The Heir: (A Dark Mafia Romance) Bratva Blood

by SR Jones

  “How about we start again, Vasily, huh? I wasn’t going to fuck your weird prisoner up there with the black hair and the freaky blue eyes. Not my type, and Amanda would have my balls. I was fucking with you, and your reaction tells me all I need to know. There’s something between you two, and it’s about damn time you told me the truth. You want us to work together, this is not the way to go.”

  I exhale, imagining smoke coming out of my nostrils I’m that pissed. “Okay.” I finger the collar of my t-shirt and fix Ilya with a stern stare. “But you said work together, not me be your lacky, right? You want to call the shots, and I get it. You see me as an underling still, but I’m not. I run Moscow now, and truthfully, I did for a long while before K officially stepped down. The people who were terrified of K? I put that fear in them. Those who disappeared because they’d fucked him over? That was me and Bohdan, man, for a long time. So you understand that us working together means that, together; not one of us lording it over the other. You give me the respect I’m due, and you’ll always get the same in return.”

  He listens to what I have to say, face serious and then nods. “Okay, together, not me in charge. And I know you’re the one who policed Moscow. Not much happens in our world that I don’t know. So, tell me, you and the girl?”

  “We screwed. I blame myself for this mess because I had this weird inkling something was off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew she was either trouble or in trouble. I was going to tell K, but then I figured he had his hands full. He’d given me free rein of that side of things, so I looked into her myself, with Damen’s help. Nothing.” I hold my palms up as I speak. “I mean nothing. Squeaky clean. So clean, in fact, that Damen said that in itself was a little odd. We dug deeper, and there were no cracks, nothing he could hack into that showed anything but this perfect, clean life she’d led. So we let it go.”

  “Okay, so maybe you should have told K your suspicions at first because I doubt then he’d have had her here, but it isn't as if you did anything any one of us wouldn’t have. We’re all control freaks, and we all think we can handle it. It’s how we are in this world.”

  “That isn't the part where I fucked up,” I say with a heavy tone. “I fucked her, and then I ghosted her, but she called a few times. She was trying to reach out, man. She didn’t want to do it. Her last message was desperate, telling me she was in an awful mess, and she wanted to talk to me, needed my help. I fucking let her down. If I hadn't been a cowardly piece of shit and had listened to her message, K wouldn’t be in the hospital, and she wouldn’t be tied to a bed.”

  Ilya runs a hand over his closely shorn hair. “Christ, what a mess.”

  “I don’t want her killed, Ilya. Not just because we screwed, but because it will be on me.”

  “So? You’ve killed a lot of people, man; what’s one more?”

  “The people I killed were fucking scum; you know as much. They were of our world, fully involved in it, and they knew the risks. Zoey is in over her head; they have her kid. What would you do if you and Amanda had kids and someone took them, held their life over your head? You’d do anything, right? Anything. I don’t want her killed.”

  “Shit,” he says with a shake of his head. “It isn't our decision. Andrius won’t let this go. K isn’t going to get out of hospital to start months of rehab and simply move on.”

  “No, but, listen to me,” I say, suddenly sure of where I’m going with this, even though it’s totally fucked up beyond all belief. From a guy who wouldn’t take the woman’s calls to the man who is about to force her to marry him, how messed up can you be? “Reece won’t go into this venture with them if they take out a woman who acted under duress.”

  “Reece wouldn’t have to know,” Ilya states with an icy calm.

  It’s a calm which chills me because I know what he’s saying. You snitch in our world, you die.

  “Damen already knows, and he isn't down with this. Neither is Stamatis.”

  “Fucking Stamatis Kantos, who does he think he is? Always playing the big man,” Ilya sneers, and whoa, I didn’t know those two had history. “I’m a cartel boss not a mob boss,” he mimics in a sing-song voice. “I don’t run drugs, ugh no, not me. I deal in fine art, don’t you know?”

  I crack up at that ‘cause he isn't a million miles away with his impression.

  “Still, Andrius and K rely on Damen a lot for intel, and Stamatis isn’t someone you want cold-shouldering you. This is not going to go easy for them.”

