Protected by the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 6)

by Hayley Faiman

  I slide my hands up his knees and to his thighs, my eyes completely focused on his. I hope I’m showing my feelings for him in my gaze. I hope that he can feel that there’s no way I would ever leave him. It’s not simply enough for me to say the words to him, he has to feel that I mean them as well.

  “My fears are gone, and I thank you for that—but Ziven, I mean it when I tell you that I love you. My anger disappeared a while ago. This is me. I’m your wife, and I won’t be going anywhere,” I say, trying to convince him again.

  “Show me,” he grunts.

  “How?” I ask.

  “Suck my cock and let me fuck your ass. Let me own every single piece of you,” he mutters.

  His eyes are so hurt, so incredibly hurt, that I would do anything for him right now to ease that pain. I reach out and wrap my hand around his cock, stroking it gently, feeling it harden in my palm as I do. Then I lean forward and lick the seam before I swirl my tongue around the head.

  I open and take him into my mouth.

  As soon as I do, he wraps his hands around the side of my head and thrusts down my throat. It’s brutal, harsh, and he doesn’t stop there. He fucks my mouth, his eyes filled with anger and focused on mine. We don’t break eye contact as he continues to plunge in and out of me.

  Tears spring to my eyes and fall, but he’s uncaring. I breathe out of my nose, the wetness from my tears falling down my cheeks and neck. Only when he releases me do I suck in a deep breath.

  “On the bed,” he demands.

  He’s like a wild animal, and for the first time ever, I’m truly frightened by him. I crawl into the middle of the bed and I lie down, pinching my eyes closed and bracing for the pain that I know I’ll feel when he sinks into my ass. A second later, I feel something warm dripping down the crack of my ass, and then the door slams behind me.

  I open my eyes and lift my head, looking around to discover that I’m now alone, and the door that was slammed was our bedroom door. I reach behind me and touch the warm liquid that’s on my ass. It’s sticky—it’s cum.

  I stand and hurry to the bathroom, taking a discarded towel and cleaning myself before I find the shirt I was wearing the night before, throwing it on before I go in search of Ziven.

  Luckily, it’s light out. The living area is bathed in the sunlight, the snow glistening and shimmering on the ground and the mountains that surround us. Ziven isn’t hard to find. His hands are braced on the countertop, and his head is bowed.

  “I almost did what he did to you,” he rasps as I walk closer to him.

  “No, you didn’t,” I say. I mean every word.

  It probably would have hurt, but no way could he ever treat me the way Oswald did—ever.

  “I almost took your ass against your will,” he yells, turning to face me.

  He’s got his boxer briefs on, but he’s otherwise sans clothes, and he looks beautiful in the sunlight. I tip my head to the side and study him. He feels guilty, and that alone proves that he couldn’t treat me the way Oswald did, not even slightly.

  “You wouldn’t have hurt me, and it wasn’t against my will. I would have given it to you. I still would give it to you,” I say, taking another step closer.

  “I don’t feel stable,” he admits, running his fingers through his hair.

  I smile slightly and close the distance between us completely, wrapping my arms around his middle and pressing my cheek to his warm chest.

  “You’re human, Ziven. We’re human. I betrayed you, and I treated you badly for so long. This feeling you have, it’s normal,” I whisper.

  He twists his fingers in the back of my hair and pulls my head away, turning it so that I’m forced to look up at him. The anger is gone from his eyes, and so is the fear. All I see now is Ziven, my Ziven, and the love he has for me shining brightly.

  “We are not normal, not in the slightest,” he chuckles.

  “No, we aren’t. But we’re human, Ziven. You are human.”

  “Never leaving?” he asks, tipping his lips in a half smile.

  “Not ever,” I firmly state.

  He lets out a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling before he moves his eyes back down to me.

  “You know I’d drag your ass back, yeah?”

  “I’d let you, every time,” I murmur with a smile of my own.

  “Fucking right, you would, katyonak,” he rasps before he dips his chin and presses his lips to mine.

