Love and Devotion (Born Bratva Book 10)

by Suzanne Steele

  He slipped a long middle finger into her pussy and manipulated her clit with his thumb. The polar sensations of pain and pleasure made her hips buck. The pleasure he was giving her sent her over the edge quickly. He was a man who knew how to make her wait to cum, and he was a man who knew how to get quick results too. He slipped his fingers in her mouth and felt his cock harden when she sucked her juices from them.

  “You make me want to bend you over this desk and fuck you, but that will have to wait. Now, what do you want to talk to me about?”

  She got up and straightened her clothes and sat on the opposite side of the desk so she could see his eyes. She needed to gauge his mood, and she was one of the very few who could. Charles had perfected keeping his expression unreadable from years of doing business. She knew he would remain stoic until he heard her out.

  “We’ve never dealt with cartel before.”

  “I beg to differ, my love. Tommy and I just disposed of two dope dealers.”

  “Street thugs. Gang bangers. That’s different than organized crime.”

  “That’s why they call it organized crime. It’s run like a business.”

  “You’re being smug, Charles.”

  “It’s my birthright.”

  The lopsided grin weakened her resolve because it was a part of his personality; he never showed anyone else: the playful side. It didn’t bend her resolve because this was too serious of an issue for her to allow that. Melanie knew how to stand her ground with her husband as well as criminals. She was a femme fatale, but you’d never know it by looking at her until her knife was at your throat. Her chestnut brown hair fell to her shoulders and was layered towards her face giving her a sexy businesswoman look. Her warm brown eyes gave the impression she was alert but friendly. Nothing about her gave the impression she was a serial killer.

  “I think we need to show some diplomacy in this matter. There’s enough property for all of us to have a proverbial piece of the pie. We don’t have the numbers backing us up that they do, Charles.”

  “I’m glad I married a smart woman. I’m certain you don’t expect me to meet with Glazov hat in hand because that’s never going to happen. I have a business plan. I have no intention of deviating from it, either.” Charles was a planner—he laid out a plan and stuck to it. There was money in real estate, and Charles was all about making money. He was a born businessman and at his best when wheeling and dealing. Success was a drug he had no issue with being addicted to. He was an adrenaline junkie. Business and killing fed his need for excitement.

  Melanie huffed in irritation, “I swear, ego is going to be the downfall of the male species. Being diplomatic doesn’t mean kissing the man’s ass. It’s no different than any other business you do. You’re diplomatic when dealing with businessmen. Why can’t you be diplomatic with Glazov?”

  “This must be of utmost importance to you.”

  She crossed her arms across her chest again, a sure sign of her displeasure with the direction this conversation had gone. “And, what makes you say that, Black Rose?”

  His hearty laughter rang through the air like an unwelcome response. “Because you’re glaring at me and calling me Black Rose. You only call me that when you’re mad.”

  “I want you to be careful,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’ve heard the rumors about the Colombian cartel Glazov has peace treaties with. They carve people up with chainsaws. The streets of Colombia and Sinaloa are filled with dead bodies on the news every night. These aren’t the kind of people who sue you when they get pissed. You’re used to being around stuffy suits who use the courts to fight their battles. Cartel puts no value on lives. When we kill, it’s for retribution, when they kill it’s for money, power, or because they’re dealing with a traitor.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I’m in complete agreement with everything you’re saying.”

  “Then why did you put me through a bunch of crap to tell me that.”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers. The glint in his eyes said it all. “Because it’s so much fun, little one. Watching my little kitten go feral on me is entertaining.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  He raised a sardonic brow, “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  Chapter Six

  “What the fuck were you thinking, Novak?” Glazov was irritated about the way the meeting had gone. He should have been used to Antonio Wayne and Novak’s mutual aversion by now. They couldn’t be labeled as enemies, more like they had personality conflicts. Maybe frenemies was a good way to describe it because they had each other’s backs. Like a lot of other things in organized crime, it was complicated. Glazov couldn’t allow any fractures in the peace treaty—even if they were hairline. He’d seen it before; what started out as a small issue could escalate into a war. Both men were smartasses fueled by excessive amounts of ego and testosterone. “I should make you two do a job together, but I’m not convinced only one would come back alive.”

