Love and Devotion (Born Bratva Book 10)

by Suzanne Steele

  Antonio sliced the zip ties and grumbled, “I’m gonna need a drink. I was just starting to have fun. I would have cut his hands off if it wasn’t for those papers needing to be signed.”

  Hex ran out to the van before the man when some sense changed his mind. He was sitting in the back with his hands folded like a good boy when the men sauntered out. Hex couldn’t get out of Louisville, Kentucky, fast enough. He had properties in Indiana. A change sounded good. Meeting these two goons was a slumlord’s worst nightmare. Until now, Hex believed cartel had no sentiments. Now he knew family was everything. Displacing families was a no-no, so it was time to go somewhere nobody cared.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I never thought I’d see this day, cartel, and Bratva drinking together.” Novak tossed the shot of vodka he held in his hand back.

  Antonio raised his tequila and shot it back. “Sad, though.”

  “What’s that?” His partner in crime had piqued Novak’s curiosity.

  “We have to come to the Firebird to drink because it’s Glazov’s gambling house. But hey, you think I wanna be watching my back all night? Too many enemies, Novak. I wasn’t in the mood to be looking over my shoulder all night. I’m celebrating our newfound friendship. I don’t bond easily, abandonment issues or some shit the therapist Ricardo made me go to said. Who knew? My whore of a mother impacted me more than I realized.”

  “I’m sure growing up on the backstreets and allies in Colombia has something to do with it. My therapist said the Russian hood did a number on me too.”

  “You’ve got a therapist too?” Antonio’s question was genuinely laced with interest.

  “Yeah. I’m guessing most of the guys have or have had one. Kind of like that gangster TV show. It never takes, though.”

  “I feel better knowing all the guys are dysfunctional.”

  “That’s what happens when you don’t bond. You’ve got no way of knowing we’re all fucked-up. You have to be a certain kind of dysfunctional to be in this line of work—goes with the territory.” Novak nodded at the waitress. His way of letting her know they needed more shots. When she sashayed over with a little too much swagger, he looked up at her and spoke. “Stop making goo-goo eyes at us.” He nodded towards Antonio, “His wife’s a crazy Guatemalan cage fighter, and mine’s just crazy. Oh, and leave the bottles.” Novak snickered when her face bloomed red, and she scurried away.

  “Damn, I’d say she’s scared of gangster wives.”

  “New girl. You always have to set them straight, or a wife will be down here with a baseball bat. The last one’s car was totaled by the time my sweet little businesswoman got done with it. The girl looks like a boardroom babe, but she’s a back-alley brawler in disguise. My woman’s crazy. Certifiable. Kind of a turn-on, though.”

  Antonio nodded an agreement, “Mine is too. She used to run a cage fighting scam with her best friend. She fucked my brother over for a hundred-thousand, and Ricardo made ‘em marry us.”

  “Mine stole a book and hit the New York Times list. I made her marry me. Glazov’s wife took on a debt for some bitch who owed him. He was head over heels from the day he laid eyes on her. He made Kathleen marry him to pay off the debt.”

  The men tipped their shot glasses, and Antonio answered, “The more I talk to you, the more normal I feel. Here’s to blackmailed brides and all the drama they bring.”

  “That’s why it’s important to be around like-minded people. You and me,” Novak pointed a finger back and forth between them, “we’ll never fit in with what society expects. It’s enough to give a gangster a complex. You don’t kill as well if you have low self-esteem.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Antonio agreed.

  “You know I’m going to have to get one of these bodyguards to drive us home. Glazov will have a fit if we drive drunk, and I’m well on my way to drunk.”

  “In that case, Salud,” Antonio clinked his shot glass against Novak’s again.

  “The best of health right back at ya. I never expected we’d be friends, but the truth is stranger than fiction.”

  “Those sayings are profound for a reason.”

  The men would drink well into the morning. They’d already placed signed papers on Glazov’s desk. The job was done. Success. Victory was sweet, and the world was theirs. The peace treaty was not only solidified—it was rock solid.

