Oleg reached out, lazily tweaking a nipple through Roksana’s shirt, just hard enough to piss her off. She punched his arm, laughing until the dog turned his head toward Oleg and barely curled his lip, emitting a low sound that was more like a grunt than a growl, but his meaning was clear...
Hands off. Mine.
The dog’s demeanor wasn’t exactly hostile, but it was most definitely protective.
When Roksana saw Oleg’s narrowed eyes, she looked down at Voin and had to stifle a smile as the dog wriggled over closer to her. He huffed contentedly, keeping one eye trained on Oleg, as if daring him to touch her again.
Oleg glared at the dog, nostrils flaring with displeasure. “Oh. Hell. No. Woman, I will not be cockblocked by a dog.”
Roksana was too busy laughing and fending off sloppy dog kisses to notice as Oleg punched digits into his phone. In a matter of moments there was a knock on the door.
Oleg sported a suspiciously smug expression as he crossed the room to answer the door. He leaned out into the hall, speaking quietly to someone. Voin jumped up and scrambled off the bed, his whole back end wagging happily when he saw that Bazarnik had the other pit bull, now known by his new name, Maksim, with him. Maksim looked a little worse for wear. One front leg was bandaged and a cut had been stitched closed behind an ear. He was wearing one of those plastic cone collars to protect the stitches and didn’t like it one bit.
“Come on, fellas,” Bazarnik said quietly. “How ‘bout a snack?”
Roksana scowled at the door as Oleg closed it behind them. As quickly as Bazarnik had arrived, he was gone—with her damn dog! She jumped up from the bed, lunging toward Oleg. “What the fuck?” Her hand was raised midair when he grabbed it at lightening-speed, as she had known he would. As he pressed her against the wall, his menacing snarl and the determined look in his dead eyes said more than words ever could. He meant business and she loved it. And she was ready for him, so ready…
Buttons flew as he ripped her shirt open. Yanking her toward him, he pulled a bra cup down and bit her breast hard enough to send her body jerking and writhing beneath him. He raised his head, a wicked grin on his face. “That’s it, woman. Fight me. Fucking love it when you fight me.”
“You bastard! You can’t just send Voin away like that! He just got here!”
“Nobody cockblocks me. Nobody keeps me from what belongs to me. Especially not a dog.” His tongue flicked over the tooth marks he had left by her nipple, soothing the tender flesh. She hated how he could so easily break through her anger and make her want him. The rage, anger, love, hate, and passion they felt for each other made for a perfect chaotic concoction—as contradictory as they themselves were. No one else could possibly understand their twisted connection, but it was what made their lives worth living.
“Just a wild guess,” he murmured as he nuzzled her neck, “but I bet your father wants you to give me a son.”
“Or a daughter,” she growled with a hint of rebellion in her tone. “She’ll be as deadly as I am.” It was meant to be a threat but it only amused him and brought a sinister gleam to his eye.
“Ah, but will she be as crazy? That’s the question, my redheaded hellcat.”
“Crazier!” she hissed.
He looked down at her speculatively, no doubt understanding much more than she wanted him to. At times like this, his perceptiveness infuriated her. His lips trailed up and down her neck and she melted against him. Then he bit down on the sweet spot at the base of her neck, just hard enough to produce a burst of pain that had her tilting her head back with pleasure.
He picked her up with ease, carrying her into their immense walk-in closet. He sat her on the large table in the middle of the room. It had about a million drawers and Oleg had no idea what Roksana kept in them; he just knew he loved to fuck her on it. It was the perfect height, making it easy to spread her legs and take her however he wanted.
He slid her out of her tight jeans, never taking his eyes off her. He knew all too well how unpredictable his wife could be. She’d be just as likely to kick him in his nut sack as she would be to beg him to dig in and fuck her harder. He wasn’t taking any chances.
