Love and Devotion (Born Bratva Book 10)

by Suzanne Steele

  “Glad I could assist you,” Novak replied with just as much sarcasm. “You’ve got two ways you can look at this: like an inconvenience, or like a power play. That woman you want will owe you. You know her deepest darkest secret now, and that my friend is power.”

  “Hm, I hadn’t thought about it like that. Maybe today is still salvageable,” Hugh said as he hopped out of the van they were using.

  “The glass is always half full, never half empty. Time to get crack-a-lackin.” Novak went to the back of the van and grabbed the hard-shell suitcase he’d brought. The men trotted up the steps without being seen and rapped on the door.

  Luna jumped into Hugh’s arms, “I’ve never been so happy to see anybody.”

  Novak leaned in and whispered to Hugh, “Told ya, power. There’s no better high.”

  “You must be Novak. It’s wonderful to meet you, though I do wish it were under better circumstances.”

  Novak was busy cramming Hex’s body in the suitcase. “Gotta pack his ass in here in a fetal position before rigor sets in.”

  Luna jumped when she heard another knock at the door.

  Novak looked up from where he was bent down, closing the suitcase. “It’s just the cleaner to clean up the crime scene. Look out the peephole. She looks like a soccer mom, but with a deadly edge. By the time she’s finished, this will all be a memory. It’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

  Luna unlocked the door after she ensured it was Natasha. She watched as Natasha rolled in two suitcases behind her. Luna knew without being told it was supplies she would need to clean up the crime scene.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you?” Luna asked Natasha after she was in.

  Natasha smiled and patted her on the shoulder, “Yes, get the fuck out of here until I call you and tell you the coast is clear.”

  “Gladly, and it was nice meeting you.”

  Natasha was already getting started with the business at hand: ensuring no one in her family did time.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  A circle of people stood in a warehouse looking at a space-age machine. It was a large tubular-shaped contraption with hoses running out of it. Glazov had officially Christened it, Mr. Green. The group stood with their hands folded in front of them as Glazov walked circles around it, taking in every detail. He was intrigued by it. It was the dawn of a new day—an environmentally safe way to dispose of dead bodies.

  Novak helped Glazov insert Hex’s body into the tube. “Gives new meaning to the tunnel of love,” Novak laughed.

  “Don’t I know it,” Glazov agreed.

  The group stood mesmerized as they watched a body go in and green sludge come out.

  “Looks like a kale smoothie,” Novak said.

  “Yeah. I’ll never look at health smoothies the same way,” Luna agreed.

  Isabella watched, fascinated by the machine that would exonerate her. She was wise enough to know Glazov owned her family now. If he was as fair as his reputation on the streets said he was, they would be okay.

  Luna looked at Glazov, “This reduces the body to a skeleton. Will you burn the bones afterward?”

  Glazov smiled, “That’s a good question.” He looked at Hugh, “Brains and beauty. You should hold onto to her, Hugh.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Glazov directed his attention back to Luna, “In answer to your question: yes. The bones and the suitcase the body was transported in. Not a trace left of your grandmother’s crime.” Glazov’s eyes had gone from smiling to deadly in a matter of seconds. “I’m certain the three of you realize you work for me now.” He looked at Luna, then Hugh, and finally Isabella. They all nodded, ‘yes.’

  “Not sure what I can do at my age,” Isabella laughed, “but I’d be honored. Thank you, sir.” Isabella’s gaze was just as direct as Glazov’s. It made his eyes smile. Tough ol’ bird; she’d come in handy.

  “You’d be surprised what a woman your age can do. For now, be available.” He redirected his attention to Hugh and Luna. “That goes for the two of you also.”

  Once again, a “Yes sir,” in unison. What else could be said to a man who had kept your grandmother out of prison?

  “Welcome to our dysfunctional family. Always remember you’ve been grafted in the vine, and just like a branch, you can be cut off. Literally.” Glazov never minced words. Mincing words caused breakdowns in communication, and in his line of work, that was unacceptable.