  Chapter Twenty

  The sun streaming in through the curtains promised a new day of possibilities. Luna peeked through one eye, hoping she could get another hour in. For a moment, confusion hovered through the place that inhabits the real world and the dream world. She sat up and looked around in the master bedroom her grandmother had insisted she take to ensure she wasn’t dreaming. The place was more like a condo than an apartment—an expensive condo. If this was a dream, it was a dream come true.

  She hopped out of bed with newfound vigor. She’d unpacked until two in the morning, and she was excited about getting finished. There was nothing worse than living out of boxes. It wouldn’t take long because Hugh had already furnished anything they needed. Normally she wouldn’t agree to move into a place a man had provided—too many strings attached. Hugh wasn’t that type. She smiled when she thought about the guy he’d held against the truck—by his throat. Hugh struck her as the type who said what he meant and meant what he said. If this was about pussy, he would have made his intentions known.

  “Why didn’t you two wake me up?” Luna asked as she bounced through the living room and headed towards the kitchen.

  She almost ran into a wall of chest when Hugh stepped around and handed her a mug of coffee. She looked up into the hazel eyes that changed colors depending on his mood. This morning they were the colors of autumn, her favorite season of the year.

  “Did you go to your house and change clothes?”

  The crooked smile on his face screamed mischievous.

  “I live next door.”

  “Of course, you do.”

  He took one finger and rubbed it back and forth beneath the neck of the t-shirt she’d cut up for workdays like the one ahead of her. That one action was more erotic than fucking the average man. Hugh was like a magnet pulling her into his world and sooner or later into his bed.

  “Don’t you have a job to get to? Someone to kidnap or kill,” she looked over her shoulder and teased him.

  “I’ll have you know I was paid well for that kidnapping job last night.” When he looked over at Isabella, she was just shaking her head with a smile on her face. Abuela had probably witnessed torture sessions. A kidnapping was just another day’s work to her. When you grew up in countries the cartel ran, you didn’t sweat the small things. In a world rife with drive-by shootings and walking over dead bodies in the street, kidnapping was normal behavior.

  “Sit. Breakfast is ready.”

  Luna pulled Hugh towards the table by his bicep. “Looks like somebody’s been eating their Wheaties. My grandmother makes the best huevos rancheros. She was famous in Sinaloa.”

  “Well, she can be famous here now, and safe too.”

  “Don’t let Abuela fool you. She has an AK-47 in her closet. We call them Cuernos de chivo—Horns of the goat—in Mexico.”

  “Why,” he looked at her sincerely interested.

  “It’s because of the curved mags. I know how to shoot one too.”

  Abuela put the plates in front of them. She looked at Hugh, “I made her learn. She can take one apart as fast as most can pull a trigger. Her lessons with my cartel friend paid off.”

  “Well, I’m her cartel friend now. His loss my gain.”

  Isabella patted his forearm, “Such a good boy. Now I know I can die, and she’ll be safe. You’ve given an old woman peace.”

  “So, what’s her story, Abuela?” Hugh nodded in Luna’s direction.

  “I’m sitting right here. You can ask me,” she punched his arm he’d already tightened up because he saw it coming.

  “Ow,” Luna said as she rubbed her fist. “How’d
you know I was going to hit you?”

  “A man in my line of work has to be observant.”

  Abuela sat down and looked Hugh in the eye. She wanted him to understand this was important. If Hugh was going to take her granddaughter under his proverbial wing, he needed to understand it would be with her supervision, or she’d be taking that Cuerno de Chivo and sticking it so far up his ass he’d need surgery to remove it. When she was sure she had his undivided attention, she spoke.

  “Luna’s mother was half Colombian and Caucasian. A good woman. Her dad was a Colombian hitman who was shot and killed in the street. We lived in Colombia until it became too dangerous and then in Sinaloa which, as you know, is just as dangerous. We all had green cards and decided it was safer to live in the States. Her mother worked herself into her grave.” Isabella made the sign of the cross and kissed her fingers. “God rest her soul. Louisville was as good a place as any to start over. You seem like a nice man. If you break my baby’s heart, I’ll spend the rest of my life hunting you down. Are we clear?”

