THE RUSSIAN THUG: Abducted by the Bratva ~Krasnov Brothers Book 1~

by Warren, Rie

  More of the masked assholes swarmed me.

  Grigor kept running, shooting in short bursts. “Boss. Boss!”

  Another ten Zolotov soldiers scattered onto the landing bay and leaped off.

  “We’ve gotta get him outta here,” someone muttered in a muffled voice.

  “I got it.”

  That was Luka.

  Fucking traitor.

  Roaring, I head-butted him as he came at me.

  “Hold him still!” another one shouted.

  Fuckers snatched me from behind.

  Grigor was getting closer.

  “Keep Joanna safe!” I yelled to him.

  A sharp jab to my neck got me by surprise.

  Whatever they injected me with hit quick.

  My vision wavered.

  My knees wobbled.

  I fired one more round into the chaos.

  Then my gun clattered from my grasp.

  Some asshole kicked it away but left it on the ground.

  Amateurs.

  I was lifted into the van . . .

  Lights out.

  18

  Kirill Part Two

  FUUUUUUCK.

  I didn’t make a sound.

  I didn’t make a move.

  I barely opened my eyes.

  Then discovered I could hardly move even if I wanted to.

  I hung from my wrists with my toes barely brushing the floor.

  I struggled just enough to figure out I was strung up on a pipe that ran across a dingy room lit only by dim sunbeams through filthy many-paned windows.

  The side of my face throbbed—stiff, hot, and swollen. Blood dripped down from my forehead, blurring my vision with red. Not as red as my vicious wrath.

  I goddamn hoped Grigor had heeded my warning to make sure Jo was safe.

  A door opened with a metal clank, and I pinpointed the distant noise of Japanese shouts and casino-like gambling.

  The door closed again, muffling all outside sound.

  The Yakuza.

  The price on my head.

  Looked like they didn’t want to go through a middleman after all.

  And there was no point in playing possum anymore. Not my style.

  I lifted my head, my neck and shoulders burning, my body lightly swaying.

  About a dozen Yakuza warriors with full color tattoos crouched in wait, silent as death itself.

  Glancing down, I saw my clothes were missing. I wore only my briefs, and my torso already showed the mottled coloring of rough treatment.

  “What do you want?” I asked, voice rasping from my dry throat.

  The one who had to be the leader—the oyabun—walked forward. A squat Japanese man, he wore a katana sword slung across his chest in an eccentric show.

  And in the corner behind him, I spied Luka.

  The defector.

  Ah, he’d be receiving the bounty after giving the Yakuza my head nearly on a plate.

  A fact that seemed possible given the odds that definitely weren’t in my favor.

  “Rodney failed to take you out, so now it falls on me.” The oyabun slowly unscabbarded his sword, and the deadly weapon glittered even in the low light.

  “You should’ve known better than to rely on common street trash.” I spat a stream of blood at his feet. “That was your first mistake.”

  “Not such a big Bratva man now, are you?” The traitor-with-a-death wish gloated.

  My teeth gnashed together, but I wasn’t about to waste my breath on Luka. He’d get what was coming to him, either by me or at the hands of my brothers.

  The katana blade whistled through the air, halting just before slicing into my torso.

  The oyabun asked, “Tell me, Kirill Krasnov, have you seen how we torture our enemies?”

  “You start by cutting off fingers.” Or simply disembowel me as I hang from my arms. “Do your worst.”

  I wouldn’t go crying or pleading into my grave.

  The leader raised his arms—a call to action—and several warriors pounced forward. I hung there, bracing my body for the beating to come.

  They lunged as a single mass.

  One blasted my ribs with nunchaku, and pain howled through my side.

  I gritted my teeth to stamp down the sting.

  Another attacked with a three-pronged weapon that could most certainly cause damage.

  Kicking out at him, I belted him in the sternum before he could strike me with the lethal sai.

  More sweat and blood dripped down my face—a metal tang in my mouth.