  Chapter Thirty

  Regina paced in the office where her husband was at work at his desk. The room looked more like a luxury library than a financial consultant’s office. Her husband Chad had become a very-rich man moving people’s money around for his own benefit. He swindled investors who had no idea his operation was a Ponzi scheme. Like any white-collar criminal, he’d convinced himself he wasn’t breaking the law. Like his wife Regina, he was a spoiled-rotten, entitled rich kid who had grown up to be a spoiled-rotten, entitled adult. You can’t know if you can’t grow, and neither had been forced to learn constructive life lessons because their spoiled rotten parents had enabled them. Since they didn’t have many problems, Regina had become a master at creating drama. It never failed that her daddy would ride in on a white Lexus and save his daughter from her perceived problems. Marrying her had insured two trust funds and job security for the rest of Chad’s life. Even if his wife couldn’t see how good she had it, it was all crystal clear to the man who had a life-plan of becoming rich—or, in Chad’s case, richer. Money was the drug of Chad’s choice, and he was clueless that riches could take wings, and reputations could fall to pieces if the fickle bitch fate woke up in a mood one day. Deception led Chad to believe he was the master of his universe. Like a spoiled child, he thought he would go home with all the toys if he played his cards right. Fuck everybody. Winning was all that mattered.

  “Father was supposed to call when he arrived. I mean, Indiana is just across the bridge. It’s not like, its Timbuktu.”

  Chad took a moment to unglue his eyes from one of the five monitors mounted on the wall. They were perfectly positioned where he could see them from where he sat at his Mahogany Early 19th century William IV desk.

  “Have you attempted to call him?”

  Regina stopped in her tracks as if she’d hit a brick wall. She tucked a strand of her blonde soccer mom hair behind her ear and gave her husband the death glare.

  “Okay Regina, I’m sorry. I’m certain you’ve called him numerous times.” He patted his knee in a silent ‘come sit here’ way.

  Her look changed to something that looked like a mixture between ‘as if’ and ‘really.’

  He wasn’t surprised because Regina was a frigid bitch—always had been, always would be. It didn’t matter because he got sex from his mistress. Regina turned a blind eye to the fact her husband had a kept woman across town, and Chad had no idea she’d been fucking her trainer for six months. They were the perfect cliché of stuck-up rich snobs who needed to take the sticks out of their asses. He married Regina because it was a good business decision. She married him for the same reason. That…and she could control him. They both knew if he ever tried to leave her, she’d drag him through the mud and she’d never have to work another day of her life is she so desired. Not like she had to anyway.

  When she was certain she’d made her unspoken point, she sat down in a plush office chair in front of his desk and sighed, a way of releasing her imaginary stress. Her ‘oh woe is me’ attitude clung to her like a staticky sock to a pants leg. ‘Poor little rich girl’ was an appropriate description of Regina.

  “This just isn’t like Father. Perhaps he’s at the country club. He always turns his cell off when he’s golfing with his doctor friends.” Regina never missed an opportunity to remind everyone of just how important and connected she was.

  Chad tilted his head and softened his eyes just enough to let his wife know he felt her pain. It would redeem him for what she perceived to be his insensitive comment. As long as everything was about Reg
ina and her world remained on its axis because she was pampered, he would have some minuscule amount of peace. He learned in the early years of his marriage if Regina wasn’t happy, nobody was happy.

  “I’m getting ready to leave for a meeting at the country club. I’ll ask around and see if he’s there. I’m certain you’re right, dear, he’s probably playing a round of golf with his constituents.”

  Chad and Regina liked to believe Hex was an important businessman in the community. They would never admit to themselves or anyone else that the professionals with seven-figure yearly incomes saw Hex as what he was: a dirtbag slumlord. In their world, to be lumped in the category of a ‘slumlord’ was saying the same thing as: “you’re beneath us.” The cardinal rule of perfection was broken, and you became an outcast. The tightrope the rich and famous walked was a brutal bitch with no net.

  Satisfied Chad was going to find her father at the country club, Regina eased out of the seat and pranced from the room. Chad blew out a breath of relief he didn’t realize he’d been holding in. Regina was Daddy’s little girl, and if convincing her he didn’t think her father was pond scum meant having a semblance of peace, then so be it.

