The Cleaner (Born Bratva Book 4) (23 page)

Cop Killer

The light trickle of rain prompts me to tighten my hoodie around my face. I clutch the switchblade in my pocket as the man weaves along the sidewalk toward me. My thumb rests next to the latch on the knife handle, poised to release the blade if he gets much closer.

Two things go through my mind: this could be a set-up by the two guys I just escaped at my door; and I’m not in the mood for any bullshit. My defenses are on high alert as he stumbles in my direction.

“Ya got a d-dollar, babe?” he asks, his slurred words difficult to understand. He gives me no time to answer, just becomes more aggressive in his demands. “Hey…I’m just as fuckin’ important as you, bitch! Gimme a fuckin’ dollar.”

I slam him against a tree just off the sidewalk and flip the switchblade open, pressing it flat against his throat. “I will slit your throat to the bone if you don’t back the fuck off!”

“Hey, hey, calm down, lady. I wuz jus’ playin’. S’all good, s’all good…”

I shove him to the side and keep moving. I’m no longer the demure little housewife I used to be. A monster has been awakened inside me and I don’t know how long I can keep it at bay. Things are spiraling out of control. I wonder how long I can keep going like this with no help.

My mind wanders back to my narrow escape from two Russian mafia goons only moments ago. My escape route worked perfectly, with the fire escape giving me a direct line to the sidewalk below and freedom. But now I’ve got a problem. Hell, I’ve got a long list of problems, the most pressing of those being the breach of my hiding place. I can’t go back to my apartment get to my money, my clothes, or the gun that’s already ended three lives. The way I see it, I’m fucked.

Up ahead is the law office of Nikita Alexander Glazov, Esq. I enter the building lobby and am relieved to see the ground floor office door has a mail slot. I slip the sealed envelope, marked with his name and “Confidential” from my jeans and drop it through the slot. My oversized hoodie hangs low over my face, obscuring my features from any security cameras.

I shake my head as I hurry down the sidewalk. My one chance at redemption is through the son of a gangster and his fiancé.
This day has been a cluster fuck; I can’t wait to see what tomorrow will bring.

Nikita

I wake up early if that’s what you want to call it. After a night of tossing and turning, I probably only got a few hours of real sleep and I’m anything but rested. I push the button on the intercom and call down for coffee.

I can’t help but chuckle when I look over and see Natasha had no problem sleeping. My fiancé has been in this business long enough that there’s very little she lets get to her. The only time I’ve ever seen the woman worry is when it has something to do with me or my family.

The light tap on the door lets me know my coffee has arrived.

“Come in, Alyona.” She enters with a cart laden with a carafe of coffee and croissants and every imaginable condiment to go with them.

“You’re always looking out for me.”

“You must eat to keep up your strength. You work too hard. I brought extra in case Natasha awakens.”

“I won’t argue, I’ve had my work cut out for me lately.”

She has worked in this house since we were kids and has long been an unofficial member of the family. She is, no doubt, the keeper of many secrets. She appears to accept my comment as innocuous small talk and smiles benignly as she prepares to leave.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, ma’am. I’ve got an early start today. Natasha won’t be joining me so just let her sleep for now. When she’s up, let her know I’ll be back for her.”

“As you wish,” she replies with a slight bow before closing the door silently behind her. I take a bite of the croissant and pour a cup of coffee before trudging into the bathroom for a shower.

I rest my forearms on the tile and lower my head, letting the warm water pound my neck and back. My mind wanders through the myriad thoughts that kept me awake for much of the night. Will my father put a hit on Jasmine? If I’m able to intervene, what then? Would the case ever even make it to trial? Would she stay alive long enough to be tried?

Killing a cop is a capital offense. She’d be looking at the death penalty. She’s bound to know that, which tells me that death is not a deterrent for her. She truly has nothing to lose. I suspect she may be setting the stage for her own death, on her own terms. From the outside looking in, I can’t say that I blame her.

I would love to be a fly on the wall when Novak and Dad get into it about her getting away. Knowing my father, he’ll make sure Novak never forgets how he fucked up – and, knowing Novak the way I do, failure will infuriate the fucker. Mission accomplished, basically.

I hurry through my shower, hoping to position myself downstairs in time to catch at least part of the conversation between my father and Novak. At the very least, maybe I can discern Dad’s intentions while also enjoying Novak’s comeuppance, up close and personal.

I’m drying off when I walk back into the bedroom, scrubbing the towel roughly over my hair before drying my torso and arms. Natasha looks up from where she’s sitting up in bed nursing her coffee and finishing off my half-eaten croissant. Her eyes heat with feminine appreciation as she checks me out. I’m pretty shameless when it comes to nudity. Hell, if I had my way I’d only wear clothes when absolutely necessary.

“Where are you going so early?” she purrs as she wipes a crumb from the corner of her mouth and sucks it off the end of her thumb. In an instant, I’m hard and we’re locked in a heated standoff, each of us waiting to see what the other will do.

“Me? I’m heading to the office to see if Jasmine left anything for me.”

“So…I see you’re on a first name basis now. Well, you’re not going without me.” She hops off the bed, our sexy duel forgotten as she scampers into the bathroom, giving me a delicious view of the most perfect ass God ever made.

In a matter of seconds I hear the water running and I know she’ll be ready by the time I finish dressing. She’s one of the few women I know who doesn’t need make-up. She wears it occasionally but she’s confident enough not to require it.

Sure enough, by the time I’m straightening my tie she’s squeezing into jeans and a muscle t-shirt. The ensemble couldn’t be farther from haute couture, but it hugs her well-toned body in all the right places.

“And what makes you so anxious to go with me?”