  My arms and shoulders were on fire, and I grunted when the third man bashed my hurting rib wall over and over like I was a punching bag swinging from the rafters. Finally, he dropped back, and three more advanced.

  I breathed heavily, tensing my body.

  When they all got close enough, I gave a mighty heave.

  I wind-milled around, knocking the bastards onto their asses as my legs flew through the air.

  Arms twisted, entire body ablaze, I would not stop fighting.

  A big son of a bitch lumbered forward with the posture of a sumo wrestler.

  He grinned.

  I snarled.

  He bullied forward.

  Working on pure adrenaline alone, I levered myself up by the pipe with a tremendous growl ripping from my throat.

  I snapped my thighs around the cunt’s neck, resting my entire weight for one blessed moment on his huge frame.

  His hands came up and his head thrashed, and I roared again, so loud I could’ve shaken the roof down.

  I torqued his thick neck between my thighs, grunting, straining, stretching with everything I had left in me.

  Hands curling around the hot pipe that held me aloft, I gave one last wrenching twist.

  Snap.

  The fat fuck fell in a dead heap, his neck distorted at an odd angle. And, as he keeled over, his weight broke the pipe clean off the ceiling.

  I landed on my feet with a soft thump as steam blasted from the sheared ends of the pipe. Quickly working my wrists free, I faced the rest of my assailants.

  Beaten up, breathing hard, I raised my fists.

  I might’ve killed one and hurt a few others, but I was still vastly outnumbered.

  “Enough!” The leader slashed his katana blade through the air with deadly finality.

  Advancing on me, he pulled his lips back from his teeth. “We are done fighting. Death will come sooner at my own hands. You don’t own the streets of Boston. You won’t tell us where we can be or what territory—”

  The door banged open with an explosive sound. “You sure about that?”

  The Yakuza boss spun around just in time to get shot point blank in the middle of his forehead.

  Arkady stood there amid the foggy steam when the oyabun gurgled his last breath.

  Then Grigor leaped inside.

  More Zolotov men followed.

  And . . . Lucky, Dex, and Kelly?

  Heat from the open pipe singed up my legs and along my back, and I picked up the nearest weapon.

  The sai.

  In the few seconds it took me to move, every last Yakuza gang member had been dispatched to hell by the Bratva. And the Irish.

  Arkady kicked the samurai soldier, and his brows winged up when he watched the head roll awkwardly on his neck. “Your work?”

  “Something like that.”

  Wearing a crazed expression, Grigor knocked Luka down to his knees.

  I numbed myself against the pain of the blows and cuts inflicted on me and ordered, “Leave him for me.”

  “Boss.” Grigor blanked his features out again like every good Bratva soldier to stand watch over the man who’d been one of his mentors.

  Luka sniveled, pleading.

  I ignored him.

  For now.

  “Where’s Jo? Is she all right?” Concern I could no longer conceal leaked into my voice.

  The Irish trio looked at me curiously.

  Arkady clasped my shoulder. “Maksim is with
her. She was never in any danger.”

  “Good.” Blowing off the strong surge of relief, I added, “Her going missing could fuck with our deal.”

  I noticed Dex rolling his eyes, then Arkady said, “Did they knock you out with something back at the compound?”

  “Da. With horse tranquilizers it feels like. How else do you think they got me here and strung me up almost naked?” Meanwhile exhaustion hovered like black spots right behind my eyes.

  “We cleaned everything up. Out there.” Lucky motioned toward the door and the rest of the building.

  Meaning they’d killed all threats.

  No more gang.

  “You didn’t hurt any civilians, did you?”

  Strange thought.

  But then, we took care of our patrons and made a point not to get them murdered in our establishment. I didn’t want totally innocent blood on my hands because of this either.

  Arkady pulled out several giant rolls of bills. “We seem to have found the bounty for you. Put it to better use. No one unnecessarily hurt, and happier than if they’d won at the slots.”

