Protected by the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 6)

by Hayley Faiman

  I didn’t realize I would change it for the absolute worst life imaginable.

  I messed up, big time. I can only hope that Ziven will stay true to his words that he’ll always keep coming after me. But I honestly don’t think that he will.

  I’ve been such a cold, cruel, bitch to him for so long that I don’t think he’ll ever want me back again. He’s probably glad to be rid of me at this point. My bottom lip trembles and more tears fall from my eyes, tears I didn’t think I had left.

  “Where is she?” Mika asks as we meet up to talk about the new shipment that should be arriving at any second.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I shrug, kicking a rock to the side.

  “You’ve been chasing after her for over a year. It matters,” he murmurs.

  “Well, I’m not chasing her anymore. How’d New Year’s go with Oksana Vetrova?” I ask, changing the subject.

  Mika grunts but offers no other words as an eighteen-wheeler truck pulls up. I watch as two bikers exit the vehicle and come our way. I’ve met one of them before, goes by the name of Camo, the other is new. Camo lifts his chin to me and then extends his hand.

  “Ziven,” he grunts.

  “Good to see you again,” I say with a grin, inclining my head toward the new guy.

  “This is Torch,” he introduces. I turn and extend my hand out to Torch, who grasps mine in a friendly shake.

  “Everything is there?” I ask, lifting my chin toward the truck.

  “Yeah,” Camo nods.

  “No problems?” Mika asks.

  Both men shake their heads. I instruct them to back the truck into the warehouse, where I have half a dozen men ready and waiting to unload the boxes.

  “Gonna have to stay in town for the night. Got anywhere we can unwind?” Camo asks.

  “What are you looking for? I can have women sent to your hotel,” I offer. They both shake their heads.

  “I got a woman,” Camo announces. “She’d smell another pussy on me a mile away. Just need to have a few beers, relax,” he shrugs.

  “Here—this bar, they have a badass live band that I’ve seen a few times called Mountains and Men. Good beer, relaxed atmosphere, and some good rock music,” I say as I write down the name of the Brew Cycle and hand it to Camo.

  “Thanks, brother,” he says, lifting his chin.

  “Here,” I say, tossing him my car keys. I have a Mercedes Benz G-Class SUV that I drive during the winter. It’s dark pewter colored and a nice ride for the cold Colorado snow.

  “What’s this?” Camo asks.

  “Take my SUV. Just leave it here when you head out of town, and I’ll come by and pick it back up,” I shrug.

  “Thanks, man,” he grunts.

  Mika and I tell them goodbye and head to Mika’s Land Rover SUV. Neither of us speak a word. He’s probably lost in thoughts of his New Year with Oksana Vetrova, and I’m most definitely lost in thought about Quinn Parker.

  I fucking miss her.

  She was a little bitch, but I had these moments where, if I squinted, I could see the softness she had beneath her. Sometimes, she would blush, or she’d get real quiet and I’d see that shy girl I knew she could be.

  I miss that the most, the promise of what she could have been to me; what we could have been to each other. Maybe that makes me a cunt and not a man, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over.

  My phone rings, and I answer it without looking at the caller ID.

  “Hello.”

  The phone stays silent.

  “Hello?” I say a little louder, only to have Mika look at me sideways as he drives. “Hello,” I repeat.

  I hang up a moment later and then look through my caller history only to find that the last number to call me was private.

  “Nobody there?” Mika asks.

  “Nyet,” I mutter as I stare at my phone, waiting for it to ring again.

  It doesn’t.

  I STUMBLE INTO THE bathroom, holding onto anything I can so that I don’t fall to the floor. I look at myself in the mirror, and I wince. I hate myself. My too bright red hair is like a shock to my eyes.

  Oswald found a picture of me from a few years ago, when I had dyed my hair red. He liked it so much, he brought a hairstylist into the house and had her dye it back.

  I miss my blonde hair, my natural blonde hair. Red was a phase, just like wearing brown contacts was a phase. It didn’t last long. I had found a picture of my mother and wanted to look like her. Red hair and brown eyes, just like my mother. She died when I was four, addicted to heroin and a pawn to my father. When he first, saw the hair and the contacts, my father informed me of her fate.

