Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5) Read online

  I’ll know her training is complete when even I can’t tell what she’s thinking. For now, though, her thoughts are easy to read. She wants to rip me a new one but she knows better than to get on the bad side of me or my family. That’s wise because once you’re on the bad side of a Glazov, there’s no coming back.

  Forgiveness is not in the Bratva vocabulary. If you cross us once, you’ll do it again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice? You’re dead.

  Anastasia

  This bitch is crazy. I don’t mean the out-of-control kind of crazy. I mean the methodical, calculating, kill-you-in-your-sleep kind of crazy. And she doesn’t need to worry about my intentions where her man is concerned; after watching Oleg pull a mouthful of teeth out of his last victim, I have no desire to have anything to do with him. Hell, he’s crazier than Roksana. Those two deserve each other.

  I am, however, going to learn all I can from the two of them. Where most people would resent having their life taken away from them, I’m lucky to be alive and am grateful to be able to look forward to truly living. Alexander Glazov saved me from death or, worse yet, life in prison. For that, he’ll always have my allegiance.

  “Come with me. The Pakhan wants to see you.”

  “Why?” The words are out of my mouth before I can think about it and I regret them immediately. Judging by the look on her face, she isn’t too happy about being questioned. She says nothing, just grabs my arm and digs her long fingernails into my flesh. She’s daring me to defy her, to do anything but follow her. I decide it’s probably in my best interests to comply with her wishes.

  As we leave my room, I steal a glance in the mirror over my dresser. I’m taken aback by what I see. I’ll never get used to this. The fair-haired suburban housewife is nowhere to be seen. The stranger looking back at me is every inch the femme fatale. My hair is jet black, stick straight, and bobbed with bangs. My lips are painted blood red and contact lenses give me emerald green eyes that pop. Damn, I’m hot.

  I have to give it to Roksana; she took a wall flower and created a showstopper. Sexy doesn’t even begin to describe this new look. As we hurry down the hall trying to keep up with Oleg’s long strides, the double-take I get from one of Glazov’s men only confirms what I already know; my new look is going to draw a lot of attention -- attention I don’t want.

  But what I want doesn’t matter anymore. My life belongs to the Pakhan now.

  Chapter Two

  Oleg

  Out of habit I proceed down the hallway first—always first. If we ever encounter a threat, they will have to go through me to get to Roksana. It’s been that way since the Pakhan hired me to protect his only daughter.

  My insistence that she follow behind me has always been a source of disagreement between my charge and me, more so now that we are betrothed. She says it’s demeaning, that it makes her feel like she’s submitting to me. I enjoy her frustration and don’t exactly discourage her from ranting and complaining because it always leads to a battle for control in the bedroom.

  As we take the final turn on the way to the Pakhan’s office, I straighten my cuffs and stretch my neck from side to side, feeling the familiar tick in my jaw. It’s always this way entering his office—in-fucking-tense. I tap on the door twice and his bodyguard—Yafon—my uncle opens it.

  “Ahh, nephew, so good to see you live another day.”

  “Day’s not over yet, Uncle.”

  “Ha, ha, you hear him, Boss? My nephew, he’s such a kidder.”

  As Glazov’s eyes bore through me, I keep my gaze straight ahead and maintain a respectful silence.

  “I don’t think he’s kidding, Yafon.” He’s right, I’m not. The day’s not over yet and anything could happen.

  I relax as the Pakhan turns his attention away from me to focus on the woman Roksana has reinvented with a head-to-toe makeover – name and all. He stands and rounds his desk, approaching the new recruit and considering her pensively. He roughly grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him. Though he’s looking at her with disdain, he begins to speak to his daughter as if the woman isn’t even there.

  “Quite the change, Roksana. You’re going to have my men falling over themselves to get to her.” He raises a brow in amusement as he continues, “I’m certain you’ve already informed her that Oleg isn’t available.”

  The familiar storm I’ve come to know crosses over my woman’s face as she answers her father. Her tone is calm but that storm I know so well is brewing inside of her.