  “That was supposed to be my money.” Luka had the nerve to glare at me, hot steam continuing to pour out of the broken pipe.

  I doubled my fist and cracked him with a bone-jarring punch to the side of the head. “Got anything else to say or should I just dust you now, pizda?”

  With him cringing and bawling, I turned back to my men . . . and the Irish.

  “You called them?” Disbelief rang through my tone.

  Jo’s brother Kelly—the middle one—shoved his gun into his waistband. “Don’t know what you’re looking at. You’re the one walking around here in your skivvies.”

  I took a menacing step forward.

  He didn’t even blink.

  “I heard most of the commotion over the phone, remember?” Lucky intervened. “I’d say you definitely owe us now.”

  He had a damn good point.

  “We’d already decided to help with your cause.” I glanced at the oldest O’Sullivan. “Yury agreed. That was why I was calling in the first place.”

  Lucky let out a low whistling breath, and then I noticed the third brother—the one called Dex—had slipped from the room.

  “You can stand down now, soldier,” I said to Grigor.

  The grim anger never left his face as he lowered his weapon from the back of Luka’s head.

  Clasping his upper arm, I held out my hand. “Good man.”

  We shook, and pride gave him new stature.

  “Unlike you.” My attention moved to the cock-fuck who kneeled there without a single hope in the world.

  “Kirill, I knew the Yakuza wouldn’t get away with it . . .” jabbering and pleading again, the turncoat grabbed onto my leg in obeisance.

  I kicked his stinking hands off me. “You thought you’d slink out and get away with the money?”

  “Nyet. I—”

  I struck him again, knocking him sideways.

  Satisfying, but not quite enough.

  Arkady held his gun out to me.

  “Pozhaluysta, don’t kill me. It won’t happen again . . .”

  I ignored his slobbery whining.

  “I think”—gaze sweeping around the room littered with more than a dozen dead bodies, I saw the glinting steel of the sword—“I will use that.”

  Luka began blubbering in earnest as I exchanged the sai for the perfectly weighted katana blade.

  When I marched back to him, he bent over and shielded his neck with his hands. Giant tears splatted to the floor in an undignified manner.

  “Coward.” I sneered.

  After tying the traitor’s wrists behind his back, Arkady arched him upright.

  I didn’t even consider sparing Luka—he had betrayed me and proven himself disloyal to the Zolotov Bratva. His life would end now.

  With one swift stroke that hummed through the air, I sliced his head clean off his neck.

  Blood flowed out in a crimson fountain, and his head made a meaty thud on the floor. When Arkady released him, his body smacked down too.

  Using the cloth of his shirt, I wiped off the sharp blade and located the scabbard.

  I would keep the katana as a trophy.

  I’d bring back Luka’s head too. No better threat or greater deterrent than that.

  We commanded with an iron fist, death wreathed around our fingers.

  We demanded absolute loyalty.

  Grigor at least had come through. He didn’t even look queasy when I retrieved the head, more blood spattering onto the floor.

  The Irish brothers—the two that remained in the room—didn’t blink twice either at the whole decapitation scene.

  I wondered if they’d committed more violence than me.

  Probably not.

  Arkady handed me a duffel bag. “The yakuza had the bounty money for your head in this.”

  How fitting.

  After wrapping the head up in a discarded cloth, I stuffed it in the bag and zipped it away.

  Finally, the third O’Sullivan reappeared.

  Dex glanced at the headless body, shrugged, then tossed a bundle of clothes at me.

  He chewed on a smirk. “About your . . . uh . . . predicament. There’s a laundromat next door. Scrounged these up for you.”

  “Spasibo.” I hastily pulled on the gear, which included a scruffy T-shirt and old sweatpants that could only be described as highwater.

  I shot Dex a look. “Were they in a clean pile?”

  “Didn’t think you’d be that choosy.”

  Arkady nodded. “Building’s evacuated. We should go now.”

  “Good.” I gathered up the duffle. “Let’s torch it.”

  Minutes later, we sped from the Yakuza’s stronghold.