  Hugh smiled. “What about her? He nodded his head toward Luna, “What about her? If she breaks my heart, will you hunt her down?”

  She patted his hand, “If you’re half as good of a man as I think you are, I won’t let her.”

  “Sounds fair to me,” he shrugged.

  Isabella stood up and rubbed her hands over the apron she was wearing, “Well, now that we’ve settled that we can have a nice day unpacking. Isabella walked back over to the sink and continued the work she was doing. She’d expected a negative reaction from Hugh. She was pleased that wasn’t what she got. Yes…Hugh was a good boy. She had no need to worry. The people he was hired to take care of were the ones who needed to worry.

  Luna side-eyed Hugh.

  “What. Were you expecting me to run away like a little bitch? That’s never going to happen.”

  Luna smiled. Hugh was going to fit right into her fucked-up family. She’d often wondered if she’d ever be able to find a guy who would get their brand of crazy. Now, she didn’t have to wonder anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kathleen groaned when the sting of Glazov’s hand hit her ass cheek. He was fucking her doggy style, and she’d already cummed three times.

  “Glazov, I can’t take anymore.”

  Smack “You’re done cumming when I say you’re done. Watching your pussy soaked with my juices from back here is fun.”

  “Don’t you have a job to get to?”

  “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Glazov could feel his balls tighten before he shot his seed into his wife.

  “You’re amazing,” he groaned as he gently pulled out of her and laid on the bed. He pulled her over close and spooned her. “I love you, woman.”

  “I love you too. I don’t think anyone else could handle you, so you should probably be glad your decision to force me to marry you was a good one.”

  “It’s the Born Bratva way. Find what you want and take it. When you look at it, it’s more honest than society bullshit. You don’t have to find out after decades of marriage I’m not the man I said I was.”

  “Yes, Glazov. I had full-disclosure you were bat-shit crazy when you abducted me.”

  He leaned up on an elbow and looked at her, “No good deed goes unpunished. Little girls who haven’t been around gangsters shouldn’t take responsibility for friend’s debts. Your friend is the one who is bat-shit crazy.”

  “Your ability to deduce one’s issues is amazing. The world’s a better place because of you.”

  “It’s the least I could do for a world that eats their young and forgets about their senior citizens who have given so much. I feel good about myself and my contribution to society.”

  “Strangely enough, I have to agree. The lies most businessmen hide behind are no different than what we do.”

  “See…you’re already thinking like I do. It’s refreshing to know I’ve helped you see the light.”

  “Speaking of the light, did Antonio and Novak work out their differences?”

  “Differences, I guess that’s one way to look at it. They must have because the paperwork’s on my desk, and Novak stumbled home sometime after two in the morning. One of the bodyguards informed me last night they were at the Firebird celebrating.”

  “Where’s the slumlord?”

  “Got out of town without even packing.”

  “He got what he deserved as far as I’m concerned. All those he fucked over are a perfect example of what we were just discussing. Have you talked to the infamous Black Rose?”

  “Yes, he already has a bodyguard who sounds interesting; Six-foot-four kick-ass who is honorable. He moved him into Magnolia Gardens. Hired him under the guise of being the building superintendent.”

  “Sounds like we’re well on our way of conquering the world.”

  “Our little piece of it anyway.”

  Kathleen studied his sharp features. There was nothing in his tone that remotely sounded like he was joking. He was a man with a plan, and just as he always did, he would be successful. The alliance with Black Rose would work out for everyone involved.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Hex stared out the window of his SUV at a truck blowing out black smoke. “How in the hell did you pass inspection in that piece of junk eighteen-wheeler?” he asked to no one in particular. Hex didn’t have a passenger because Hex didn’t have friends. Hex didn’t have friends because Hex was an asshole.