  Chad got up and grabbed his briefcase and tossed a suit jacket over his arm, and rushed out of the house before his wife started complaining about some other injustice she’d been unfairly subjected to. Regina had mastered being the victim because, after all…It was ALL about her. The Ken and Barbie cookie-cutter socialites knew their roles to maintain their appearance of perfection, and in the end, all that mattered was their precious little image.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Glazov sat in his office alone and turned Hex’s cell phone over and over in his hand as he contemplated his next move. Life was a game of chess, and each move was calculated so the king remained free to run the Born Bratva Brigade.

  “I feel you, Ptichka,” he said without raising his eyes. “Get your ass in here and sit on my cock. I’m horny.”

  He tossed the phone aside and checked out his wife’s ass. “This is why I like skirts, dresses, and thigh-highs: easy access. I want access to that pussy at all times,” he growled.

  Kathleen locked the door and sauntered over in her husband’s direction. She made a slow show of wiggling her skirt up and easing one leg over his. It was slow-motion torment. Playing with fire was her drug of choice, and Glazov was a raging inferno. She stood looking down on him. She lifted his chin with one manicured finger forcing him to look at her. The excitement of the power she held over a killer was intoxicating. Having any kind of power over a man like Glazov was exhilarating. No wonder these Bratva boys were so determined about gaining territory. Glazov was her territory, and just like the Bratva brigade, it gave Kathleen a sense of control. She could feel his large hand slowly moving up the inside of one her thighs, ready to pounce and snatch that control back. It was a push and pull that never grew old for either of them. They’d locked eyes, which only made things more intense—the first move of diving into each other’s soul and exploring a place reserved only for them.

  She could feel his finger rubbing over her pussy through the satin panties she wore. A wet spot bore witness to the testimony her body loved the killer she was married to. Sexual chemistry crackled through the air like a livewire of electricity that was threatening yet beautiful. The fascination of the things she feared was all wrapped up in the man who had forced her to marry him.

  “Your body tells me all I need to know, but most importantly, it affirms you belong to me. The power you think you possess can be wrenched from you in a single moment. You’re mine—all of you. That includes your power over me. I’m the Pakhan. You’re my Ptichka. Have you had fun being the boss for two-seconds?” He couldn’t resist letting her know he could read her like a book.

  She knew what he said was the truth. Like a witness pointing a finger of accusation at a criminal, her body always betrayed her to a deadly man. Any thoughts she had of leaving him dissipated like dust in the wind when he touched her. Just a look from the man who looked like a Greek god sent chills through her. She could feel him when he walked into a room. She didn’t need to see him because everything in her awakened when he was around. Their connection was as spiritual as it was physical. Every time they killed, kidnapped, fucked, and lived to fight another day, the tether that connected them grew stronger. Glazov had come into her life like a thief in the night she’d never seen coming.

  She stroked his large cock through his pants, and when she couldn’t resist any longer, her lithe fingers unzipped them. She slid her panties over and eased down onto ten inches of ecstasy. Glazov gave new meaning to the word bullseye. He touched her in places she never knew existed until she met him. She wiggled her hips, causing his cock to stroke her sensitive clit. She could feel her pussy clamping against him in need. Tiny fingers of feeling started in her belly until the sensation grew into a raging orgasm. Their eyes were still locked on each other, and knowing she was being watched only intensified her pleasure.

  Glazov clenched his fingers into her hips and lifted her up and down on his cock. Waiting to climax had taken discipline, but his ‘lady first attitude’ was always prevalent when making love to his wife. He watched her lifting-up and down on him. His head reared back, and something akin to a growl came from somewhere deep in his chest.