  “Yes, Father. I told her in no uncertain terms what would happen if she goes near my fiancé.”

  “Ah, fuck yeah… This is gettin’ good, cuz,” Novak taunts from his seat by Glazov’s desk, where he’s cleaning his nails with a huge gutting knife. Glazov’s obviously entertained by his daughter’s jealousy and fans the flame.

  “And what is that? What exactly did you tell your little protégé?” he asks as he circles Anastasia, clinically assessing the makeover from every angle.

  Her tone’s still calm—eyes straight ahead, but boy is she ever pissed the guys are ragging on her.

  “I told her if she goes near my man that by the time I’m finished cutting her up, they won’t find anything but ribbons of her flesh.”

  “Daaaaaaaaaaaaamn, cuz, that daughter of yours is lethal,” Novak continues flippantly.

  Glazov cuts his eyes at Novak. “I raised her right.”

  “Damn straight, you did. She’s a real badass.” Novak goes back to the task at hand—playing with his knife. He seems to be content with himself now that he’s started some shit. Typical Novak.

  The Pakhan directs his attention back to Anastasia. “I assume you have been informed of your new circumstances. Your old life is over. Your allegiance is to Bratva.”

  Silence weighs heavily in the air as everyone awaits this stranger’s response that, whether she realizes it or not, will determine if she lives or dies.

  “My allegiance is to my Pakhan—I owe him my life.”

  Glazov sneers as he issues his own warning. “Yeah, well, don’t try to fuck with me either or what my wife will do to you will make my daughter’s temper look like child’s play.” He returns to his desk and drapes himself over his enormous chair, already focusing his attention on his laptop screen.

  “Yes, sir. My only desire is to be devoted to Bratva.”

  My heart stops when his head jerks up, his eyes narrowing at her words. “And why is that?” he asks in a solemn voice that can barely be heard.

  “Because Bratva resurrected me from the dead.”

  The silence lingers for a moment as he considers her answer, then with a curt nod he dismisses the three of us. Novak’s taunting laughter seems to follow us long after we leave.

  Chapter Three

  Roksana

  “Go to your room,” I snap at the girl and watch until her door closes behind her. I have no desire to babysit right now. I head toward my room and no sooner does my hand touch the door handle than his hand clamps down over it. With one finger he touches my shoulder, pushing me aside, silently reminding me that he will go in first.

  I fold my arms across my chest and roll my eyes as he insists on taking the lead, again. The man takes his job seriously. I respect that. Of course, there is much at stake; I wouldn’t want to be on the Pakhan’s bad side either. But Oleg’s need to protect me goes far deeper than the job my father gave him.

  He works his way around the room, looking in every nook and cranny, beneath the bed, in the walk-in closet and finally in the bathroom.

  “I doubt the fucking bogey man is hiding in here to take me away.”

  “Even if he was, he’d just bring your evil ass back.”

  “Fuck you, Oleg. You’ve got no soul.”

  He doesn’t say anything right away. He finishes checking everything until he’s convinced we’re alone. He returns to my bedroom door and locks the deadbolt. His slow, steady gait brings him within inches of me, where he cradles my face in his hands.

&nbs
p; “You…are my soul.”

  God…those dead eyes of his make me wet every time I look into them. Faster than I can fathom what’s happening, he tosses my dress up over my hips and winds his forefingers around the fabric of my thong, pulling it down my legs as lowers onto his haunches in front of me. I lay my leg over his shoulder and thread my fingers through his hair, inviting him to press his mouth between my legs.

  He asserts his control over me by shoving his long middle finger inside me. My hips rock in time to his tongue working its magic. Every nerve in my body cries out for Oleg—it always has, and it always will. The look of contentment he has on his face right now is because of me. The only time I ever see any light or life in his eyes is when they’re on me. I toss my head back against the wall as I give in to a deeply satisfying orgasm.

  The pleasure he gives me is all I’ve ever known. From the day he was mandated to guard over me he wouldn’t permit any other man to be near me.