  Just then, a knock on the door makes me jump, and he releases me.

  “Go back in the bedroom. It’s Mika,” he says.

  I look at him with confusion, but his only reply is to run his hand along the bare skin of my thigh, and my face heats. He doesn’t want Mika to see me with so little on; not that he hasn’t already, but I understand.

  I hurry to the bedroom, only to hear him chuckling behind me. A few minutes later, he walks in with a white trash bag, and I watch as he loads up his bloody clothes, socks, and shoes from last night without a word, and then leaves again.

  Not more than five minutes later, he’s back in the bedroom, and he smiles. He doesn’t say anything, but takes my hand and gently pulls me toward the shower.

  In silence, we shower. He washes my body and hair, then I do the same for him. We don’t go any further. Even though he’s hard, as soon as I reach for his cock, he bats my hand away with a shake of his head.

  “You’re coming with me today,” he announces as he dries me off.

  “Out? Where? Why?” I ramble in a panic.

  “Out, around town. Because you need to start living a normal life again, Quinn,” he explains.

  “I don’t want to go anywhere,” I whisper, looking down at my feet.

  Going out in a different city, like when we were in New York, it’s different than here in Denver. I don’t feel safe here, nothing about Denver feels safe anymore, nothing except Ziven’s condo.

  In New York, I am just a body walking around, nobody would even recognize my face. Here, there’s Oswald and, as silly as it sounds because I know he’s gone, it still scares me.

  Ziven tucks his finger underneath my chin and lifts my head until I’m looking up at him.

  “I know you don’t, katyonak. I understand why, but Quinn, you’re a Pakhan’s wife now. Your husband is one of the most powerful men in Denver. You have absolutely nothing to fear,” he rumbles.

  “I’m scared of everything outside of these walls,” I admit.

  “I know, and I understand,” he nods.

  “Okay, so, good—then I don’t have to go?” I ask, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “Oh, you have to go. I just understand what you’re saying,” he shrugs before he walks away.

  “Ziven,” I hiss, following him into the closet, still wrapped in a towel.

  “Non-negotiable, katyonak. I’ve been coddling you, and now it’s over.”

  I watch with my mouth agape as he dresses and then leans over, placing a kiss on my cheek before he tells me to hurry. We’re leaving in thirty minutes. Then he walks out of the bedroom, leaving me standing in surprise.

  Coddling me—whatever.

  Quinn is always so fucking sexy when she’s baffled or angry, and right now, she’s a mix of both. I would bow to her whims, but I refuse to do so. She needs to get back to a normal routine. Hiding out in the condo all day and night is not normal.

  I don’t think she knows what normal is for her, so I aim to help her find it. Maybe she wants to be involved in charity work, maybe she wants to work a job she likes, or perhaps she wants to spend my money all day long—I honestly don’t give a fuck as long as she’s living and enjoying herself.

  I don’t think Quinn has ever just lived, done what she’s wanted, and been free. With me, she can fly. She can do as she wishes—within reason. I’m willing to help her in any way that I can, help her find herself, so long as I’m at her side no matter how she ends her days.

  I pick up my phone and call Oliver to see what information he’s found for me on that number I
gave him.

  “You just gave it to me a few hours ago,” he snaps as soon as he answers the phone.

  “I’m impatient,” I mutter, not feeling an ounce of guilt.

  “All you Russians are. You want what you want when you want it,” he grumbles.

  “Having problems with your husband?” I ask.

  “Don’t be an arsehole,” he grunts. “I found out some information.”

  “Great.”

  “Your guy, he’s the El Jefe of El Jefe’s. This is—the man in charge. It didn’t take much digging to find that out. Kirill is ecstatic by the way, since this is the guy they’ve been trying to find, but haven’t had any luck. How’d you come across him, anyway?” he asks.

  “This is the guy D.A. Johnson and Agent Wilson have been selling girls to,” I say.

  “Oh, fuck, this is huge,” Oliver mutters.

  “Email me everything on him. Where’s he living, by the way?”

