illusions what kind of men came here.

  They even wanted it, if their winks and the slight adjusting of their dresses to showcase their breasts and legs were anything to go by. It would be so easy with one lift of my chin to call them over, and they would offer me all kinds of pleasure for hours.

  An oblivion that would fade the world and all the pain in it away.

  And had it happened a few minutes before I noticed Melissa, I would have gladly taken their offer. But now?

  My dick didn’t even react to all their feminine glory; instead, my mind kept going back to the mousy brunette and the fact that she had taken too long in the bathroom.

  If no one but she would do for me, she better be prepared for the attack.

  With determination rushing through me, I placed one more hundred on the counter and saluted Brian who did the same, and then I dashed to the bathroom.

  I needed to fuck, so I would have to persuade her into it. The interest was present before my jerky attitude ruined her mood. Maybe I should have been more delicate about it.

  She would be mine.

  For the one night only.

  Chapter Two

  Forever

  Moscow, Russia

  Yuri, 15 years old

  The nurse poked my side and I winced, hating the jolt of pain it brought. She shook her head in displeasure, writing something down on her notepad while pressing the button for the doctor to come.

  She probably didn't like my charts. As much as I wanted to fake awesome health, it was impossible with the many machines and wires that showed my condition.

  Dehydration, starvation, a few bruises, and a broken nose. So mostly nothing major, but they insisted on medications and specific foods.

  My stomach was just happy to have any food, even though—according to them—it was a small portion so my organs wouldn't go into shock.

  Resting my back on the pillow behind me, I studied the surroundings of the expensive hospital room that I had woken up in yesterday.

  A black leather couch, a round table with a vase of fresh roses that practically polluted the fucking air, blue curtains that swayed with the heat coming from the air duct. The bathroom with a shower and toilet that had so much space I wondered why anyone would need such luxury in the hospital.

  But more importantly, I didn't understand who paid for all this shit, and when I asked questions, everyone just gave me a look and continued to do their jobs. I wanted to run away before they could find my identity, but the minute I tried, my knees wobbled and I ended up lying on the floor while medics took me back to the room.

  An image of a girl flashed through my eyes and I blinked it away; it was probably nothing but a dream. No one was that kind or that beautiful, but for a moment in time, she gave me comfort.

  The door opened wide and I glanced at it, bored, expecting another doctor who would give me injections and check my vitals, but instead, there stood a middle-aged man. He exuded so much power and dominance that even the stern nurse bowed swiftly and then left me alone with him.

  Dressed in an expensive-looking suit, his perfectly trimmed eyebrow rose as he scanned my appearance. Several diamond rings graced his fingers as he leaned on the cane, and a few scary men who looked like bodyguards stood behind him.

  One wave of his hand and the door closed. He walked slowly to the chair next to my bed and sat down on it, still holding my gaze, while I was prepared to use my knife on him if needed.

  God only knew what men like him wanted.

  “Who are you?” My voice was a bit scratchy from the cold, but I didn't want to show any weakness. The best way to protect yourself was to attack first, right?

  A smile tugged at his lips as he took out a cigar from his pocket, lighting it easily and taking a long pull before he finally spoke. “You are strong. I like it.” A longer pull and then, “And smart, which is even better.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I snapped at him, and he chuckled. I’d met a lot of old bastards like him; with my father, it was inevitable, and I wouldn't hesitate to kill him.

  I was no one’s fucking toy, if that was what he was after.

  “Adam Zienkiewicz.” My breath stilled inside my lungs, fear rushing through my veins as he continued, practically drilling me with his cold stare. “A genius child who has an extraordinary mind. Photographic memory, and a mathematician’s skill. You won all the science olympics at the age of ten. I know your father. You have guts going against him.”

  No one went against him; it was one of the reasons I’d had to live on the streets of Moscow when I escaped my home country. If they were friends, it meant this man would ask for money from my father as long as he delivered me to him on a silver platter.

  No fucking way.

  I jumped from the bed, removing the wires attached while gripping the knife in my hand. I’d managed to sneak it under the pillow during lunch. It was made out of stainless steel, so it would pierce the skin easily.

  He stood, facing me even though I was ready to attack, and he grinned, as if proud of me. “Fearless boy, I like it.” What the fuck was wrong with this guy?

  “I’m not your fucking boy.” Just the word alone sent fire through me as if little ants nibbled on my skin, leaving it scarred. “Stay away from me, you sick old fucker.” Was he after young boys too? I fit his taste, so he thought I’d comply easily? Fuck him and all the sick fuckers who attended Father’s “meetings.”

