The Bratva's Bride Read online

  When the elevator door closes, he cuffs my wrists with his hands.

  “If we weren’t in danger of being seen, I would cuff you,” he says conversationally. “Instead, you will choose to come with me. If you do not, I will be forced to take you bodily and you will be punished.”

  My heartbeat races when I feel his large, warm thumbs, calloused and rough, against the tender skin at my wrists. “I feel your pulse,” he murmurs. “Does it quicken with excitement, kitten? Fear of what awaits you? Or both?”

  I close my eyes briefly and don’t answer right away. I’m not sure what to say. I don’t know how to respond to him at all. The door to the elevator opens, and we walk to the exit.

  There is no possible way to get away from him. If I escape, they will find me. And my sister won’t be safe unless I’ve paid her penalty.

  He marches me out to a small, sleek black car that’s waiting by the exit. What does he mean by neutralize? Did he kill them?

  I swallow, closing my eyes to ward off tears. I brought my own team with me. I gave them specific instructions. They know now that I have to be taken, and they know my purpose. If they followed my advice, they’ll be standing down and not running to save me like they want to. It’s the only way.

  He opens the passenger door as if he’s a gentleman and I’m his fucking date. I can’t fight him too hard, because I need to pay this penalty. I need him to believe I’m Calina. But I can’t walk blindly with him either, or my submission will make my behavior questionable. So when he opens the passenger door and tries to put me in the car, I buck, spin, and yank my wrists from his grip. His face doesn’t even register mild panic and in one swift move he captures my wrists in left hand again, spins me around, and cracks his palm against my ass.

  “Vesti sebya,” he orders. Behave.

  I’m stunned into silence when he opens the door and pushes me in.

  I didn’t expect that.

  I slide into the seat. I’m frozen in place when he reaches in, grabs the seat belt, then leans across my body to fasten the belt. It’s odd how he treats me like I’m fragile and he’s my caretaker, when I can barely imagine what torture he has planned for me.

  Will he lock me up? Keep me in a prison, chained to his bed? Or bring me to a torture chamber and exact my retribution there?

  “You are a pretty little thing,” he mumbles. “I didn’t expect you to be so beautiful.”

  I don’t respond. What am I supposed to say? I’m starting to think being attractive in this situation isn’t a good thing at all. Maybe if I wasn’t, he’d dispose of me more quickly.

  “Thank you,” I say, not knowing how else to respond. I shouldn’t thank him for telling me I am beautiful. It would be far better for me if I wasn’t, but I inherited my mother’s looks like Calina.

  “Sleep,” he says. “We have a long ride ahead of us.”

  A long ride? We’d tracked the sources of the local Bratva only a few miles away, to the inner city. Where is he taking me?

  He takes metal handcuffs from his pocket. “Give me your wrists,” he instructs. I hesitate, still confused about where he’s taking me. Does it matter, though? I’ve already forfeited my life.

  “What are you going to do to me?” I ask, my voice holding an abrasive edge. I can handle anything if I know what it is I’m facing.

  “Wrists,” he snaps. I offer him my wrists. It will be easier to notice details if I’m not fighting him. If I fight him, he may gag or blindfold me.

  Why do I care about the details, though? What use are they, if I have no choice but to give him my life?

  Since he hasn’t answered, I push the issue again. “Killing me will be easier, you know.”

  He huffs out a sound like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I don’t like things that are easy. I never have.” He flashes me a chilling grin that makes the little hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. "I have much more creative ways of seeking retribution."

  He acts as if murder is mere child's play.

  I close my eyes and will my breathing to steady.

  Maybe I've made a terrible mistake.

  Chapter 2

  I can feel her rapid pulse against the pale skin at her wrists when I reach for her. She doesn’t flinch under my touch but freezes, as if she’s debating her choices. Wondering if she can get away with fighting me? I’m prepared to immobilize her if necessary. Maybe after her first punishment, she’ll become a bit more pliable.