  I knew she’d died, and I knew it was from drug abuse but I didn’t know why she was addicted. He used her, he used her to gamble, whatever piece of her he wanted to, he used, her body mostly. At the age of seventeen he informed me that, that would too be my fate.

  I kept my hair red for a little while longer, but eventually went back to my natural color. Now the hair is back, and every time I look in the mirror, it’s still a surprise to me, even though it’s been a little over a week.

  I run my fingertips over my bruises. Some are yellowing like a banana, some are purple, and some are brand new. Every single inch of my body hurts. Last night had, by far, been the worst night since I showed up here, two weeks ago.

  Last night, Oswald took my ass. It hurt so badly during the act that I couldn’t stifle my screams. I screamed loud and it pissed him off, which made him go harder.

  Luckily, he used lube, which surprised me, but I was thankful at the time. Still, it didn’t mean that the act didn’t hurt like hell.

  It’s Saturday, and Oswald is still asleep in bed. I hurry to the shower, wishing for just a moment to be alone. I already know that today is a day where I won’t be alone at all. He’ll use me off and on all day long, today and tomorrow. Every night. Every single night for the past two weeks, he’s fucked me. I hurt so badly, every inch of me aches.

  “Quinn,” he barks, making me jump in the shower.

  I open the door and look at him. He smiles and walks toward me, completely naked.

  “Good morning,” I whisper.

  I learned on day two to keep my voice below a whisper, and my mouth shut in general, unless being spoken to directly. Also, I learned to never, ever complain about my aches and pains—ever.

  Oswald doesn’t say anything as he steps in behind me. I try not to freeze in fear, because he hates that. I stand and wait to see what he’s going to do next, which is always completely unpredictable.

  “I have to go to my parents this afternoon,” he announces. I turn around to look at him. “You can’t come,” he says. My body physically relaxes. “You’re too bruised up, and I doubt makeup could hide any of it. I’ll have to be careful with the parts of your body that show from now on,” he chuckles as he reaches for the soap.

  “Do you want me to make dinner tonight?” I ask.

  I don’t know why I ask. He always comes home after he’s eaten, there’s hardly any food in the house, and I’ve lost at least ten pounds since I’ve been here.

  “Why would I want you eating? Fuck, Quinn, you’re starting to look so hot. Another fifteen pounds and I’ll buy you some big tits. You’ll be perfect.”

  I try not to let my fear or horror show. Another fifteen pounds and I’ll weigh less than ninety. I’ll be a skeleton. I don’t say a word. There’s no use. If this is what he wants, this is what he’ll get. We silently shower together, and I’m grateful he doesn’t try to fuck me again.

  I stand in the middle of the bedroom wrapped only in a towel, waiting for further instruction. When Oswald is at work, I can wear one of my five outfits as I wish. As soon as five o’clock hits, I need to be naked and waiting for him. Saturdays are usually spent naked and in bed. This is the first Saturday he’s had plans, so I don’t know what to do.

  “I’ll be back later tonight. Be ready,” he grunts before he walks away from me. Once I hear the front door
slam, I let out a breath of relief.

  I have all day to myself. I need to try and find a way out. As if the abuse wasn’t bad enough, now he wants me to get plastic surgery.

  I can’t do it.

  I won’t do it.

  No way in hell.

  The doors are locked, and I’m unable to penetrate them. I think about breaking one of the glass windows, but I’ll need more time to get far away from him.

  Maybe I’ll do that when he leaves early for the gym one morning and I know he’ll be home late. I’ll have to strategically plan it out. I nod to myself. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll break a window, and I’ll run; I’ll run as far as I can.

  “Where will you go?” I ask myself.

  There’s only one logical place to go.

  Back.

  Back to Ziven.

  Maybe he won’t slam the door in my face like he should. Maybe he’ll take pity and mercy on me. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. I sit down and bury my face in my hands. He won’t take me back, he won’t help me, and I don’t blame him one bit. I was a fucking bitch to him over, and over, and over again.