  The suit guy was right. I had a photographic memory, meaning I remembered everything I ever saw. And because of that, I could never erase the devastating images that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  Instantly, his stance changed, something dark flashed through his expression, and with one quick move, he kicked the knife from my hand, grabbed me by the neck, and spun me around so that he had me in a tight grip. I struggled for a breath, although having known blows in my life, I suspected he was as gentle as possible with his grip.

  “In my brotherhood, I protect my own, and in no way do I touch innocent children.” As he spoke, my heart pounded heavily in my throat. “You are smart and strong and fearless. All the traits I look for in my recruits.” He turned me around so that we faced each other again and he grabbed my shoulders. “But you don’t have the skills to survive without me. I’m giving you a chance, Adam.”

  Still a bit dazed from all this information, I wondered aloud, “What chance?”

  “Join the Konstantinov Bratva and become one of us. Your father will never be able to find you, because you will be under my protection. Use your skills for us.” My eyes widened as I understood that Vasya Konstantinov, the head of the Bratva, stood in fro
nt of me.

  The man was a fucking legend. And the only man on this planet my father was afraid of. So without thinking, I nodded. He hugged me close, patting me on the back and whispering, “You wait and see, Adam. I will give you a life you’ve never dreamed of.”

  And he did.

  Only this life cost me everything, a fact no one mentioned to me when I joined the brotherhood.

  New York, New York

  August 2017

  Melissa

  Leaning on the sink, I gazed at my reflection in the mirror and wondered how a woman could look so bland, so unmemorable.

  So not herself.

  But I’d gotten used to it in the last twelve years.

  Since my grand escape.

  I wondered what I would look like now with my real hair and eyes if I didn’t have to hide behind the annoying big glasses so no one would see the family resemblance. Those thoughts came to me quite frequently, especially when men passed me by, not wanting to pay me much attention.

  Shaking my head from the stupid thoughts that would bring nothing but headaches, I grabbed the paper towel and pressed it against my heated skin, hoping to cool off.

  All because of one stranger who awakened desires in me I thought were buried six feet under.

  But as hot as anyone was, I couldn’t allow myself to go with him and be just whoever. I’d grown from the girl who sought attention everywhere and anywhere as long as someone showed an ounce of warmth.

  It held no meaning anyway.

  With one last glance at myself, I stepped from the bathroom and was on my way to the exit, when a good-looking dark-haired guy stopped me in my tracks, blocking the hallway.

  “Hi, darling.” He prolonged the word, and I rolled my eyes because he swayed to the side, barely able to hold himself straight. “Need some company?” he slurred, sending me a boyish grin, and I held back a laugh.

  Someone had too much to drink. “Going back home.”

  His brows furrowed as he rested his shoulder against the wall. “Oh no.” Sadness laced his voice, and this time I couldn’t help myself. I giggled and he grinned. “You shouldn’t go home so soon!” He pointed behind his back with his thumb. “Wanna join our celebration?”

  “What is the celebration for?” Not that I had any plans to join, but I’d noticed him and his friends earlier. They were a bunch of dudes occupying the fifth booth, and they drank like sailors on holiday.

  Another side effect of working for the FBI was always paying attention to every small detail and assessing your surroundings. More so since being promoted to a higher position two months ago, I was extremely careful.

  You never know when shit might hit the fan.

  “My wife cheated on me with her ex,” he said, and all the humor from earlier was gone, replaced by sadness. “I walked in on them a few hours ago.”

  Oh boy. At least he had good friends who kept him company on such short notice. If something like that happened to me… no one would be around to pick up my pieces.

  That was the price I paid for my freedom.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” I patted his shoulder and he shrugged, shifting uncomfortably, which resulted in him losing his balance, and he would have fallen if it weren’t for my arm.

  He locked me in his embrace rather strongly, and I barely had a moment to dwell on that before he pushed me harshly against the wall and pressed something in my stomach.

  A fucking gun!

  In a flash, he transformed from a drunk guy into a ruthless man as fury crossed his features. He leaned closer and whispered with his deep, harsh voice into my ear. “Nice to meet you, Agent Melissa.” I wiggled away, trying for my gun, but he just laughed.

  I frantically thought about a way out of this situation, and although I could flip him on his back and hit him, there was no guarantee what he would do next with the gun. There were too many civilians strolling in the bar, and one even passed us by, winking at me.

  We probably looked like a couple feeling each other up.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” I asked, keeping my careless smile intact so no one would notice the danger lurking in the shadows and create panic.

  He shifted a little and squeezed my arm tighter. I barely pushed back a groan of pain.

  The fucker dug right into my wound that had just healed—the gunshot that grazed my arm when we shut down a child trafficking ring on the outskirts of Boston. The deep bruise still throbbed from time to time.