  “You’re talking as if they’re your enemies, not your goddamn Bratva brothers.” Ilya stands and starts pacing. “Listen, Vasily, I get it. You fucked her. You two had a moment, she’s a nice piece of tail, and you don’t want her dead, but come on. You don’t have any real claim over her, and she’s done a very bad thing.”

  “I know, and I understand that what happens to her is up to K and Andrius, ultimately,” I say, playing for time now. “All I’m asking is for you to give me your word that in the meantime, no harm comes to her. Not from you.”

  “What about you? Are you going to harm her? I mean, more than you already have.”

  “I haven’t touched a hair on her head.”

  He furrows his brow and shakes his head as if disappointed in me. “Man, she’s tied, naked and spread-eagle on a bed. I doubt any woman in that position isn’t terrified.”

  “Leave her to me, okay? Give me twenty-four hours to see if I can get some more intel out of her.”

  My phone goes off, and I look down to see a number I don’t know. I answer it hesitantly.

  “Vasily?”

  It’s a gruff, Yorkshire accent, and at first I think it’s Reece. “Reece?”

  “Wrong Yorkshireman. This is Luka.”

  Luka? I rack my brains for a moment, then I remember. The far-too-good-looking one. The one who got hit with shrapnel when the shit went down at K’s what seems like a lifetime ago now. I might not have liked him at first, but he took the lead for us, so he’s golden as far as I’m concerned now.

  “Hey, Luka,” I say. “How are you doing? Healing up?”

  “Yeah, I’ve had a lot worse. Listen, Damen sent Reece the picture of the man the lady you’ve got there says forced her to carry out the attack on K.”

  “Yes?”

  He blows out an audible breath. “I happened to be with Reece when he got the picture. I know him.”

  “What?”

  “I should say that I know who he was then. I did some intelligence-style stuff, off the record, you know. At that time he went by the name of Johnny Landsdowne. I don’t know if it’s his real name, and I’m sure he has aliases, but it gives Damen a start. I’ve told him all that I know. Back then, he worked for a group who did top level private contract stuff for governments.”

  “He’s a mercenary?”

  “Kind of the pay grade above that even. I’m not talking about going and fighting in wars as a private gun for hire. I’m talking taking out other nation’s leaders level of shit. I had to work with him on something once, which I can’t divulge, but I never trusted the fucker. You ask me? He’s a sociopath.”

  “Zoey says she thinks these men are under duress too.”

  “Doubt it. Firstly, I doubt they’d have anything to hold over them. I can’t imagine a man like him would ever have a family to worry about, as in a wife and kids. Obviously, someone gave birth to him.” He gives a low laugh. “Secondly, he’s capable of telling anyone whatever lie or threat or promise he needs to in order to get what he wants. Damen has a lead now, but do you think I could talk to Zoey? I can’t right now because I have to be somewhere, work shit, but tomorrow?”

  “Yes, of course.” He can’t speak with her right now anyway because Zoey is tied, naked, and spread-eagle on a bed.

  “Okay, I’ll video call you tomorrow, and you can put me on with her.”

  He hangs up, and I feel a faint flutter of hope in my belly. I still need to make sure all the wolves circling my pretty little prey upstairs back off, th
ough, and the only way to do that is to make the bitch mine.

  I smile to myself and decide I need to call a priest.

  Chapter Ten

  Zoey

  I’m burning with anger and hatred right now. That other guy, the thick-set one, came into the room and walked around this bed where I am fully exposed, looking at me, smirking. He let his disgusting gaze roam over every inch of me. I don’t blame him, though. No, I blame Vasily for tying me to the bed this way.

  I want to rip his head from his shoulders. I want to make him vulnerable the way he’s made me oh-so-vulnerable.

  I like it, this rage. It tastes good after the horrible tang of defeat and fear. It’s sharp and edgy, and it makes my heart beat quicker. Sometimes in this life we have to step up. We have to accept that no one is saving us, and we must save ourselves. I must save Esme too.