“Oh, let’s see, we’re dealing with a woman with a penchant for killing and a fierce sense of justice, no matter how twisted it may be. That’s quite a combination and I’d hate to think I have any competition,” she smirks. “I know how you love a bad-ass woman.”

“Ahh, so you’ve discovered my weakness for hit women, huh?”

She playfully punches my arm. “You do have a death wish for the woman, you know.”

“You’d kill for me?” I chuckle.

“Damn straight I would. Hey…let’s go see if Novak’s made it in yet.”

“You’re such a little instigator.”

“Like you weren’t thinking the same thing. And, yes…I do love a good Bratva brawl.”

“If those two go at it, it’ll be in a boxing ring, not in Dad’s office.”

“Now,
that
I’d like to see. But I have to agree, Glazov isn’t going to risk messing up any of his high-dollar antiques. Let’s go, you’ve made me curious.”

She slips on a black ball cap with a skull and crossbones applique. She looks so good without even trying. At a glance, we couldn’t look more like opposites. Only
we
truly understand just how alike we really are.

She giggles as she grabs my arm, tugging me out the door. It’s one of the reasons I love her so much, she makes even the mundane, day-to-day things fun. She is the light of my life, my
malysh
. I’d live a pretty boring life without her.

We both get quiet when we hear Dad and Novak’s voices.

“I know she eluded you last night, but you’ve lost her?! You’re telling me you have
no idea
where she is? What the fuck were you two thinking, not stationing somebody behind her apartment building?”

“That fire escape is decrepit, hasn’t been used in years! How the hell was I supposed to know the crazy bitch would use it to jump out of a third story window?”

“Expect the unexpected,
zhopa
!”

“
Poshol nahuj
, Glazov. Fuck off. I’m not one of your underlings, I’m family.”

My father’s voice takes on a sinister tone. “To whom much is given…much is required. How do you think it’s going to look when she’s arrested and tells the authorities two Russians buffoons were at her door? It’s not like you blend in covered in all that fucking hardware and ink – a brilliant move for a Bratva brigadier, by the way.”

“That isn’t my issue.”

“And just what
is
your
issue
, Novak?”

“The fact that you passed this case to your son and his woman.”

“When I’m ready to kill her, I’ll consider giving you the privilege of doing it.”

I place my finger to my lips in an effort to tell Natasha to be very quiet and we tip toe away. There’s no telling how long those two will be going at it. I know Novak is pissed because he thinks Dad snubbed him. I’ll talk to him later when Dad isn’t around.

I know my father and the reason he ordered us to find the woman was because we’re more invested in finding her. That, and he’s testing us yet again to see if we’ll follow his orders.

Novak isn’t the only one under the Pakhan’s relentless scrutiny. In the end, it’s just the Bratva way.

Cop Killer

I sneak around the side of my apartment building, making sure no one is around before I knock on Mrs. Harris’ door. Sleeping on the streets isn’t just uncomfortable, it’s dangerous as hell for me now. How did things get so crazy out of control?

I’m going for some reverse psychology here; no one will think of looking for me this close to my apartment. If Mrs. Harris will let me crash at her place, I’ll be able to get to my stash of cash and my gun. I would kill anyone who tried to hurt my neighbor so she’ll actually be safer with me there.

“Mrs. Harris,” I call out in a low voice as I knock on the door. I can hear the sound of her cane and footsteps shuffling slowly across the floor.

“Good lord, child, you look awful,” she exclaims. She leans in to get a good look at me and scowls when she takes in my bedraggled appearance. I squeeze past her and lock the deadbolt before I say anything.

“We need to talk,” I urge in a frantic, hushed tone. She pats my arm and waves me to a seat.

“Of course, dear. Let me start some coffee. You look like you could use it.”

Mrs. Harris may not have expensive things but her apartment is as neat as a pin. I take off my soiled jacket and am careful to place it over the arm of a wooden chair so it doesn’t ruin any upholstery. She slowly hobbles back in to wait for the coffee to finish brewing.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” The look on her face is one of concern, like a grandmother might have for a beloved grandchild.

I settle back in the chair and decide to tell her enough for her to understand my plight, but leave out enough to ensure she isn’t put in danger.

“I left an abusive man six months ago. Two men were trying to find me last night. I’ve got nowhere to go, Mrs. Harris.”

“I thought those men I eyed through the peephole last night looked like hooligans.”

I can’t help but chuckle at the antiquated word. She continues, “I may be old but I’m not stupid. You got nothing to worry about, you just stay here with me. And there’s always my ol’ trusty Shurshot if we run into any trouble.”

“Shurshot? I’m sorry, you have…a Shurshot?” I question hesitantly, to ensure she’s saying what I think she is.

“Oh, yes, honey, I love that shotgun. I may look old and frail but I ain’t puttin’ up with no shenanigans. I might be too old to duke it out anymore but I can still shoot a fly off a horse’s ass and not leave a mark.”

At her use of “anymore” I shift gears from a chuckle to a full blown belly laugh. It’s been a long time since I laughed this hard. She returns to the kitchen to get our coffee. I follow behind her and watch as she places the cups on the counter and pours the coffee.

She gestures for me to get a TV tray over from the corner so I do. I carry it into the front room and set it up. I return to the kitchen, place the coffee mugs and a plate of cookies on a small tray that I carry as I follow her back into the living room.

I slump back onto the couch this time and take a sip of the warm brew, savoring the aroma and flavor of the dark roast.

“So,” I sigh, “I don’t know how I got in so deep.”

“We never do, dear…we never do. Why don’t you just lie down, sweetheart, you’re safe here.”

I’m too tired to disagree. I lie down, fluff a decorative pillow and shove it under my head. As I drift off, I barely register Mrs. Harris draping a blanket over me and tucking me in like a child. She strokes a gnarled, arthritic hand over my hair, humming softly until I fall asleep.