  “Who was your snitch in our system?” Since I gave him no reply, he dug again, and this time a muffled sound escaped my throat, as it felt like insects biting my skin along my arm to my elbow. “Answer me.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” So the guy was part of the Boston mafia ring. The rumor that they had dealt with children circled a lot, and the majority of the mafia houses in the city didn’t agree with them.

  Go figure, but mafia men had morals too, and those who sold and bought children were on their short list. They killed and snitched on them without an ounce of remorse.

  They also knew that if they got caught, there would be no consequences, because this snitching would only elevate their status in the brotherhood.

  In other words, it was a win-win situation for everyone involved except the Boston chain.

  And since I was the one who had the information on them and ambushed their warehouse, they sent one of their dogs after me.

  How predictable.

  “Tell me or else,” he threatened, and I about yawned at this. He would try to kill me either way; the only person’s life he was saving was his own.

  If he went back without finishing the job, he’d be dead and we both knew it.

  No second chances in the mafia.

  I needed to get him out of the building and then disarm him so I could play this game on my terms. “Not here.” I glanced around as if checking something. “There might be ears. Outside.” His lips thinned; he was clearly displeased with my words, but before he could say anything, I whispered, “His name is too important.” And that was enough. Greed flashed in his eyes, and he barely contained a grin.

  Probably imagining how much the brotherhood would reward him for it.

  He stepped back, and that’s when his eyes widened in shock and he sagged in front of me. “What—” Yuri appeared behind the man’s back, holding the barrel of a gun.

  He knocked the guy out! “What the hell are you doing?” I hissed and searched for his “friends.” They were still occupying the booth, drumming on the table impatiently. Any minute and they would come searching for him.

  “Saving your ass,” he replied nonchalantly, and it just pissed me off.

  “I don’t need saving. I can handle situations like this. Handled worse. Now you just ruined it!” Why did men always feel the need to play heroes? And besides, who the hell asked him for help anyway?

  “Men from my country protect women.”

  I huffed in exasperation at this, flailing my hands in barely contained fury. “Well, men in my country do that too.” And quite frankly, I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation while the other guy lay on the floor. Thank God, no one was out here, but we had two, three minutes tops. “I have to handle this situation now; he has friends there who probably own guns too.” Then I remembered something and pointed at the weapon in his hands. “Why do you have that?” The situation just got more bizarre by the second.

  “Who is he?” he asked instead of answering me, and I fished for my phone in my back pocket to call Connor. Yuri demanded again, “Who is he?”

  “None of your business. Let me do my job.” I was about to dial, when he cursed and leaned toward the guy, lifting his arm to examine the tattoo on his palm.

  “Boston chain? What the fuck are they doing here?” Before I could even question him on this, he took out his own phone, quickly dialed someone, and then spoke into it. “Brian? All the people need to get out. Make that happen in three minutes. Fifth booth. Call Lo
renzo.” He hung up and addressed me. “Okay, upryamaya. How about you go home and let me deal with it?” He placed his hand on my back and pushed me in the direction of the exit.

  My jaw almost dropped to the floor at his patronizing tone. “I’m not going anywhere! They’re here for me.” He opened his mouth to question me on that, when all hell broke loose.

  The men occupying the booth finally noticed their guy was missing and rose from their chairs. As they took out guns, people started screaming, but the men paid them no attention.

  They zeroed in on me and darted in our direction while Yuri cursed next to me and swung his body in front of mine. The men ended up pointing their guns at him.

  What. The. Hell?

  They paused and their eyes widened as they scanned his appearance, and one of them spoke. “We don’t need problems with the Konstantinov Bratva. Give us the woman and we’ll leave quietly.” He spat in the direction of his friend. “You can keep him.” Yeah, well, so much for a brotherhood who supports you.

  But then his words sank in and I gasped quietly.

  The Konstantinov Bratva? Led by Dominic Konstantinov, the current pakhan?

  The Bratva, or the Russian Mafia, was a crime organization that raised generations and generations of people with the same values and loyalty code. They lived, fought, and died for the brotherhood. There was a specific hierarchy that could never be broken or questioned, and everyone had to know their place.

  The pakhan, the boss, was the head of the organization whose words were absolute when it came to the rules and orders, and anyone who dared break them would face his wrath.

  Considering, though, that Dominic’s situation was disastrous, I had a feeling he wasn’t paying attention to his men strolling through the city. How could I have not recognized one of his men?

  My whole FBI training could go to shit since I failed, and failed in this freaking bar!

  “No can do,” Yuri replied and removed the safety from his gun. “This woman is mine.” The way he said it, possessively yet distantly, provided so much confidence that my brows furrowed.