He slid his hand up her inner thigh, caressing her soft flesh as he spoke. “There’s nothing I’d love more than to see you with a baby bump, knowing I put it there.” He cupped her mound and pressed a long finger into her slick folds. His thumb stroked her clit as his finger slowly pumped in and out. “I love you, kotik. I’ve never loved another. It’s always been you, only you.”
She tilted her head back, her flaming hair trailing over the mahogany tabletop. “I love you too. I’m crazy with it. How could I not love you when you know me so well?”
He slid a glistening fingertip along her bottom lip. She drew the digit into her mouth in one smooth, sexy pull, licking off her cream before biting down once, then again, harder, just hard enough to antagonize him.
He tore out of his pants and jerked her hips to the edge of the table, claiming her in a single, fierce thrust that took him as far as he could go. If she wanted rough sex, he was more than willing to comply.
The pain searing her core was just what she needed. That pain was life, it was love. Indulging in a rough fuck in such a civilized setting was the perfect contradictory expression of their devotion. Surrounded by designer clothes and exorbitantly expensive jewelry and accessories, Roksana reached over her head and white-knuckled the opposite edge of the dressing table, arching her back and spreading her knees as Oleg bent over her, pounding into her wet heat. They needed this visceral, primal connection as much as they needed air to breathe.
No, this wasn’t a sweet lovemaking session, and they both knew it. He needed to mark her. She needed to be brutally fucked. Simple.
Chapter Nineteen
Roksana and her team laid low for the next few days, keeping a low profile as local law enforcement investigated the fire that had destroyed a local warehouse and taken the lives of several local gang members.
Bazarnik passed the time as he often did, watching videos of fires, many of them the result of his handiwork. He sat on the side of his bed, absently stroking Maksim’s silky brown fur. It had been a few days since the dog’s injury, so the awkward, plastic collar was gone now.
Bazarnik frowned down at the video playing on his cell phone, not believing what he was seeing. What the fuck?! His eyes had to be playing tricks on him. There was no way he could have missed something like that.
He rewound the video and watched it again, focusing on the moments right before the building had blown sky high. He stopped the footage and extracted a still image. Sure enough, he was seeing exactly what he’d hoped was a trick of the light or, even better, a figment of his imagination.
Fuck.
This wasn’t good, not good at all. He ran his tattooed hand through his spiked hair, tugging at it in frustration. How the fuck could he have missed it?
He tossed the idea around about telling someone what he’d discovered, but decided it was better to keep this new revelation to himself for the time being, until he knew more. No need to alarm anyone if he didn’t have all the facts yet. And it could be nothing. But it was probably something.
He had no desire to be on the receiving end of Glazov’s wrath unless he was certain he deserved it. And he prayed that he wouldn’t. No, he needed to fix this shit or that’s exactly where he’d be: in the crosshairs of a man who would have no problem putting a bullet in his brain.
He crossed the room to his closet and pushed aside the row of clothes on hangers that concealed his safe. It held everything he needed to go to war with an enemy. He put the items he needed into a backpack and, after getting Maksim settled for the night, made his way down to the garage.
The Pakhan maintained a fleet of vehicles for staff use, but Bazarnik went straight for his Harley. It would be easier to get in and out of narrow alleys and it would get his ass out of dodge if things went south.
The familiar purr of the bike’s engine se
nt a surge of excitement through him. Sure, he was probably walking into a lion’s den, but for a man like Bazarnik who fed off danger, it was comfortable, familiar territory. Crazy usually had a way of following him, but this time he was pursuing it. There was no way he was letting this shit go—not on his watch.
Chapter Twenty
Tatiana sat across from the man who had ruined her sister’s life. She had interrupted his dinner, entering through an unlocked door and holding him at gunpoint as she sat down across the table from him. He had tried to talk smack at first, but quickly fell silent when she shot his glass of red wine right out of his hand. Now he didn’t look so confident, with his gray comb-over askew and a sweaty upper lip.
He hadn’t killed Tadita, not directly anyway, but he had driven her into the arms of the man who had. Typical. That had pretty much summed up her sister’s existence: everyone making decisions for her that would benefit them; no one giving her a voice about her own life.