  Kathleen had a coy smile on her face as the most dangerous man in the city spilled his seed into her. Even though she knew he’d never fuck-around on her, it was still nice to know she knew how to please her man and those boisterous, brassy, obnoxious, Bratva groupies didn’t stand a chance. The groupies knew the wives were as crazy, if not crazier than their husbands. More than once, the wives had banded together. There was nothing scarier than seeing Bratva wives headed in your direction with bats, chains, and boards that had nails driven through them coming after you. When groupies saw Bratva wives dressed in street clothes with no earrings on and wearing tennis shoes, they had enough sense to run. She smiled again when that thought went through her head. She reached down and grabbed baby wipes from her designer bag and cleaned them both up.

  When she was situated and certain he was ready for conversation, she sat down in an office chair and looked at him, innocently batting her long lashes.

  “Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “Pull that innocent shit on someone who doesn’t know you.”

  She tilted her head a little and raised her eyebrows at her husband, “I’m not the one with a dead man’s phone. However, I am the one who knows people keep their life in their phones. So, what kind of power-play are you cooking up today, Bratva boy?”

  “No power-play…yet. It’s insurance.”

  She nodded softly, “Insurance is a good thing. I assume Novak and Antonio got his password.”

  “You assume correctly. A blowtorch and a chainsaw can be very convincing. Those two are animals.”

  “Okay, Mr. King of the forest. I assume you’re smart enough to know not to get caught with that phone.”

  “No, I didn’t know that because I’m still in head start Bratva,” his words dripped with sarcasm.

  She lifted her palms in resignation, “Okay. That was fair, just a wife worrying about her husband.”

  “Hey, cuz, unlock the door.” Novak’s greeting at the locked office door wasn’t his normal cocky “Quit fucking and let me in.” It was a demand.

  Kathleen jumped out of the chair and quickly unlocked it. There was something in Novak’s voice that was sending up red flags in her. The urgency in it was like shouting Mayday—everybody on deck ‘cause a storm’s a brewin’. Novak rushed in without saying hello to her. Yep, Mayday.

  “I gotta call from Hugh, who gotta call from Black Rose. Seems the slumlord has a daughter—Regina Slivers—kept her name when she married her douche bag husband. I had the computer geeks do Intel, and we could be looking at trouble. I think it’s time to do a fear-fest.”

  “A fear-fest?” Glazov looked at him evenly because he knew there was always a met
hod to Novak’s madness.

  “Set me loose to fuck with their heads. I’ll take Antonio in case things get…aw fuck, you know what I’m saying, in case we need to kill ‘em.

  A smile crossed Glazov’s face. The kind of smile he always got when he knew someone’s world was getting ready to be fucked up by his Born Bratva Brigade.

  Novak’s overprotectiveness towards his cousin kicked in, and he started verbally treading water to ensure his boss wasn’t involved but still very-involved.

  “We’ll give you updates. It’ll be fun. We’ll even use burners to send pics we can destroy later. It’ll be just like you’re there with us, Cuz.”

  Glazov looked up at his cousin with hooded eyes and veiled anger.

  “I’m not a dumbass. I know what you’re doing. You wouldn’t even be going on the job if it weren’t for me giving you the okay.”

  “That’s right. See what I mean about it being just like you’re there?” If Novak had to back down to keep the Pakhan safe, then that’s exactly what he’d do—he wouldn’t do it for anybody else, but he’d do it for Glazov.

  “Sit down,” Glazov demanded. “You look like an excited kid on Christmas morning, you bloodthirsty bastard.” The cockeyed grin on Novak’s face confirmed the truth in Glazov’s words.

  Novak shrugged, “Yeah, I’m looking forward to this one because the victims are the upper crest of society. It’ll be payback to all those judgmental dicks we have to deal with at your social soirees.”

  “That sounds like fun, Glazov,” Kathleen agreed. When Glazov stabbed her with his eyes, she shrugged an indifferent shoulder and said: “What? You should see the way those uptight bitches look at Katrina and me. It’ll make us feel better if we know you stuck it to ‘em.”

  “I’m not sticking it to anybody but you.”

  “You know what I’m saying. It’s a chance to give the fakes of society a dose of the real world. C’mon Glazov.”

  “So, you two wanna hold hands and conspire against your enemies on the playground? Maybe later you two can braid each other’s hair and talk about torture techniques.”