  Novak weaved the Russian coin through his fingers as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He wasn’t the type to let stress get to him, and even when he was in life or death situations, he was cool, calm, and collected. He was quick on his feet in dangerous situations and the perfect person to have your back when the bullets flew. Both men had seen more than their fair share of street brawls and showdowns, and there wasn’t anyone either would rather have by their side when the shit hit the fan, and it always did. Glazov just didn’t need shit hitting the fan between cartel colleagues. More than once, Novak had saved Glazov’s life, and the favor had been returned by the Pakhan. Novak was a hot-head, and like many of the other gangsters, he was also a contradiction in terms. His nonchalant bad-boy attitude drew women to him like flies, but his heart belonged to his wife, Katrina. It was a good thing it did because she had taken self-defense classes with Kathleen, and she could shoot a fly off a horse’s ass at a hundred feet. All the men involved in the business of crime insisted their women were trained in fighting and firearms. Both Katrina and Kathleen could take a gun apart and put it back together quicker than most people could fire a shot off.

  “Bastard shouldn’t have brought a knife to a gunfight,” Novak smirked.

  Glazov couldn’t help but smile—leave it Novak to take an everyday saying and make it humorous. “He started it, and I can assure he’s getting an earful from his brother Ricardo. If there’s anybody Antonio Wayne’s scared of, it's his big brother.”

  Novak slowly shook his head in agreement. “I’d wager it’s the only person he’s ever been scared of.” Even though Novak didn’t like Antonio Wayne, he respected him.

  ***

  Ricardo’s fist slamming down on the desk sent office supplies flying, but it didn’t seem to affect his little brother at all, or at least he didn’t show it.

  “What the fuck were you thinking, hermano!”

  “I don’t like him,” Antonio shrugged like it was a given.

  Ricardo pointed an accusing finger at his little brother. “You two can’t get along because you’re just alike. You’re both too cocky. You like starting shit because you can.”

  Antonio Wayne didn’t deny it. The man had a way of getting under people’s skin. You could tell a person’s weakness by how they reacted under pressure. Antonio didn’t do anything without having an agenda. Antonio didn’t care for the masks people wore; he wanted to get to the heart of the matter. He had to know what made them tick so he could use it against them when necessary. Turning a person’s world upside down was a surefire way of exposing their true nature. Fucking with a man’s ego always revealed his temperament. No matter how he tried to justify his actions, there was something in him that had to push Novak’s buttons. Fucking with Novak was fun. Truth be told, he respected the way the man had stood up to him. Novak would be good in a gunfight, and in Antonio’s line of work, that mattered. A lot.

  “This is important,” Ricardo growled; his black eyes burned a hole in his brot
her’s resolve. He felt like Antonio Wayne wasn’t taking the issue serious enough. He’d spent his life getting his little brother out of situations, and he’d spend the rest of it continuing to do so. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t bust his brother’s balls when he fucked up, though.

  Antonio felt the first tinges of apprehension. Antonio Wayne would rather walk into a street brawl outnumbered than deal with his older brother, who was the size of a Mack truck and just as immovable. The man had spent years as a Colombian official, and it showed in every aspect of his personality. The man was trained for war, and that included hand-to-hand combat. The fear Antonio felt regarding his sibling was deeply rooted in respect. When Ricardo was disappointed, it bothered Antonio. Very few affected Antonio, but his wife and brother were at the top of the list. They evoked emotion in him that was otherwise reserved. He was sadistic to his core. More than once, he’d been accused of being a Sociopath or having an anti-social personality disorder if you wanted to be politically correct and up to date on your definition of crazy. Even the most dangerous in the cartel steered clear of a confrontation with the man who enjoyed torturing enemies. The idea of being skinned alive and having salt poured in your wounds wasn’t appealing to the most dangerous of criminals. Whenever a man knew he would be questioned by the Ramirez brothers, he’d do anything to avoid it. One man had put a gun to his head to escape being questioned by Antonio Wayne. Not many people had the balls to stand up to Antonio; it was the reason he respected Novak. He’d never tell him that, though.

