Glazov (Born Bratva Book 1) (17 page)

Glazov

My mind wandered as I sipped on chilled vodka while awaiting my wife’s return. Yafon had already informed me that they were on their way home.

Being away from her had been one of the hardest things I’d ever endured. I wondered if that lunch date I set up with Vladimira had helped my cause at all. I didn’t have to tell my sister what to say to my wife; the truth was all she needed to hear. My sister was well aware of my sexual escapades before I married my wife. She knew there was a different woman every night. This was the first time Vladimira had ever seen me obsessed with a woman. I know my wife, and there’s no doubt in my mind that she questioned my sister about my previous women. Hell, I had counted on it. Judging from my wife’s behavior in finally giving in to me, Vladimira had been honest with her.

Staying away from my wife was the hardest thing I had ever been forced to do, especially when I knew how much she was suffering. My lifestyle was such that I was constantly plagued by threats from enemies and law enforcement. In Russia, it wasn’t so bad because I held more power. The distinction between legal and illegal activities was not so clearly delineated here, and for my family, who was responsible for putting the right men into powerful political positions for decades, the lines were even more blurred.

Coming back to Russia had been a necessary evil. I hated being without my wife, and once I had learned of her pregnancy, it became an almost impossible feat. There wasn’t a single day that I didn’t feel as though my heart was being ripped out of my chest. The woman had an effect on me that no other woman had ever accomplished. Before her, I was convinced I was incapable of falling in love. She shattered that belief, and I will never be the same because of it. Love had not changed me in the same way it does some men; I had not become more merciful towards my adversaries. If anything, I was even more relentless and more ruthless in my business dealings now that I had something to lose. I would do anything to keep my family safe and stay out of jail.

Before my wife, women threw themselves at me. They did anything I wanted them to do, and they did it without question. It was always the same. They would eventually want more from me, and I eventually grew bored with them. That was the way of things until my Ptichka. She had the fiery temperament redheads were rumored to have, and I loved it. She was the first woman I’d been involved with who ever stood up to me. The women before her catered to my every whim either because they feared me too much, or because they wanted the prestige of being the boss’s woman too badly.

I was obsessed with her, and my obsession only grew with each passing day. Now, she was the center of my universe. Her pregnancy solidified her place in my world. She was the woman carrying the next generation of Bratva. She couldn’t escape even if she wanted to now. I had succeeded in my plan; I will never lose her. From the moment I’d laid eyes on her, that had been my intention.

I couldn’t figure out how this woman had ensnared me in her web. I was completely and utterly captivated by her. There was no way I could explain how she permeated every aspect of my life, but then again, I have never been in love before.

Her screams of glee broke me from my reverie, and I watched as she tossed her shopping bags on the bed before she ran over to sit on my lap, facing me. I sat my vodka down off to the side and eyed her. It made me happy to see her happy. She was the one thing that brought joy into my fucked-up world of organized crime.

Kathleen

I screeched with joy as I entered the bedroom where my husband sat and waited for me.

Life-size nesting dolls greeted me, the largest I’d ever seen.

They stood in line, in order of descending height, and they were perfect replicas of us with three children, two older boys and a girl. They were absolutely exquisite. The time and attention to detail it must have taken to make them look so much like us was simply remarkable.

I was thrilled, not only because he purchased them, but also at the amount of thought he put into having them made. It was endearing, to say the least.

I jumped onto his lap and wrapped my legs around him. He nodded at Yafon, a silent command for the bodyguard to leave.

I looked into his face, and he looked angry as he eyed me. I never could get an accurate read on him.

His eyes cut through me as he unbuttoned my shirt and began pinching and pulling at my tits.

“Stop it,” I whined, “that hurts.”

He pulled my bottom lip down with one thumb as he used his other to rub my nipple until it stood at attention.

“You have no idea what real pain is.”

His hand tugged at a fistful of my hair as he gritted his teeth and glared at me.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, making a clicking noise as he stared at me.

He bent closer and whispered, “Lift that skirt up, spread those sweet little lips, and sit on my thick, hard cock. Now!”

My hands trembled as I lifted up my skirt, moved my panties over to the side, and slowly lowered myself down onto his erection.

His hand tangled in my hair as he thrust up into me. “Do as I say, and do it now, Ptichka. Fucking isn’t going to hurt that baby.”

I grabbed his shoulders and began moving up and down with more force.

“That’s it. There’s that ‘I’m going to come face’ I love so much. You better not, though. No more doing whatever you want. Your body belongs to me; therefore, your orgasms belong to me. Do you think you can control me with that hot little pussy of yours? You deceive yourself if you believe that’s true.”

Every nerve in my body was on high alert. The way his eyes dared me to disobey him and the threats he hissed in my ear only served to stoke the flames of my passion for him. He grabbed my head, fisting handfuls of hair and pulling hard by the roots, right before he whispered, “Come.”

His mouth muffled my screams as I convulsed on top of him. If sex was good before, then it was off the charts now. Being pregnant only intensified the experience.

Glazov wasn’t just good looking; he was sexy. The fact that he was dangerous turned me on regardless of how hard I tried to fight it. Never knowing what was going on inside that head of his only made him more compelling. He was an impossible conundrum I was determined to piece together and figure out. His power pulled me in, enticing me to delve deeper into his world of depravity. The wickedness in him called out to the darkness in me—a darkness I never knew existed until Glazov.

Glazov

I stood in the ring and stretched my neck back and forth as I sized up my opponent.

My sadistic need for blood had reared its ugly head, and my need to feed it was escalating. What I actually needed was a good torture session with one of my enemies, but this would have to do for now.

I flexed my fists and immediately began assaulting my opponent ruthlessly. Though my sparring partner was a professional fighter, he stood no chance against me. The crunching sound of disintegrating bone was loud in the ring as I mercilessly beat the man.

Blood flew, feeding my sadism and adding fuel to my burning need to hurt someone. There was a method to my madness; this kept my wife safe. Better to pummel a willing opponent than to subject my wife to pain.

My men stood around the ring and watched with avid interest. Some of them were as sadistic in nature as I was. They had to be ruthless, blood hungry warriors to carry out some of my commands when they interrogated those who dared to cross me. They had all been handpicked by me. Some of them were even childhood friends whose fathers had served my father. We were all just one, big, dysfunctional, fucked-up, bloodthirsty family.

We needed each other; we needed the semblance of normality. The need to be accepted started in our childhoods when we first learned we were a different breed. Knowing other families involved in organized crime gave us the solidarity children need. Over the years, we grew into men who no longer cared about what was politically correct. Though times had changed, we continued to preserve our fathers’ antiquated beliefs. Even our women upheld our traditions and lived their lives as fate determined. We clung together as family, and they bonded in a sisterhood of women whose husbands were in our Bratva sect. As cold-blooded as we were and as unemotional as we seemed, we still needed to feel like there were others like us, those who followed the paths their ancestors paved for them long before their births. We were answering the call of Bratva and supporting one another in our beliefs. We were telling ourselves that our lifestyle was normal, telling ourselves
we
were normal.