The Bratva's Baby: A Dark Mafia Romance (Wicked Doms) Page 2

  Stalin.

  Lenin.

  Robespierre.

  “Light bit of bedtime reading,” I murmur before I clamp my mouth shut. I didn’t mean to say that.

  His brows rise heavenward and his lips tip up, but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s surprised. Curious.

  “Revolutionaries,” he murmurs respectfully. “They were the greats.”

  “Some were terrible, though,” I say, curious about who he is and why he admires tyrants.

  He looks with interest at the books in his hand. “Some of the most powerful leaders we’ve ever known have been terrible,” he says, before he places the books under his arm and bends to take my stack as well. I don’t offer to help this time, though I want to.

  “Show me where these go,” he instructs. I show him, and he lets me put some away. If he notices the trembling in my hands, he doesn’t let on that he does. When we’re done, he follows me to the front and checks his books out. I glance at the name on his library card, but it’s smudged and illegible.

  “Kazimir,” he says, when he catches me staring at his card.

  I raise curious eyes to his. “Excuse me?”

  “My name,” he says, those eyes smiling at me. “Pleased to meet you, Sadie. Thank you for your help. Until tomorrow.” He reaches for my hand and gives me a brief shake, before he leaves.

  I stare at his retreating form and wonder what on Earth just happened.

  Maybe I’ll be sick tomorrow.

  I think of him as I go about my duties. When I begin my latest Highlander romance, I read in rapt attention, as this hero sounds a lot like Kazimir, with his heavy beard and commanding presence. I’m somehow both intrigued and afraid of the tall, stern man who looks like he could’ve descended from the leaders of old. Sometimes I let my imagination get the better of me, and as I drift off to sleep, I wonder when I’ll see him again.

  I consider not going into work the next day, but when the sun rises, in the light of day, I realize how foolish that is. I get very few vacation days, and I can’t take a day off because of a maybe visit from a patron.

  When I open the library the next day, he isn’t there. I feel simultaneously let-down and relieved.

  He was just a patron, I tell myself. Not unlike the dozens and dozens of people who grace the doors of this place every hour.

  Except… he is unlike every one of them. I know there’s something different about him. Something dangerous. Powerful. Mesmerizing.

  I stock the shelves as I normally do. Check out books and talk with my boss. Answer the phone calls and research the latest bestsellers we need to order for our shelves.

  But I make mistakes. I lose my train of thought. I accidentally order ten copies of a book I meant to order once.

  I shake my head and get to my feet. It’s nearly lunch time, and I need to get some fresh air. When I leave the library, I inhale deeply, needing to cleanse my thoughts. I can’t let myself get derailed like this.

  I’m not even sure where I’m going, but when I find myself outside the nearest coffee shop, I take a tentative step in. I never come in here. There’s free coffee and tea in the break room at the library, so it feels indulgent to purchase a cup for myself now. I really can’t even afford to splurge on a four-dollar cup of coffee with the bills I have this month, but when the woman standing behind the counter sees me, she smiles, and I take a step toward her.

  “What can I get you?” she asks.

  I mumble something off the menu, and don’t even realize I’m ordering a specialty drink. It costs more than I’m expecting, so I fumble in my bag for loose change, my hands trembling because I’m embarrassed. I don’t belong in a place like this. I try to dress in a way that doesn’t attract attention, yet being here in my long skirt and thick sweater sets me apart from the well-dressed business people.

  My fingers finally find one last coin that I need, but a deep voice behind me grabs my attention.

  “I’ll get her coffee.”

  I know it’s him before I turn to look. The moment I hear him, my body reacts. My breathing hitches and my pulse accelerates. My cheeks warm, and there’s a strange tingling sensation along the back of my neck.

  I turn to face him and smile in a way that I hope appears casual.

  “Good morning,” I say. “Thank you.”

  Today he’s dressed in the same work clothes he wore the day before. His hair’s still damp from a shower, and he runs his fingers quickly through it before he smiles back at me.