  In order to do so, I need to get the sociopath keeping me prisoner on my side. He needs to be invested. I’m not stupid. I don’t think Vasily will fall in love with me because I fuck him so good or because he admires my feisty nature. But he might feel something for me, I believe. I’ve seen it in his reactions. It’s primal, something a lot baser than love but heady and powerful all the same. I believe he feels a sense of possession over me. If I can amplify it, will he begin to develop that strong loyalty of his for me? For Esme? I don’t know, but I must try, which means tamping down my rage and anger and turning it into lust.

  It won’t be difficult because despite everything, I do still want him. A few hate-fucks would be worth it to save Esme. If I hate-fuck him, and he doesn’t help me, I’ll be in a better position to escape too, so win-win all round.

  Footsteps on the stairs have me holding my breath. I swear if it’s that other one again, I’m going to start screaming because he doesn’t get to come here and stare at me with his disgusting gaze. Vasily rounds the door, and I let out a breath. Then I suck in another before laying into him.

  “You fucking piece of shit. Why don’t you go out into the village and sell tickets? Let them all come and have a look?”

  He doesn’t bother to look offended. Instead, the bastard grins. “Don’t tempt me.”

  “Your friend came in here and had himself a good old look. He’s probably jacking off right now, the sick bastard.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says lazily. “His lady is stunning. Doubt he’s all turned on from seeing your naked skinny ass.”

  Ouch, that hurt. I give him a bored glance, not showing that his words hit home. “He hasn’t seen my ass technically, Vasily, but he has seen my pussy all spread for him, and I tell you, for someone not interested, he took a damn good look.”

  He hadn’t actually. Sure, he let his gaze rake down me, but he didn’t linger for ages, or show any desire to go to the foot of the bed and get a bird’s eye view of the goods, but Vasily doesn’t know that.

  His jaw tenses, and it’s only a small movement, but I see it. Yeah, Vasily is possessive of me, even if he hasn’t figured it out himself yet.

  Deciding to up the ante on my whole hate-fuck-him-until-he-becomes-my-own-personal-killing-machine plan, I smile sweetly. “I thought he might try something with me. Would have been nice. There are no real men for miles.”

  I glance at his pocket. “How many times did you masturbate with my lip gloss smeared all over your pretty mouth?” I ask.

  His face tightens, and a tiny bit of color hits his cheeks. Oh my God, he did?

  “Never,” he growls.

  “Liar.” I shake my head.

  He prowls to the bed. “I didn’t put it on my lips, Zoey.”

  Oh, okay.

  “You know, you come across as somewhat unhinged,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, and here you are all well-adjusted and shit.”

  “Do you remember when you put that gloss on my lips, only not the ones on my face.”

  He glances down the bed and swallows.

  “What’s wrong? Cat got your cock? Can’t act despite the little lady being tied to the bed and all helpless?”

  “Rape isn't my thing.”

  I laugh hollowly. “I’m giving you permission,” I say to him.

  “For what?”

  “Whatever you want?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I hate your fucking guts.”

  He rears back a little at the venom in my voice. “You want me to fuck you because you hate me?”

  “Yes,” I say, and it’s the truth. It’s part of my plan, but it’s also part of my truth. “I want to feel something other than this churning sickness in my stomach. I can’t bear it.” I grit my teeth and force down the tears threatening. I will not cry. “All I can think about is Esme. All I can feel is despair that I’ve failed her. All I can focus on is what’s happening to her. Now, you can either untie me, let me go and get her, and I doubt you’re going to do that. Or…”

  “Or?”

  “Or we can work out some of this aggression we have going on so that for at least ten minutes I can stop feeling this numb terror.”

  He watches me, considering. “This is fucked up.”

  “You think? You’re just realizing that? You didn’t realize it when you took my lip gloss and my panties? Even if I hadn’t gone after K, you and I were never going to be a love story, Vasily.”

  “I don’t love you,” he says.

  “I know; I just said that. I don’t love you either. In fact, I kind of hate you, with a passion.”