  Former stronghold.

  Through the sideview mirror of our SUV, I watched the structure burst into incendiary, iridescent flames.

  Once again, the Irish went one way.

  We the other.

  And the Yakuza failed again.

  19

  Jo

  THE WHOLE MORNING HAD been weird from start to finish.

  First, I’d finally gotten out of bed, thrown on one of the tops and a pair of panties Kirill had gotten me, then walked into the main area of the apartment expecting to find the man who’d delivered me to orgasmic heaven last night.

  Instead, Arkady had glanced up from behind the kitchen island.

  His eyes took a slow perusal over me. “Expecting someone else?”

  My mouth flapped open, and I tugged my shirt lower. “Where is he?”

  “Out.”

  I’d hurried back to shower and dress in something other than panties for god’s sake, my face one big ball of flame.

  Then I’d just slunk back to the kitchen to grab some coffee under Arkady’s watchful gaze when a phone started chiming on the counter.

  The oldest Krasnov brother picked up the cell, took one look at whatever showed on the screen, then punched buttons on the phone.

  With it at his ear, he tore out of the place, shouting in Russian I couldn’t understand.

  Moments later, Maksim appeared, eyes wide like a wild animal.

  “What?” My coffee mug thudded to the counter.

  “It’s Kirill.”

  Ranging forward, I crashed my fists against Maksim’s chest. “What is it? Where is he?”

  Turning pale, he wrangled me immobile. “My brother was taken. And I can’t do a fucking thing about it.”

  A rush of worry swelled up, threatening to choke me. “Then go. Go with Arkady!”

  Maksim squinted down with thinly veiled fury. “I can’t. Kirill would not forgive me if something happened to you too.”

  I swallowed, realizing I was the only reason he stayed back from helping his brother.

  Voice dropping, I beseeched him, “I’m not gonna run. Nothing will happen to me here. Tie me up if you have to or lock me in the basement!”

  “Nyet,” he muttered stubborn
ly.

  Then he drew me into a stiff hug. “He’d want me here.”

  “But you don’t need to be here! You could be out there. You could do something!” I cried out, some strange new fear for Kirill’s welfare a tidal wave that drowned any previous thoughts about him.

  “Hush.” Maksim made me still.

  With a sudden slump, I clung to him.

  Instead of thrusting me away, the stern grumbling Russian embraced me like one of my own brothers would.

  Then he shifted me away. “Come. We will wait with everyone else.”

  Everybody assembled downstairs in the nightclub—everyone who wasn’t already out searching for Kirill.

  Throughout that never-ending morning that extended to midday, I gleaned bits and pieces about what had happened.

  Kirill had gone out to make a call.

  To Lucky.

  I pulled my lips together, eyes crinkling to deny the tears that sparked there.

  He’d seen fallen Bratva guards and rushed to them when he’d been nearly run down by a van, surrounded by a small army of men.

  Kirill had killed a handful of his attackers, sent up an alarm, and almost got free before someone drugged him and tossed him into the van.

  Each scant revelation sliced through my toughened veneer. Sent visceral worry through my veins.

  Kirill could be killed.

  They could be torturing him in the vilest way right now.

  When had I softened toward him—this man—my captor?

  Softened for him. Become alive with him.

  Burst into flames every time he touched me because it was him.

  Kirill had imprisoned me. Restrained me. Spanked me.

  He’d told me about his rough street kid childhood, when he could rely on no one but Arkady and Maksim.

  He’d had my body.

  He’d made me scream his name in want of more.

  He’d made me laugh, scared me, kept his word . . . for me.

  He had possessed me, and I’d bared myself for him.

  The Yakuza had him now.

  Two nights ago, they’d tried and failed to end him.

  I could only pray they failed this time too, panic gnawing holes through my gut.

  And so we waited.

  Yury. Maksim. Sasha. Some of the soldiers.

  And Boris who kept whining pitifully like he knew his master was in trouble.