  Curling into a ball on the couch, I close my eyes. I need some sleep, some real sleep. I exhale and try to relax. My mind fills with visions of Ziven. The way he would look at me, like I was the only woman in the world. The way that he would run his fingers through my blonde hair, skimming my lower back and my ass before starting over again while he held me. The way he moved inside of me; how good he felt there, and how good he made me feel—every single time.

  At least I can still have him in my dreams. I can pretend that I didn’t fuck everything up, that I didn’t act like a bitch for no good reason when he was being kind to me, and far too patient with me.

  I can pretend that I didn’t ruin my entire life and walk straight into the depths of hell.

  I wake with a start to find Oswald looming over me. I open my mouth to explain why I’m not ready for him, that I accidently fell asleep, and then to apologize profusely.

  I don’t get the chance. His hand reaches out and his fingers wrap around my throat, yanking me off of the couch in one swift move.

  I land on the floor, but am only there for a second before he picks me up by the throat and stares at me. I can’t see anything working behind his eyes. They’re completely shuttered, and he looks menacing, scary, and cold all wrapped up into one.

  I open my mouth, trying to gasp for air, but he’s squeezing too tightly.

  “When I’m through with you, you’re going to be so fucking perfect, it’s going to be hard to let you go. I’ve never wanted to keep one before, not like this,” he whispers as his hand tightens even more. He smiles like a maniac.

  My eyes widen as I stare at him. He’s crazy. I’ve known he was abusive, but now I’m completely convinced that he’s insane. He loosens his grip on my throat and moves his hand to my cheeks, pressing his fingers against my face as he dips his head so that he’s just a centimeter away from me.

  “I own you, Quinn. I own every inch of your body. I could kill you tomorrow and nobody would even notice you were gone. He hasn’t tried to find you; he doesn’t give a fuck about you. You’re absolutely nothing. The air you breathe, you do it because of me. Remember that, and keep me happy,” he grins. “Now take this off and get ready for me. Tonight is the last night I get to bruise you before I have to keep it in places your clothes will hide. I’m considering taking you out in public soon.”

  I nod and quickly run to the bedroom, stripping out of my clothes as I do. I pinch my eyes closed and think about his words while I wait for him to join me.

  Oswald is right.

  Nobody would miss me if he killed me tomorrow—nobody would even know.

  I ruined my life the day I walked away from Ziven.

  I miss his smiles, his humor, and his kind eyes. Though I didn’t get his smiles aimed at me often, they came, and they came easily with other people, especially his best friend, Ashley. I would always stop and watch him when he smiled, and I would always welcome his laugh when it hit my ears. Ziven is the kind of man that pulls you in. He’s charismatic and fun.

  “Ready for me?” Oswald calls from the doorway.

  I turn around to face him and hold back the cringe I feel. He’s standing, naked, small evil little dick and all, bared for me. He walks over to me and looks down his nose before he tangles his fingers in my hair.

  “This red makes you look even more like my whore than the blonde. It’s so fucking perfect,” he whispers, tightening his grasp. “You’re the perfect little fuck doll, Quinn.”

  Staring at him, I don’t show any response to his words. They’re just words. His actions are far worse, and I’ve heard him call me everything under the sun. Fuck doll is just the newest one, and he’s right. That’s exactly what I am. I’m this body he uses for his pleasure and nothing more.

  The only value my life has is for the holes in my body—my mouth, my pussy, and my ass. Once he’s tired of those, I have no doubt that he’ll kill me and dump my abused body somewhere, never to be thought of again.

  “Soon, you’ll be absolutely perfect—the perfect fuck doll for me. I can’t wait until you go under the knife and I fix you up exactly the way I want you,” he grins.

  I wrap my hands around her waist and pull her down on my cock, closing my eyes, as I come. Visions of Quinn fill my mind, like they do every single time I close my eyes.