  “A little too close for comfort. He’s in Brooklyn. Right under our noses the entire time,” he rumbles.

  “I’m going to call Kirill, Pasha, and Yakov right now,” I announce.

  “Good idea. I’m sending that email as I speak.”

  I thank Oliver before I hang up, and then I forward his email to Kirill, Yakov, and Pasha before I video conference all three of them. Luckily, they’re all available and pick up immediately.

  “How’d you find him?” Yakov practically shouts.

  “Morning gentlemen,” I say with a grin. “This is who Quinn’s father, Agent Wilson, and D.A. Oswald Johnson were trying to sell Quinn to. Oliver and I have been doing some digging, and once we figured out that’s what they were doing, I made it my mission to find out exactly who was buying the women. I had my suspicions that it was someone in the Cartel, but I had no clue this is who was doing it,” I explain.

  “Thought we could get by without it, but there’s no way is there—war?” Kirill asks, arching a brow. Yakov and Pasha both nod.

  “Not even an option,” Pasha affirms.

  “We have enough men for this? They’re a huge operation,” I say, expressing my concerns.

  “They are, but we have them beat by sheer numbers alone. We have the Notorious Devils motorcycle club, the Irish mob, and our crews have not stopped coming slowly from Russia and around the world. It’s true, I wish our Russian numbers were stronger, but we’re ready. Once I confirm with the Devils and the Irish, I say we strike,” Pasha says.

  “How long?” I ask.

  “A month, max,” Pasha says.

  “Let’s do this. I’m tired of those pieces of shit,” Kirill growls.

  “The time is here,” Yakov agrees with a nod.

  “Let me know what you need from me and when you need it,” I say.

  “Same here,” Kirill announces.

  “I will. Yakov and I, along with MadDog with the Devils, and O’Neil with the Irish, will devise a plan and distribute it amongst our men,” Pasha explains before we all agree and end the call.

  I look up to see Quinn standing in my doorway. She’s wearing skinny jeans, the Ugg boots I bought her, and a thick cream sweater. Her blonde hair is wild and sexy, and she looks absolutely breathtaking, yet terrified.

  “War?” she whispers.

  “You shouldn’t be listening to conversations, katyonak,” I scold as I stand up.

  “The Cartel, you’re going to war with the Cartel?”

  “Not that it’s your concern, but yeah, we are,” I admit, taking her hand as I walk us over to the coat closet and retrieve our jackets.

  “That scares me, Ziven,” she admits with a trembling lip.

  I lean down slightly and press my lips to hers, sucking that trembling lip between my teeth and gently biting on it. I hear her breathing change once I let go, and then I straighten my back.

  “There’s no need to fear a thing, Quinn. I’ve always protected you, and I always will. I doubt this war will even touch you,” I shrug.

  “Like it didn’t touch the wife of your friend when I stayed holed up with the other women?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

  She’s talking about Pasha’s wife, how she was murdered. However, the situation was nowhere near this one.

  “Totally different scenario,” I say, the only explanation I’ll give her.

  This is none of her concern. She is a Bratva wife, she is not Bratva.

  “Don’t do anything that will take you away from me,” she says, fisting my jacket in her small hands as we ride down the elevator.

  “No need to worry, katyonak. I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur, brushing her lips with my own as the elevator door opens.

  The conversation is over.

  There’s no reason to continue it, at all.

  This is business, of which is none of her concern, and I will always protect her. She doesn’t know the details, she doesn’t know that as long as these Cartel fucks are around then she’ll always be in danger, as will every other woman in the country.

  I’m all for selling pussy.

  I’m all for making a dollar while doing it, too.

  I am not, however, okay with kidnapping pussy to abuse and sell. That is never okay. It took the Bratva a long time to get out from under that business, and none of us wants to be back there.

  A DAY SPENT WITH Ziven should be exciting. I should be thrilled that he’s taking time out for me, to do something for me and to help me. The happiness I should be feeling is overshadowed by the conversation I overheard just moments ago.