  I remember the day he almost killed a teenage boy for trying to kiss me goodnight after a date. His words from that night affect me now as deeply as they did then:

  “Do you think you can tease me and not be mine? It’s only a matter of time before your father gives me your hand in marriage. You’d do well not to fuck anyone or even allow another man to touch you before we are betrothed. If you do…their blood will be on your hands. I’m telling you what God loves…the truth.”

  Chapter Four

  Anastasia

  I leave Roksana scowling at me in the hall as I shut and lock my bedroom door. I take a deep breath and slowly release it to let go of the stress from the meeting with Glazov. I’ve never been around anyone who’s so hard to read. You think you’re in his good graces one minute and he’s putting a bullet through your brain the next.

  I wonder if his family is exempt from being killed if they cross him—I honestly don’t think so. It’s obvious even his daughter is scared of him, and she holds a piece of his heart no one else does. It’s not like she’s all warm and fuzzy but when it comes to her father she definitely has a softer side. I can’t imagine her being soft and feminine with Oleg—I picture them crashing into furniture when they fuck.

  I push off the wall and step over to the mirror to study my makeover with no one else around. I look at the woman who stares back at me and decide I look more like I walked off the Kill Bill movie set than the woman known as Emily. These people really did kill her off, inside and out. If the truth be told, I killed her off myself when I became a murderer. They just finished the job by destroying any evidence of her ever existing, which is fine by me.

  I run my hands over my jet black hair, marveling at how the high-dollar products Roksana insisted I use have it feeling like silk. I touch the face that’s foreign to me. My skin feels supple and soft from the laser treatments. My lips are fuller but not enough to look weird. Emily never would have worn blood red lipstick, but on these luscious lips it definitely works. My features are strong and the only way I can describe my look is…kick ass.

  I’m kind of shocked she went for such a sexy look but just like everything else in the Glazov family, it’s over the top. This is the first time I’ve ever felt sexy. When I was married to a cop I looked mousy, and when I became a killer I looked like a kid—always dressed down so I wouldn’t be noticed. Now…well, like I said, I look like a hit woman straight out of a movie. A really, really sexy movie.

  Maybe that’s what they plan on using me for, to assassinate their enemies. Oddly enough, I honestly wouldn’t mind. One of two things happens after you kill someone for the first time: either you’re laden with guilt and vow to never kill again, or you develop a taste for blood. I developed a taste for blood. I like the idea of being an equalizer. If that’s what the Pakhan has in mind…I’m all for it.

  Chapter Five

  Roksana

  My father has decided to go into the diamond business. Any time a gangster wants to go legit it’s never without bloodshed. I don’t see my family ever being totally legitimate—it isn’t in our DNA. We come from a long line of Bratva mobsters. Actually, we prefer the term ‘gangster’, even when we use it tongue-in-cheek. It’s a title we take pride in.

  As my father says, we’re born Bratva. A leopard can’t change its spots. There are some traits we’re born with and no amount of trying to change can undo that. Personally, I believe it isn’t so much a matter of my father wanting to go completely legitimate as it is him wanting to emphasize those legitimate business interests and take some attention away from his more…colorful pursuits. We have two goals in this family: stay alive and stay out of jail.

  He isn’t just good at being a gangster; he’s also a savvy businessman and, I think, a true visionary. Dealing in diamonds makes sense for a couple of reasons: Russia is rich with diamond mines and we’ll make a shit load of money…legally.

  I have no doubt our enemies are going to see this as my father going soft. That’s where I come in. By the time I’m finished training my protégé, we’ll be bathing ourselves in the blood of our enemies.

  Another good thing about the diamonds we’ll be importing from the Motherland is the fact that they are conflict-free. The Pakhan likes the idea of not dealing in blood diamonds. By providing jobs and improving conditions for our Russian brothers and sisters, we will garner a positive image in the eyes of the Russian community.

  Any good leader knows that when you take care of the people you earn their allegiance. I remember my father telling me of a time long ago when it was necessary for him to fake his death. When he returned to Russia to let the dust settle and the locals were questioned by the authorities, no one would talk. It was as much out of loyalty as it was fear.