  “Look, big brother,” Antonio turned his hands palm over in surrender, “I know I shouldn’t have antagonized Novak, but it’s fun to push his buttons.”

  “You think that’s the right thing to say to me right now?!”

  “It’s the truth, man. No sense in lying to a human lie detector.” Antonio Wayne was relieved when he saw the glimmer of a smile reach Ricardo’s eyes.

  “I’m not asking you to share beers and ballgames with the guy, but could you please attempt to get along with him?”

  “I’ll just have to find another way to vent my frustration.”

  “Yeah, you do that, little brother.”

  Ricardo’s glare was so intense that Antonio Wayne had to look away. He could only push the man so far, and he was at the limit.

  “In the name of world peace, I will, big bro.”

  That seemed to appease Ricardo. For now, anyway. Antonio used the opportunity to change the subject.

  “What’s your take on the serial killer, Black Rose?”

  Ricardo leaned back in his office chair and interlaced his fingers behind his neck, body language that spoke of a man giving something thought.

  “He’s smart, lethal, rich, and methodical. He isn’t the kind of man who can be bullied or strong-armed. We’re going to have to find a business proposition, something that benefits all of us. We need to make enemies with his enemies. It will result in us being in alliance with him.”

  “Still thinking like the Colombian government trained you,” Antonio laughed.

  “Damn straight, I am. I like a good fight, but I don’t want war breaking out with those crazy Russians or Sinaloans. This is not a case of my enemy’s enemy is my friend. This is about getting on the good side of a family of serial killers. I have to admit that this is a first for me.”

  “Yeah,” Antonio agreed. “Just when you think you’ve seen everything.”

  Chapter Seven

  The sleek Cadillac Escalade that pulled in front of the dilapidated apartment building looked out of place. It was the good people of the poor housing area who had paid for the slumlord’s Platinum edition Escalade. The Westend of Louisville hadn’t changed much over the years. The way Hex Slivers saw things, there was no reason to fix anything his tenants complained about because the structures he owned here were falling apart anyway. It’d just be a waste of time and money—time was money, money was time, and Hex wasn’t wasting either on people who wouldn’t appreciate it anyway. He was justified in his thought process, or so he’d convinced himself over the years. He wasn’t a social worker—leave fixing lives to those who were paid to do that. He was selfish and greedy, traits others could see clearly, but he chose to be blind to. Hex had made a fortune on real estate, but it was never enough because he was insatiable. Over the years, he had bought property in the poorest of neighborhoods. He’d diversified and bought properties in the east end where gentrification had all but taken over what was once housing projects. From the Eastend to the Westend, Hex had left his imprint. Buy low and sell high was his motto. It didn’t matter to the man the tenants had dubbed ‘Slumlord Slivers’ that families had been given little notice before being displaced from their homes. Thousands had been left homeless because of Hex’s shoddy business practices. It wasn’t his job to ensure people were taken care of; they should be responsible with their finances. It never entered his mind that some people were born into generational poverty and couldn’t see their way out. Never mind the elderly who eked out a living on fixed incomes. Hex had no trouble sleeping at night unless he hadn’t had the opportunity to fuck somebody’s day up. He got off on the power he held over people.

  Hex waited for his bodyguard to get out and open his door for him. Having a driver was a perk, but having a bodyguard was a necessity. More than once, he’d had a gun pulled on him by an irate drunk or a mother’s son who was actively involved in a gang. The gangbangers would pay mom’s rent, and their money was green too. It was just all the bullshit he had to put up with to get the rent that made his bodyguard a necessity. Hex was too self-absorbed to realize the people who rented from him had real-life problems. If they were looking for mercy, they damn sure weren’t going to get it from him. It didn’t matter if the baby needed milk and diapers; if he allowed a tenant to be late with the rent, word would spread he was a push-over, and Hex Slivers was nobody’s chump.