  “Good morning, Sadie. Enjoy your coffee.” He takes the cup of coffee from the girl behind the counter, hands it to me, and to my disappointment, leaves.

  I take the coffee and stare off at him.

  “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” says a voice to my right. I turn startled eyes to see a young woman dressed to perfection in a navy business suit and heels, staring after him.

  “Yes,” I reply in surprise.

  She smiles sadly. “Beautiful and dangerous, like a prowling lion.” She looks to me. “You must be a special girl,” she says. “He never speaks to anyone. And yet for you, he called you by name and bought you coffee.” She sips from the cup in her hand while she scans my worn, drab clothing, my hair twisted into a bun at the nape of my neck, my pale, makeup-free face.

  “He’s come in here every day for a week,” she says. “It’s interesting. There isn’t a construction job for miles.” She takes another sip of coffee then stares off toward the doorway. “I wonder why.” Then her gaze comes back to mine and she sobers.

  “Are you related?”

  I shake my head dumbly. I know why she asked. Surely a man who looks like a god wouldn’t have a romantic interest in a girl like me.

  “Well, finish your drink,” she says. “It’s not every day a man like him buys you a drink.” She gives me a wink and leaves.

  I take a sip from my cup and look out the door. I wonder if he’ll come back. But he doesn’t. I decide to head back to the library oddly disappointed, but curious.

  Why does he come here? Where did he come from?

  On my way back to the library, I enjoy my coffee, but I’m plagued with curiosity. Who is this mysterious stranger?

  Chapter Three

  Kazimir

  My plan was to get her to fall for me. Seduce her, as it were. I can get what I want from her by force, or I can do it with seduction.

  I prefer both.

  But when Dimitri calls me, he explains the need for me to come home sooner than later. When the Pakhan gives an order, we obey. He’s our leader. The father of our group. A man who rules with an iron fist but pledges loyalty to the men beneath him. In turn, we swear our allegiance to him.

  He rescued me when I was a poor boy on the streets of Moscow. He took me in. Raised me as his own. He taught me the ways of the Bratva.

  Over the years, I’ve risen in stature and power, the Brigadier. I’m the commander of our small army, the one who assigns jobs, oversees their completion, and pays tribute to our Pakhan. I assure Dimitri of our loyalty with fastidious adherence to his expectations. Any man who steps a toe out of line in obedience to Dimitri answers to me.

  So when Dimitri tells me to jump, I ask how high.

  “Prikhodite seychas,” he orders, come now, in the familiar harsh yet harmonic language of my homeland. There’s no more time to dawdle. He continues, explaining to me that circumstances have changed and he needs me here. I frown but nod, even though he can’t see me. This was not how I wanted to orchestrate her abduction. I had a plan, and it was working perfectly, stunned by my attention and eager for more. My plan was to slowly goad her toward the trap I set, but now I’ll have to act more aggressively.

  I glance at the clock and note that she’s off of work in just under half an hour. My plan was to take her to a fancy restaurant. Ply her with wine. Speak to her of the things that are on her mind. Ask questions about herself and feign interest in what interests her.

  I don’t have time for the slow seduction now. I cu
rse to myself as I think about my options.

  She’s out of money for the week and will have little to eat until she’s paid next Thursday. In her home, she has several packages of noodles, some bread, and peanut butter but nothing more.

  Poverty I can work with. Obedience will be harder.

  But I know my way with a woman like her, and I always get what I want.

  Chapter Four

  Sadie

  I’m punching the time clock when a shadow darkens the doorway behind me. My heartbeat quickens when I recognize his profile.

  “Kazimir,” I greet him, startled. “You scared me.”

  He leans against the doorframe. “I’m sorry,” he says with a smile. His voice is soft but deep and husky as it carries across the quiet room. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I wondered if you had dinner plans tonight?”

  I nearly drop the books I’m holding. I checked out a couple that I planned on reading tonight.

  “Dinner?” I ask stupidly. No one’s ever asked me out. Is this a date?