  Russia is one of the largest producers of not only natural diamonds but synthetic ones as well. Russian scientists were among the first to develop a machine that could produce synthetic diamonds that are so high quality they’re almost impossible to distinguish from natural ones. We’ve taken the industry to a whole new level. Making the synthetic diamonds economical has made them available to the masses. My father will deal in both naturally mined diamonds and synthetic ones. There’s a shit load of money to be made from both and the Glazov family will be a major player.

  Though we haven’t discussed it, it’s understood that we can expect to be at war with our competitors who deal in blood diamonds. Like I said, I’m looking forward to bathing in the blood of our enemies. In fact, I think it’s time I talk to Father about going on the offensive rather than waiting to defend our interests against our potential competition. What better way to show the world Alexander Glazov will never go soft than to deal the death blow that will be heard around the globe?

  We must act quickly and strike fear in the hearts of our enemies before they have time to form any alliances against us. Oh, yes…let it be the sucker punch heard around the world.

  Chapter Six

  Anastasia

  “Why the fuck is this door locked?” Roksana shouts over her loud knocking.

  I rush to unlock it and face a woman whose eyes are full of suspicion. She gives me a hard look and then, apparently satisfied that I’m not up to no good, turns away and issues my marching orders from over her shoulder.

  “Come on, then. It’s time for target practice,” she barks sharply as she strides down the hallway.

  “So I’m going to be an assassin.” I don’t really want to say what I’m thinking. I hope like hell I’m not the target in the practice you’re referring to.

  “Like hell. You’re a shestyorka until the Pakhan says different.”

  “What’s a shestyorka?”

  “It’s a fucking errand boy—or girl, in your case.”

  “So you’re a brigadier?”

  She whips around so fast it startles me. The hard look on her face makes me brace for impact just in case she decides to smack the shit out of me. I quickly explain my question.

  “I’ve been doing my homework. I’ve researched Bratva culture. I figure,
if I want to fit in then I need to learn as much as I can.”

  “I see. My brother Kodiak is a brigadier. If you’ve been doing your homework enough to know what a brigadier is, then you should have known what a shestyorka is. Details, Anastasia. Details.”

  She opens a door leading outside to a shooting range. Oleg stands off to the side with another man who’s clearly a bodyguard or Bratva soldier of some kind. His immense size and a nose that looks like it’s taken its share of punches are a dead giveaway.

  The man eyes me indifferently as he saunters over to a small storage shed that holds an arsenal of weapons. There are handguns, rifles, knives, even stars that are thrown to pierce an enemy. Roksana tells the brawny man what she wants, speaking casually as if she’s ordering a pizza. With all the crazy shit she’s wrapped up in, this is probably normal for her.

  “Hand me the Dragunov SVD sniper rifle.”

  “That’s my girl, going with the Russian-made rifle.”

  She turns, eyeing her lover coyly through her thick lashes. “You know me; I love my Russian-made artillery.”

  “Yes…I do know you, kotik. You’d do well to remember that.”

  I ignore the double entendre. I’m more intrigued with the gorgeous rifle she’s holding. It may not be beautiful in the traditional sense of the word, but to me it’s breathtaking and I don’t resist the fantasies going through my mind of the damage I could do with it. One thing’s for sure: I’ve developed a fierce bloodlust.

  I follow Oleg and Roksana to a large table beneath an outdoor pavilion. She sets the rifle on the table and opens a small black bag.

  “I don’t like repeating myself so pay attention. This is a Dragunov SVD rifle. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll know how to assemble and disassemble it blindfolded. Here’s what you’ll need.” She’s talking as she’s working and I’m taking it all in. “This is a 1mm Hex key. This is a 2mm Hex key and, last but not least, this is a 3 ½ mm Hex key. These are all the tools you need to disassemble or reassemble this rifle. Familiarizing yourself with your weapon is critical. Your weapon is an extension of you. I want you to be able to shoot a fly off a horse’s ass. When a hit comes up, you have one opportunity to do it right. There is no room for error. Failure to take out your target would leave at least one witness. Witnesses talk. Witnesses cause wars.