  Hex stepped out onto the curb. He straightened his tie and brushed imaginary lint from his tailored suit. He craned his neck, looking up at the four-story low-rise. Decades ago, it had been referred to as ‘Garden Apartments.’ There was nothing prestigious, and there were no gardens in the vicinity—just another illusion to the forgotten dreams of a forgotten neighborhood.

  Hex stood at the door leading into the entrance, waiting for Hugh to open it. Hex had no idea his driver hated him. Hugh was paid well because his boss was terrified of him. Hex tried to hide that truth, but Hugh could see right through his boss. He was biding his time—waiting for the day he had enough money to go into business for himself. He’d been saving for five years, and each day he was closer to his dream of telling Hex to fuck-off.

  When Hugh opened the door, Hex stepped in, unaffected by the smells, crying babies, and the drunk who weaved passed him. Hugh wasn’t as unaffected. He felt bad for the people who lived in the overpriced apartments. He’d grown up poor, and he knew people didn’t live this way by choice. Hex was taking advantage of people who were in a bad situation, and Hugh resented it. Sometimes he envisioned wrapping his large hands around his boss’ neck and choking the life out of him. He had hidden his true feelings from the man for years; he looked forward to the day he could tell him how he really felt and see the look of disbelief on Hex’s face. Hex was so self-absorbed he couldn’t imagine Hugh’s true feelings. It helped that Hugh had a residual deadpan look on his face from years of being a bodyguard.

  The two men walked past the broken elevator and up the stairs that had seen better days. They stopped on the third floor and walked down the hallway and past doors that held the secrets of poverty. Each family represented behind the cheap plywood doors had secrets. Some were the victims of addiction, some abuse, and then were those who dealt the drugs that held others captive. It was a world of predator and prey—survival of the fittest. Hugh knew firsthand kids in this neighborhood grew up too quickly, and if you moved in with a tender heart, the years of oppression would ensure you left either hard or broken. Hugh had managed to escape with his emotions
still intact. He had a good head on his shoulders and a sense of justice and fairness. It didn’t get in the way of kicking somebody’s ass if they got out of line, though.

  “Well, knock on the door already,” Hex spewed to the man he felt should be able to read his mind. The stony look on Hugh’s face sent a shudder of fear through Hex. He’d wondered about his bodyguard’s past. When he had tried to do a background check on him, nothing came up. It was like the guy lived off the grid. He’d fire him, but the same fear Hugh caused Hex to have was struck in the hearts of those Hex needed protecting from. It was the proverbial catch twenty-two that Hex couldn’t find a way out of.

  Hugh stepped aside when Mrs. Narvaez answered the door. He wanted to avoid looking at her but didn’t want to be rude, so he smiled. She returned the smile with a glint in her vivid blue eyes. She’d already figured out Hugh wasn’t a jerk like his boss—just a man who needed his job.

  “And to what do I owe the displeasure of your company, Mr. Slivers?”

  Hex was shaking out of anger. He pointed his finger at the woman and almost screamed, “I’m going to get you out of here. You pay a quarter of what my other tenants pay. It’s not fair. Grandfather clause my ass.” He’d been looking for ways to get rid of the old bitch for years, and the only thing he’d come up with was making her life miserable by not fixing the things she asked him to.

  “What isn’t fair is your outlandish prices on these apartments that should have been condemned years ago. How ‘bout I go to the city and tell them all the code violations you have in this dump of a building?”

  When a petite blonde stepped around the corner, Hugh resisted the urge to step between Mrs. Narvaez and his boss. Seeing the woman had caught him off guard. He felt like he’d been gut-punched, and every protective instinct he had was going off inside of him. She was so tiny and vulnerable looking.