  I look down at my clothing, dotted in dust. Today I spent time dusting the archives, and I must look a sight. “I… do I have time to go home to change?”

  “No need,” he says with a smile, his piercing eyes giving me a quick look over. “Nothing fancy, really.”

  Well, then.

  “Alright,” I say, but the words of the woman in the coffee shop come back to me.

  Beautiful and dangerous.

  It’s an apt description. A prowling lion, predatory and powerful.

  Am I making a mistake?

  But when he reaches for the books in my hand and takes them into his, then smiles in that way that makes my tummy flip, I silence the doubts in my mind. I won’t let my imagination get the better of me. Not this time.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep calm and not act silly like I did the day before.

  “Oh, I have a place in mind.”

  We leave the library and talk easily to one another. He asks about the books I’m reading, and I tell him about the book of Irish poetry I checked out a few days before. I omit mention of the romance I’m reading. It feels so silly and frivolous around him. He doesn’t miss anything, though.

  “But that isn’t all you’re reading,” he says, with a look both curious and corrective. “What else is there?”

  “Oh,” I say, flushing. “There’s—well, I read romance.”

  “Mhm,” he says. He leads me into a tavern and the smell of steak and potatoes makes my belly churn with hunger. “Tell me.”

  “It’s silly,” I say, shaking my head, but he merely looks at me. Waiting.

  And so I do. I go on and on about my books while he orders us drinks and dinner. The wine is pink and sweet, and tastes so good after the long day I’ve had. Soon, a large platter with a sizzling steak, baked potato, and wilted spinach sits in front of me. I look up at him in surprise. I was so busy talking I didn’t notice he ordered for me. He never asked me what I wanted.

  My mouth waters.

  He waves a fork at my dish. “Eat,” he instructs, slicing into his own steak. I’m normally self-conscious but somehow, he puts me at ease.

  I eat ravenously as he plies me with wine. He asks me about my family and friends, and I’m getting comfortable with him. I tell him I have no family and no friends to speak of.

  “My books are my friends,” I tell him, laughing easily when I drink the third glass of wine. Now it doesn’t seem so sad and lonely when I’m relaying my life to him. I’m warm and comfortable with a full belly.

  He asks about school and college, laughs at all the right places, and goes strangely quiet and brooding when I tell him how I was bullied in school.

  “Bullied?” he asks. “Tell me.”

  And I do. He commands, and I respond. It feels easy. Almost natural. Feeling freer to speak of the past now that I’ve had my wine, I tell him about foster care and moving schools and about the way some of the kids I went to school with treated me.

  “Children can be cruel,” he says with a scowl. “I’d like to see any of them treat you that way when you are with me.”

  I blink, surprised. “I’d like to see that, too,” I say with a smile.

  But he closes his mouth as if he’s said too much. When he tears the roll in his hand in two, crumbs spray onto the plate. He takes a savage bite and chews the bread in silence, swallows it with a large pull from his drink, then waves a hand and gives me a forced smile. His sudden anger surprises me and I almost sober, but not quite.

  “Tell me more about you.”

  He asks about my hobbies and interests. But the whole time we talk, he tells me nothing of himself. We talk about literature and movies, and what sorts of music we listen to. He’s an animated conversationalist, and I’m highly entertained with everything he says. I continue to ask him questions about himself to the point where it’s borderline rude, but he deflects most of them.

  “Where are you from?” I ask him.

  “Moscow,” he says, slicing into his steak.

  “How long have you been here?” I ask, sipping my wine.

  “Oh, a while,” he says, before he waves the waiter down and asks for the check.

  I avert my eyes when he takes the check, and whisper a thank you. This dinner cost more than I can afford, but I don’t want to seem silly or foolish, so I keep my thoughts to myself while he pays. I’m sleepy from the wine, and pleasantly full of food.

  My head feels a little fuzzy and heavy. I wonder if I’ve had too much wine. I’m suddenly sleepy. So sleepy. I drop my fork and look up at him.