  Jesus, I’ve got to be crazy for doing this. I could’ve ordered literally anyone in our brotherhood to take her and bring her in for retribution. For punishment. But I had to be the one.

  I fully planned on paying a visit to our brothers here in the city, but now that I see her… I don’t want to. I don’t want her near anyone else but me, a possessive need to keep her away from other men consumes me.

  It’s only been in recent months I’ve lived in the compound Dimitri established for us, and it’s the first time I wish I didn’t. The first time I wished I could have some privacy with what I want to do.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? I came here to punish her. She became my property the minute I took her into my custody.

  What possessed me to want her for myself?

  I don’t want her in the same living quarters as my brothers in Kazak. Hell, I don’t even want the brothers I live with to look at her.

  I wonder if I’m softening with the memory of my sister, as if the thought of Dominica…

  No.

  This girl is mine. She will pay for her sins. And when I have her alone I can do whatever I want with her. The very thought sends adrenaline coursing through me at the possibilities, my heart racing at the visceral image of her splayed out on my bed, naked and spread eagled, panting for me.

  I clench my jaw and breathe in deeply.

  This won’t be about her pleasure. She’s stolen so much; her life is forfeit. Even she must have expected that. I just don’t want the others to touch her. We deal with every transgression one at a time, on an individual basis. But the thought of her being under the punishing hands of anyone but me makes my stomach tighten.

  She’ll be mine to punish. Only mine.

  But even as I go through the options in my mind, I know I can’t keep her fully apart from them. I’ve arranged for the office beside my bedroom to be properly outfitted to deal with her.

  I watch the girl from the driver’s seat as I navigate the vacant streets. She sits erect, her hands on her knees, taking in the details. They won’t matter, though. Even if she knows where I’m taking her. she won’t be able to escape.

  She’s prettier than I anticipated, and even though I knew from Maksym’s description she’d be tiny, she still seems as fragile as a little bird. A little caged bird.

  I like that she’s attractive, but it may change the course of my plans for her. I’d seen photographs taken from her childhood, and more recently during court cases when she was sentenced to spend time in the hospital. I expected the straight, pitch black hair, thick, elegant eyebrows arched over light brown eyes etched with thick lashes, the thin, pointed nose and delicate chin, and pale complexion. I’d studied her pictures, and expected her beauty. Hell, it’s why I didn’t want my men to touch her.

  But I also expected her eyes to be more vacant. Distant. I expected some sort of physical manifestation of her mental illness, but I see none when I look at her.

  My phone rings, and I curse. I gave explicit instructions not to call me unless it was an emergency, so this does not bode well.

  “Hello?” I answer in Russian. I spoke English for her benefit. I’m not sure how much Russian she understands.

  “Demyan, you have her.” It’s Maksym.

  “Yeah. What’s the emergency?”

  “Checking to see if all went as planned.” But no, there’s more. That’s not why he called me.

  “I’ve got her,” I grit out. “Why the fuck did you call?”

  He gets right to the point. “Filip got a ca
ll from Amaranov’s people.” I perk up. We’ve done inside deals with Amaranov’s men for six solid months, trying to get an in. The politician is the most influential man on our payroll, but he’s been wining and dining our rivals. We’d feared our connection was all but dead, and prepared to pursue other political avenues. “There’s an opportunity. His wife’s holding her gala in the Theater. Couples-only, thirty million ruble buy-in. Charity cause.”

  “Yeah?” I cast a sidelong glance at the girl. “Fuck.”

  Every year, Amaranov’s wife holds her gala in the ball room of the Bolshoi Theater. Only the wealthiest, most influential couples in Russia attend, and there’s a waiting list one hundred deep.

  “The Thieves are in America, and can’t attend. If you go…” his voice trails off. We have an opportunity to form an alliance in the absence of our rivals. We know what this means. If I go, I get firsthand access to Amaranov. I can forge a pact that could solidify our connections in Russia for decades.

  “You got me in?”

  “I got you in.”

  “How?”