  The girl above me hums, and I open my eyes as she does, looking up and into her green eyes. They’re nothing like Quinn’s, a shade darker, and not as vibrant.

  When I met Quinn, she had dyed red hair and wore contacts to make her eyes seem light brown. It didn’t take long for her to change to blonde hair and slip the contacts off, as if she was shedding her mask. A mask she was trying to hide beneath as her life with her father started spinning out of control.

  When he started making dates and plans for her, priming her. I loved the natural look of her, much more than the fake bullshit she was trying to sport. I miss her.

  Fuck.

  I really fucking miss her.

  “What else do you want, Ziven?” the woman whispers huskily.

  She’s sexy as fuck. I don’t know her name, I didn’t ask, but she’s good, and she’s gorgeous. I squeeze her waist gently before I lift her off of me with a shake of my head.

  “Nothing. Let me give you some money before you go,” I mutter, reaching for my wallet.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever left a client so melancholy before. I feel like I haven’t done my job,” she chuckles as she starts to put her clothes back on.

  A whore.

  I’ve started fucking whores to take the edge off. It hasn’t been working. I still feel every bit of emotion that runs through me when it comes to Quinn. Sadness, anger, and frustration. So much goddamn frustration.

  I grab the stack of bills and hold out my hand for her.

  “You need to get her back,” she whispers as she takes the cash and shoves it in her purse. My eyes snap up to hers, and I blink. “Whoever she is, Ziven. It’s painfully obvious that you need to contact her.”

  “I pay you to spread your legs and open your mouth to take my cock, not to give me relationship advice. Get the fuck out,” I bark.

  The whore’s back stiffens and she nods once before she does just as I’ve instructed. I wait until I hear my front door close, and then I stand up and take care of the condom that’s still hugging my flaccid dick. I grab a pair of sweats from the floor and slide them over my hips before walking over to my kitchen and taking out a bottle of vodka.

  I’m going to get drunk again, like I do every night. Drink and then pass out after I’ve gotten off—my new routine.

  HANDCUFFED. I’M HANDCUFFED TO the staircase chain link railing, and I’ve been here for hours. My arms are numb, my back and ass ache like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

  I messed up. I really, really, messed up. He caught me. I called Ziven’s phone. I just wanted to hear his voice. I didn�
��t think that Oswald would catch me, but he did. I was ending the call just as he walked through the door, an hour early.

  He fucked me, hard, my pussy, my ass, and my mouth—bruising everywhere that a dress would cover me, knowing that he’s planning on taking me out in public in just two days, some kind of charity event. It doesn’t help that I’ve woken up in the middle of the night, every single night, from horrible night terrors.

  Now I’m being punished extra. I have to pee, and he isn’t due home for at least another hour. I close my eyes and breathe, trying to keep my bladder from relieving itself and further humiliating me.

  This is it. I’m weak from lack of food, I’m bruised from chest to thighs, not one inch between untouched by either an old bruise, a black one, or a blooming one. It’s time to do or die. I’d rather die doing.

  So, my decision is made.

  I can’t go to Ziven; I know I can’t.

  I can, however, go to Mika or Timofei. I think that either one of them would help me at least get away from Oswald Johnson and his brand of fucked up insanity.

  “Good evening, sunshine,” Oswald calls out.

  I hear his feet stomping up the stairway, and he smiles widely at me as he approaches.

  “Good evening,” I whisper my voice hoarse and cracking from the lack of water all day long.

  “I’m going to unlock you. You can use the bathroom and go down to get some water, but you only have five minutes to do both. Then, I want you ready for my dick,” he chuckles as he unlocks my handcuffs.

  I don’t even bother with my dignity. I sprint to the bathroom, then downstairs to the kitchen for a huge glass of water. Then, I run back upstairs to suffer his abuse, hopefully for the last fucking time.

  My eyes open as soon as I hear the front door close. I count to fifty, slowly, waiting for him to come back in case he forgot something. I’m thankful that he doesn’t have an alarm set, he’s cocky enough to think that locking me in is enough to keep me in, and after six weeks, it probably seems as though it is.