  Words like war and the Cartel are terrifying.

  How do I just pretend that I didn’t hear them? How can we go on with our normal day-to-day lives without being scared? How can he expect me to leave the condo now?

  “We’ll do this, then lunch, and then tonight a special surprise,” Ziven murmurs as he puts his car in park.

  I look up in surprise to see that we’re downtown, and there is a huge building in front of us.

  “Where are we?”

  “Denver Art Museum,” he shrugs as he opens his door and steps out of the car.

  I watch him walk around, and I try to hide my smile, but fail as he opens the door for me.

  “You like art?” I ask as I take his hand and stand up.

  “Why does that surprise you?”

  “I don’t know. I never pegged a big badman like yourself as an art lover,” I say wrapping my fingers around his hand as we walk toward the entrance.

  “I enjoy a lot of the arts. You never cared to learn anything about me before,” he announces.

  I feel a twinge of guilt knowing he’s absolutely correct.

  Before I left, before I was held captive and abused, I didn’t give one fuck what was underneath Ziven. I didn’t care what his likes or dislikes were; I didn’t care about his past—about his life in general.

  Had I even attempted to learn even a little bit about him, I would have discovered that there is so much more to him than his position in the Bratva. He’s kind, loving, considerate, protective, safe, and apparently, an art lover as well.

  “I’ve never been to a museum before,” I shyly admit.

  “Never?” he asks as he opens the door for me to enter.

  “Never.”

  The inside of the building seems so much bigger than the outside. It’s gigantic. I look around at all of the banners that tell of the current exhibits on display, and I’m in complete awe. Ziven presses his lips to my cheek before he walks away to the ticket booth.

  My eyes take in everything around me, and they water with unshed tears. I feel overwhelmed, by not only this man and who he is underneath his hard exterior, but also because I can’t fathom the fact that I never saw it before now.

  “Ready?” he asks as he wraps his hand around my waist.

  I strip out of my coat and fold it over my arm before we start to walk.

  “What exhibit are we going to see?” I ask as my eyes skirt over the banners one last time.

  “Glory of Venice. It’s
venetian renaissance art, and it’s only here for another couple of days,” he explains as he guides us toward the correct area.

  We spend well over three hours walking through the exhibit. The paintings are absolutely beautiful, and I love how there is a little plaque next to each one that explains the history of it, especially since I know so little about this stuff.

  “Did you enjoy that?” Ziven asks once we’re walking outside into the cold again. I slip on my jacket with a nod.

  “I learned so much. I didn’t know anything about the renaissance before this,” I say as we walk.

  “What about in High school?” he asks, turning us so that we’re walking inside of a restaurant.

  “I never finished,” I mutter, looking down at my shoes.

  “Quinn?”

  I look up and try to keep my eyes from filling with tears. He doesn’t know. How could he? Unless he did research on my childhood, he wouldn’t know. I let out an exhale and press my lips together before I speak.

  “I never went to high school,” I admit.

  Ziven’s eyes widen and he wraps his hand around mine tugging me out of the restaurant and around the side of the building without saying a word. He pushes me up against the wall and wraps his hands around my cheeks, his focus completely on me.

  “How is this possible? There are laws against that here,” he murmurs gently. I can still see the anger swirling in his eyes.

  “My father, he wouldn’t let me go. He said high school would get me into trouble, that I wouldn’t be any use to him if I went. He didn’t keep me locked up. I would sneak out during the day, or at night, to party, and get into trouble. He couldn’t watch me twenty-four hours a day, not when he was addicted to gambling the way that he was,” I shrug.

  “No wonder you ran from me. No wonder you were the way you were,” he mumbles as he drops his forehead against mine.

  “I don’t know how to be normal. I’m trying so hard, Ziven, but I don’t know how to be what you need me to be. I want to be perfect for you,” I whisper the truth as I close my eyes.

  His body closes in on me, his chest pressing against mine, his hips against my stomach, and his breath at my ear as his hands move from my cheeks to the back of my hair.