  He grins. “Hate, love, they’re similar. Lots of feelings. Can’t sleep. Can’t eat. All you can think about is the person you hate or love. Unrequited hate is the worst, I imagine. Spending all that time obsessing about the object of your fury, and they’re probably happily getting on with their life.”

  I laugh, and it rings out hollow and bitter in the room. “Well aren’t we the lucky ones, seeing as our hate- fest is mutual.”

  “Yeah, we are,” he says.

  Then he gets on the bed over me and puts his face right in mine. “You’re the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met. I’d love to know who or what fucked you up so badly.”

  “Men,” I reply without hesitation. “Your species is what fucked me up so badly.”

  “But you still want me?”

  “I still want you.”

  “Glutton for punishment,” he whispers in my ear as he nibbles on the shell.

  I shiver, and my nipples harden into points that brush against his clothed chest when he moves. “I could say the same for you.”

  “Oh, indeed.” His kisses brush down my neck, across my jaw, and to my chin, where he bites gently before kissing my mouth, feather soft.

  Then he tangles his fist in my hair, arches my neck, and claims my mouth in a kiss so fierce it takes my breath and all my thoughts away.

  Yes, I think, this is what I want.

  I kiss him back, our tongues dueling as we try to get as deep into one another’s mouths as we can. It’s desperate, and heady, and more than a little scary.

  We kiss, and kiss, and honestly, I feel as if I could come from nothing more than this. His weight on me, his clothing rough against my skin, me tied and bound for him, and him taking from me what he needs.

  As abruptly as the kiss started, it stops. He pushes himself from me and stands by the bed. He takes off his shirt, and he has a white wife-beater on under it. I take a moment to admire the glory of his muscled, inked arms.

  He holds my gaze, then grabs the bottom of his top and lifts it, revealing his chiseled stomach, his six pack, more ink, his amazing chest with another glorious piece of ink, and as he pulls it up over his head, oh-so-slowly, his arms bulge as the muscles tense and flex.

  My God, he’s a work of art. He looks leaner than K when clothed, but his build belies what a machine his body is when you get to see him without clothes. He hasn’t gone for massive bulk, but every inch of him is lean, powerful muscle. He throws the wife beater to one side and unsnaps the button on his jeans. I want this so much. I need to forge
t, if only for a short period of time. Then I need to ask him to help me and pray he will. If he doesn’t, I’m going to have to hurt him and maybe his friend too because I can’t stay a captive here when every moment increases the danger for Esme. Damen is helping, but he won’t be riding to England like a knight in shining armor to save her himself. No, I need to get Vasily on board.

  His jeans hit the floor, and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs, pushing them to the ground. His cock slaps against his belly, hard and thick. It’s beautiful. Vasily is beautiful, to me at least. He has a harsh face, but it’s striking. I don’t like soft, and soft is often a lie anyway. Number Two could look soft if he painted a benign smile on his face, and the man is a bona fide psychopath. I’m sure of it.

  “You want to know what I did with your lip gloss?” he asks.

  I nod and swallow.

  He grabs his jeans off the floor, takes out the tube, and smears the cherry gloop all over his cock. “I used to do this and imagine you sucking it off.”

  “Well, why don’t you come closer,” I ask.

  He eyes me warily. “I still don’t know if you’re going to suck me or bite it off.”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  He smiles then, and it’s a true smile. Not a smirk, or his bitter half smile; no, this is real, and it’s stunning. “Yes, indeed.”

  Straddling me on the bed, he moves closer to my face, his knees either side of my torso, and he pushes his cock down, feeding it to me. I swipe my tongue out and taste sweet and salty. Cherry and brine. I lick my lips. This is familiar, and memories of us in that hotel room in England before I fucked my life up hit me. What had he called me? His Cherry Bomb?

  “Take it properly,” he orders.

  I open wider and try to lift my head more as he pushes inside me.

  “Ah, Christ,” he says, his head dropping back. “Fuck, Zoey, that’s it. Take it like a good girl.”

  And I do. I take him deep, until my eyes are stinging, as he fucks my mouth.