  He snorts. “I’m not exactly sure, but I think Amaranov’s wife has a thing for you. Your blond hair and blue eyes, man.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  He sobers. “I’m not joking. This is his third wife, younger than the other two. Beautiful. Conniving. She wants you there, and you’ll see when you go. She specifically asked for you, so I worked that angle. Paid in full. But I needed to call to be sure you got the girl, because you’ll need her.”

  Amaranov’s wife. Christ.

  I finish up the call with him and hang up the phone. She’s sits quietly, picking at her fingernails.

  “Stop that,” I order.

  She freezes. “Stop what?” she bites out.

  She’ll lose that edge to her responses when I get her alone.

  “Picking at your nails. It’s a disgusting habit.” I watch the way her jaw firms and her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t respond. Her hands sit in her lap, stilled, but after a moment she twitches a bit and her foot begins to tap. I don’t pay attention at first, as I’m thinking about the possibilities that lie ahead.

  I’ll have to go to the gala.

  “Stop that, too.”

  Maksym’s found an in, and I need to take it, but I know what this gala is like. She’ll be expected to present herself like royalty and act the part.

  I turn to face her. “A ty govorish' po russki?” I ask her, marking her response.

  Do speak Russian?

  When she looks at me and worries her lip, I have my response. I nod. She’s either lying or really doesn’t speak Russian, but this will do.

  I’ll bring her, and make sure to spread the word she’s come from America and speaks no Russian. Having her by my side and mute is likely best. But, God, if she’s what they say she is… the girl could become unglued in public. Her behavior might be erratic and unpredictable.

  But I have my methods of training before we go. If she values her life, she’ll do as she’s told.

  I know now I did the right thing taking her for myself.

  When I saw her, saw with my own eyes the fire that burns deep within her, I knew a simple kidnapping wouldn’t suffice.

  No.

  She’s stolen tens of thousands of dollars in what she must have thought was a smart maneuver. Money is our business, and we don’t take too kindly to meddlers. Her life is forfeit for her deception, and anyone who knows us will know this to be fact.

  Now that she’s quiet and momentarily obedient, I think about my plan to form an alliance politically.

  We drive in silence for ten minutes, and I know she wants to ask questions but she’s biding her time. I offer her nothing. Soon, when I have her alone, I will tell her what my expectations are.

  In my line of work, there is no time for the softer pleasures life has to offer, so I don’t spend time with women the traditional way. I take what I want, when I want it and appease my conscience by paying amply. I have a ring of beautiful women who service me when I wish. It’s easier that way. No strings attached.

  Maksym and Kazimir were fools for falling for their women. It’s weakened them, and that angers me.

  They shouldn’t have let themselves be manipulated. If Kazimir hadn’t fallen for Sadie, he’d be the leader of our brotherhood, not me.

  But I saw how he did things last year when we were under Dimitri. I watched. And I know where he went wrong.

  Kazimir was far too easy on his girl. He allowed himself to feel compassion for her. If he’d trained her properly from the beginning, he never would have fallen victim to Cupid’s arrow.

  I scowl at the road in front of me. So. Fucking. Stupid.

  Maksym is slightly better. At least he hasn’t gone on to have fucking offspring.

  I would never take a family into my circle, never take anyone I truly cared about anywhere near the men I work with.

  However… this might be an opportunity of sorts.

  Before Kazimir left, he married Sadie as a display of public goodwill and let it be with a clear public message: here is a man who takes a bride, and only good men do so. We have so many political and influential people in our circle, we sometimes need to pander to politics.

  Maybe I can use Calina to gain the respect of my peers and associates.

  Outwardly, my wife, while she suits my purposes. Behind closed doors, my captive.

  “Where are you taking me?” she says in a husky whisper, the tremble in her voice the only thing betraying her fear. “This isn’t the way to your home.”

  I raise a brow at her. Seems she’s done her homework, though she doesn’t know as much as she thinks she does. She has no idea I no longer live apart from the others.

  “And here I was thinking you’d be a simpleton,” I mutter. “It seems you’ve fooled the doctors, anyway.”