Tadita never got the chance to really live.
Her parents had still believed in the old Russian ways, or at least that was how her father had justified whoring out her sister to pay for his drinking and gambling habits. Her father sold her beloved little sister’s virginity to an American businessman. The arranged marriage had been so abusive that Tadita had run away – but not until he had abused her body and broken her spirit.
Her father had sold her sister off to this fat, disgusting man like she was a piece of meat for him to feast upon. And feast he had, using her body without mercy until Tadita managed to escape. But she made the mistake of getting involved with the Sinaloan cartel. Hector, the man who fancied himself in charge, had taken advantage of her desperation. He had won her over and gotten her hooked on heroin -- no doubt with the intention of whoring her out himself.
Sure, some women sought out and agreed to arranged marriages, even negotiating the terms of the deal via the internet, but not Tatiana; she was strong and didn’t need anyone. She would make her own way. Now she was a woman on a mission, with nothing to lose. When you’ve got nothing left to lose you become dangerous, fearless – the worst kind of enemy to have.
A few night ago, Tatiana had gone in search of Hector, to kill him. But someone had beaten her to the punch and she had barely escaped with her life. She had managed to sneak into the warehouse where they were holding a series of dogfights. It had almost been too easy; she had been standing right behind him, her sweaty palm on the gun, her finger dancing on the trigger.
Her head was roaring like a freight train as she waited for the perfect moment to shoot him down, but it never came. There were too many people, too many weapons, and not enough exits to give her a fighting chance to get out.
That’s when the reality of her flawed plan became undeniable. She had let her emotions get the best of her. She was outnumbered, pure and simple. If she had killed Hector at that moment, she wouldn’t have gotten out of that warehouse alive. The bastard hadn’t been worth dying over, and she couldn’t avenge her sister if she was dead. So, nearly buckling under the crushing disappointment, she had abandoned the plan. When the dogs suddenly bolted from the pit, she had taken advantage of the mayhem to slip out undetected.
So, it was on to Plan B, which had brought her face to face with her disgusting excuse for a brother-in-law.
“It’s not my fault that scumbag got her hooked on heroin,” he groused. “Tadita was wild, she had a mind of her own, just like you. You of all people should understand how stubborn she was. Hell, her name means ‘runner’. I only wanted the best for her—to give her a better life away from poverty in Russia, away from that shack she lived in with that drunk of a father of yours.”
Tatiana had had enough of his babbling. She cocked her gun, and smiled as the smell of urine filled the air. “Tadita would have never been forced to run if you hadn’t bought her and treated her like a common whore. You can gloss over that fact any way you want, but it will never change the fact that you treated my sister like shit.
“You took advantage of a young girl whose own father used her. She had no power to fight against the two of you.” She raised the gun a little higher, checking her aim. “Well, I’m the voice of reason now—no, I take that back—I’m the voice of fucking truth, and today your truth is going to smack you right between your eyes, you fat fuck!” she bellowed. “I’m the woman who is forcing you to look in the mirror and see yourself for what you truly are: a horny old bastard who’s going to die tonight.”
“Now, you’ve got it all wrong,” he sputtered, his jowls quivering as traces of spittle landed on the stained t-shirt that barely covered his enormous belly. “I tried to give her a better life. I brought her from that shack she lived in over in Russia. I bought her everything--”
Tatiana saw the fear in his eyes and heard the steady trickle of piss hit the floor. The man was grappling for any lifeline—anything to ensure she didn’t pull the trigger and splatter his brains all over the wall and the mountain of food piled up on the table in front of him. The sight of the overblown baboon nearly made her throw up in her mouth. Everything about him disgusted her.
As she thought of her sister’s wasted life, the room fell away, leaving her alone with her imagination and the knowledge of what her sister had endured. When all she could see in her mind’s eye was the horrifying vision of this slob raping her little sister over and over, she pulled the trigger.