  “I’m very tired,” I say to him, disappointed. I like how I feel when I’m with him now. I don’t want our night to end. “Will you take me home?”

  “Are you alright?” he asks, leaning across the table. I nod, blinking my eyes furiously to keep them open. I’m vaguely aware of him standing, taking out his wallet, and removing a stack of bills. He tosses some on the table and reaches for me.

  “Come, now, Sadie,” he says in his deep, accented voice. I look at the large hand offered to me, and wonder. What does he see in me? What could possibly interest him in a boring, dowdy, far younger woman like me?

  “Thank you,” I tell him, my eyes growing so heavy with sleep.

  I’m so tired, I slouch against his arm, and he half-drags me out of the restaurant and to his car. The door clicks open and he slides me into the seat. My head falls to the side and my eyes close.

  “It’s warm in here,” I tell him. “Very comfortable.” But I’m asleep before I hear his reply.

  When I wake, I blink in surprise. I don’t know where I am, and sudden fear hits my chest with a surge of adrenaline.

  Am I dreaming? Or am I awake?

  What happened?

  My head hurts and my eyelids are heavy. It takes an effort to pry them open.

  I blink, but it’s so dark I see nothing but inky blackness. Panic wells in my chest when I try to move my limbs. I’m bound with something, my wrists and ankles locked tight. I open my mouth to scream but there’s a gag in place. I scream and scream against the gag, but all that comes out is a muffled garble.

  I close my eyes and will myself to still. I need to find out where I am and what’s going on. Panicking won’t help me.

  Where am I?

  I fell asleep. In Kazimir’s car.

  He drove me, and I fell asleep.

  Did he drug me? He must have, as I almost passed out after the dinner. I want to groan, but I stifle the need. I’ve been stupid and naïve. So stupid.

  A door opens and light floods the room. I blink, momentarily blinded. Harsh voices speak to one another in a foreign language. My breathing stills. I recognize Kazimir’s voice but I don’t understand what he’s saying. I want to scream and cry. It was all pretend. He meant nothing.

  A man steps over to me. I blink up at him, and when he meets my eyes, he scowls. He’s wearing a knit cap and a black coat, a muffler pulled over his mouth, but all I see
are his cruel black eyes.

  He spits something out in Russian, and there’s a scuffle of footsteps, then Kazimir looms into view. I don’t know Russian, but whatever he says to the man has him scurrying away so the two of us are alone. I look at his eyes when he stands over me and quickly look away when they blur with tears.

  He betrayed me. But there’s no repentance in his gaze. My pulse races when I realize this was what he intended all along. He’s scowling and stern when he bends down to pick me up, and his accent is thicker than I’ve ever heard, barely intelligible.

  “Do not fight me,” he says. “No screaming or flailing. You do exactly what I say.”

  Even when he was friendly I knew he was a man to be obeyed.

  He stands with me in his arms easily and walks toward the exit. Where are we going? My breath goes ragged and my eyes water. I’m helpless and terrified, trying to talk but the gag muffles the sounds I make.

  “Silence, Sadie,” he growls, walking with large, purposeful strides. But I can’t. I can’t stop trying to stop him. I shake and twist, trying to get away, begging and pleading against the gag because I don’t know where I am or where we’re going, but I know if he takes me, there will be no coming back. I can’t let him do this.

  A man behind him mutters in Russian, and Kazimir swivels to give him a piercing look. He rasps out a few sharp words. The large man challenging him bows his head like a chastened puppy and walks away. Kazimir commands this group of men, and I’m at his mercy.

  We’re in the dark, cold night, but the moonlight glances off the gleaming silver body of a plane.

  No.

  Panic explodes in my chest as Kazimir takes us closer.

  No.

  I’ve never been on a plane. They terrify me. And I know in my gut that if he takes me on that plane, I’ll never escape. Without contact with the familiar, I’ll be his prisoner. Maybe I already am. The knowledge makes tears leak from my eyes. I double my efforts, shaking and twisting, trying to scream, but I can’t get away.