  She freezes and doesn’t respond, but I can feel her bristling from where I sit.

  Silly, foolish Americans. They like conversations prettied up and sweetened, but in Russia, we speak the truth.

  “A simpleton would know how to steal money like that?” she responds.

  “No,” I bite out. “But it seems you fooled the judge who ordered you admitted.”

  She says nothing in return.

  “I know your history, Calina. I found out who you were before I made my plans. I know you suffered brain damage in a car accident years ago, and that your father was killed in the accident. So is this how you entertain yourself? Meddling with things you have no business meddling in?”

  She doesn’t respond.

  “I’m going to give you far better uses for your time, kitten.”

  “I don’t like you calling me that,” she says, her voice shaky.

  Silly, foolish girl.

  “I’ll call you whatever I’d like. You’re mine now.”

  “Oh isn’t that cavalier,” she mutters, then clamps her mouth shut as if she’s just realized she’s said too much. I don’t respond. I wondered what I would find when I came for her. Is her behavior erratic? Unpredictable? Does she have the brilliant mind of a hacker, but hears voices in her mind? Or has she fooled them into thinking she wasn’t the hapless victim they thought?

  Why would anyone do such a thing?

  I have no time to try to psychoanalyze her. I’ll take her back with me to the compound and see what we have on our hands when we arrive.

  I don’t have time for this. I shouldn’t even be here. I have an organization to run, and time spent on her in any capacity impairs my ability to do it well.

  Why did I even come? What is it about this small, child-like woman that’s drawn me to her?

  I shake my head. Perhaps I wanted to put a decided end to her single-handed destruction of my group. And the more I think about it, the more I know I did the right thing. Someone wily and attractive like her is dangerous. She needs to be decidedly neutralized. The threat she poses removed, like a declawed little kitten.

  I cast a loo
k at her. She’ll be proper entertainment, a mouse caught by a cat. I can play with her, toy with her, until I’m through.

  Until I’ve exacted every penny that she owes.

  And as I think it over, I form a plan. Dimitri, the man I thought of as a father, always told us to have an end goal, a purpose in sight, no matter what that goal was.

  Dimitri would be proud.

  “Fifty thousand American dollars,” I tell her thoughtfully. “That’s 3.2 million rubles and the sum total of how much you stole from us.”

  She doesn’t deny it but closes her eyes and groans, as if she somehow didn’t know the extent of what she did. How can she not know? Perhaps a misperception of reality is where her mental illness lies. Or perhaps hearing the truth makes it seem that much more real.

  “That’s how much money you owe us and how much I’ll extract from you in payment before you’ve paid your debt.”

  She begins picking at her nails again, harder this time, like she can’t stop the frantic tearing and clawing, but a swift slap to her thigh makes her yelp and freeze.

  I can’t wait to truly punish her. To see her subdued and whimpering. I’m fucking hard when I fantasize about causing her pain.

  “How can I pay you back?” she says, in voice so subdued I actually wonder for a moment if she’s considering it.

  “Do you know the going rate of a prostitute in Moscow?”

  She freezes.

  “A cheap one, good for a blow job and quick lay, runs about five thousand rubles,” I tell her. “The better ones, fifteen.”

  I let her think that over as I do some calculations.

  “I’ll be generous. I always pay my sluts well for their time.” She’s so still it looks like she isn’t breathing. “The more cooperative you are, the faster you’ll pay off your debt. Service me well, and I’ll consider your time worth fifteen thousand rubles an hour, or…” I finish the mental arithmetic. “Just over two hundred paid hours. Not counting the time we sleep and I work, whoring yourself to me will pay your debt in a matter of months.”

  “You’re sick,” she whispers.

  I smile. “Thank you.” I’ll take it as a compliment. I’ve heard far worse. “Of course, if you’d prefer, I can put you to work in, say, our kitchens. At that pay grade, it will only take you, let’s see….” I pretend to figure it out. “The rest of your life to pay off, and only if you live a long one.”