  He’d told Novak and the crazy guy Antonio he was jumping on the first Greyhound bus to Indiana. Bus, SUV, whatever. It was none of their business, anyway. Was nothing sacred anymore? The important thing was he was alive. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. The miles weren’t just putting distance between him and his torture session; it was doing what time always did: making him forget just how brutal that torture session had been. Though his memory was failing him, his pride was becoming more wounded with each passing mile. The thought of a woman besting him was grating at his nerves worse than it should. It wouldn’t be so bad if that bitch grandmother-tenant of his hadn’t been getting by for years on paying less rent than his other tenants did. Hex wasn’t used to not being in control. This was the first time a tenant had gotten the better of him, and he didn’t like the way it felt. Antonio had assured him if he breathed a word, he’d give him a Colombian necktie. Antonio had then explained it was a procedure where the crazy fuck would cut his throat and then pull his tongue through his neck—hence the nickname Colombian necktie. Surely the guy didn’t mean it. But…the guy had looked almost disappointed when he didn’t get to use the blowtorch to inflict third-degree burns rather than first-degree ones.

  It was all that little bitch Luna’s fault. He’d terrorize her if he could, but with that overgrown giant hovering around her, it wouldn’t be easy. Traitor. Hugh had turned on him. Probably for the best since he’d already made enough enemies—enemies who were among the most dangerous in the country. Money could fix a lot of things, but it couldn’t fix a man’s wounded pride.

  Hex had enough money to start over. He was a multi-millionaire so picking up stakes and starting over wasn’t a big deal. It was the first time he’d ever been beat-up. It was also the first time he’d been terrorized by gangsters. The crazy Colombian one had just started to work him over with a blow torch when Hex decided the safest thing to do was sign the papers and get the hell out of Dodge. Those people were animals. Hex remembered the way they were laughing and the gleam in the Colombian’s eye. The guy had been enjoying it. He’d looked let down when the Russian told him it was time to stop.

  Hex had a good idea that it was the Russians and Colombians he’d been buying property out from underneath. There was no way he was going to the cops. Half the cops were probably on their payroll. Hex wasn’t going to allow his pride to cause him to get killed. He could care less about proving a point to anyone. He was a coward, and he didn’t care if everybody knew it. Hex liked making money, and he liked being alive, and that was al
l that mattered.

  He kept trying to talk a band-aid over his wounded pride, but the nagging voice in his head wouldn’t shut up. He was vacillating between keeping the SUV in the direction it was going or making a U-turn into the point of no return.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Antonio Wayne sat up in bed drinking coffee while he glared through his wife like his eyes were laser beams homing in on a target. His head felt like it was in a vice-grip. It wasn’t the worst hangover he’d ever had, but it was in the top ten for sure. The maid had brought him some Colombian concoction that had helped, and he could feel the night before becoming a distant memory.

  Roxanne ignored him while she sat next to him doing paperwork for The Club. Who was she fooling? Antonio Wayne wasn’t the kind of man who could be ignored. A volcano is always a volcano, whether it’s active or not.

  Antonio wasn’t done yet. He was just getting started. Fucking with his wife was too much fun to quit now. “You better not be stealing any of my money, you little thief. Ladrona mentirosa.”

  “I won’t. Psychotic gangster.” She stopped what she was doing and cut her eyes at him, “You have no right calling me a lying thief. You’ve got enough dirt on you to last a lifetime. You should probably go to confession. Maybe there’s still hope for you. Say a Hail Mary for me while you’re there.”

  He tossed the computer aside, and Antonio Wayne was on top of her so fast she never saw it coming. He ripped off her panties and thrust into her before she had time to realize what was going on.

  “Ladrona mentirosa.” He growled in her ear. My thieving little liar. Your pussy likes me. Damn, you feel good. Fucking you is like coming home, girl. I’m right where I belong,”

  She gasped when he lifted one of her legs, giving him deeper access, and swiveled his hips on the perfect spots. A climax ripped through her body like a tornado tearing down whatever stood in its way. Antonio Wayne was a force of nature she couldn’t avoid. She didn’t want to, anyway. They climaxed together as if being tethered by a supernatural force neither could escape. A couple of minutes of post-coital bliss was needed to recuperate from the quickie. She never knew what to expect, or when her man would strike.