And, yeah, his brains looked good splattered all over the wall as he collapsed face-first into his spaghetti and meatballs.
Chapter Twenty One
“Then I simply stepped over the body and told the Maître d’ that I’d have to take the cheesecake to go…”
Roksana had stopped by the Glazov guesthouse to check on her aunt. She was curled up on the couch in Vladimira’s bedroom, listening with rapt attention to yet another of her aunt’s Bratva war stories. Vladimira had arrived from Russia only the day before and was enjoying holding court as she reconnected with her family. Anfisa already had the household unpacked for the most part, so Vladimira had some time to chat.
“Darling, you act like I’ve never talked about the hits I’ve handled over the years.” She sighed happily and patted Roksana’s hand. “Why, don’t you remember all those bedtime stories about my adventures when you were a little girl? Of course, I always did it under the guise of fairy tales for fear of pissing off the crazy mother bear who birthed you. Even as reckless as I am, I do have sense enough not to get caught in the crosshairs of a mother’s love. Your lovely mother is the epitome of serenity and grace, walking through our Bratva world untouched by the unpleasantness that can color our day-to-day business affairs – and somehow putting up with your father. But when it comes to protecting her children, she makes me look like Mary Poppins.”
“I always knew you were the evil queen, so I guess we both kept that secret safe from Mother.”
“Like hell you did,” Kathleen commented affectionately as she entered the room. “I knew exactly what my dear, deadly sister-in-law was up to. I just liked to keep her on her toes.” Kathleen kissed Vladimira’s cheek and the two exchanged a warm look. “You two are entirely too much alike to ever keep any secrets from me.”
This time it was Vladimira and Roksana exchanging a knowing, amused look.
“My husband tells me he’s been keeping you busy,” Kathleen began as she settled in on the couch next to Roksana. “He also tells me I would be particularly interested in your most recent kill. Do tell.”
“It was absolutely delicious, love,” Vladimira purred, holding out her hand briefly to admire the poison ring that went wherever she did. “This little beauty served me well. I really am such a fortunate woman. So many people sleepwalk their way through life, but me? I move through the world with life and death at my fingertips.”
More than once over the years, Kathleen had been grateful to not be on the receiving end of Vladimira’s wrath. Even the most brutal men in the organization revered her, and more than a few
feared her. Something as simple as a kiss on the cheek could mean you were marked for death. And she was impossible to read, just like her brother. She allowed you to see what she wanted you to see, and nothing more.
“Tell me more,” Kathleen implored her, her inquisitive nature getting the best of her yet again. “You know how I love your stories.”
“Me, too, auntie dear,” Roksana teased with a grin, her chin resting in the palm of her hand. She adored her aunt, idolized her, even, and could get away with teasing her far more than anyone else.
“Oh, fine,” Vladimira grumbled in mock exasperation. “I can see the two of you aren’t going to stop until I give you a play by play. Very well,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Then buckle your seatbelts, ladies, because Auntie V is going to take you on one hell of a ride.”
She lowered herself into the ruby red, velvet upholstered wingback chair across from her enthusiastic audience. Smoothing an imaginary wrinkle in her sleek black pencil skirt, she began to tell her tale of vengeance.
Her eyes took on a faraway look as she relived the experience. “You know, I read a book about cannibalism once. The adrenalin rush they get doesn’t come from the kill itself, but rather from misleading their prey into believing they’re safe. You see…it’s all part of the intricate setup to lure them into believing they’re your friend, your colleague, or even your treasured lover.”
Now both Roksana and Kathleen were hanging on to every word, enthralled by the husky cadence of her voice.
“I must admit, that’s the part of the game I love the most. Wining and dining someone, convincing them that I know nothing of their betrayal. I let the narcissistic fools think they hold all the power. They relax, become more confident. Too confident, as it turns out. Eventually, they make the fatal mistake of underestimating their enemy.
Jaded Jewels (Born Bratva Book 7) Page 9
