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

by Warren, Rie

  The slow spread of heat made me sway in the high heels.

  “Where’s my tomboy now?”

  “Oh, she’s just trying to get someone’s attention.”

  “Consider it gotten.” His thumb ran deliriously and nearly delicately across my bottom lip, and I sucked in a breath.

  “Would you like a drink?” He asked while drinking me in.

  I was on the verge of whimpering with need, right there in the middle of the club, in front of his brothers and Sasha.

  “Please.”

  One corner of his mouth kicked up in that sexily sinister way. “I’ve been waiting to hear you beg again.”

  Just like that, he’d gained the upper hand while I melted into a puddle at his feet.

  With a proprietary hand placed low on my spine, Kirill guided me to the bar. He stayed half behind me, and I felt the heated strength of his eyes wandering over my backside.

  My fingers trembled as I took the glass of whiskey he offered.

  My heart skipped a beat when he reached around to lift his vodka.

  My nipples swelled into points that rasped against the silky dress, and he tossed back his drink.

  My eyes roved upward to the strong cords of his throat as he swallowed.

  I wanted to swallow him.

  While I sipped on my drink, I listened to Sasha prattle on. Maksim hovered behind her, and he and Kirill carried on a low conversation.

  Kirill’s words were more halted and heavier than usual.

  I wondered if I could make him speechless altogether.

  Mischievously, I shifted back a little, just enough to brush against him. Kirill was hard. I felt the big telltale bulge. I bumped my ass accidentally against his groin again.

  “Watch it, malyshka.” His growl at my ear did nothing to quench my lust.

  Then Arkady joined us, and we moved around, forming a private semi-circle amid the clubgoers.

  The other two brothers seemed to always fly solo—well, Maksim was constantly stuck to Sasha’s side—and I wondered if they had women hidden away somewhere.

  Kirill’s fingers danced up and down my back, and I had to force words out whenever someone asked me a question. But my throat dried up even while my mouth salivated.

  I was parched for Kirill’s touch, his lips, his body.

  I drank a second whiskey much faster than the first, embers burning all over my skin from each subtle caress imparted by Kirill.

  I couldn’t stop myself when the other three left us alone . . . I faced Kirill and moaned out, “Please. Don’t make me wait any longer for you.”

  In a swift move, he caged me against the bar.

  His strong chest and powerful arms hemmed me in. “You know what you’re doing? What you’re really asking for?”

  Breathlessly, I nodded. I clutched his trousers at his lean waist.

  I wanted to wallow for days in his scent, rub my cheeks all over the scrumptious dark stubble on his jaw.

  I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “When you look at me that way . . .” His voice thickened and, finally, he rocked his hips forward.

  I gasped, my hands moving to clutch his muscular ass.

  Features contorted, he muttered, “Fuck.”

  Then he grabbed my wrist and whipped me across the room toward the hallway and into the elevator.

  Yes.

  Finally.

  Heat bloomed across my skin, and wetness slipped from my sex.

  Inside the elevator, he spun me to the back wall.

  I stood, dazed and panting, as he dropped his jacket.

  When he loosened his tie and started down the buttons of his shirt, I bit my lip then let the flesh go.

  “Kirill,” I whimpered.

  With a loud curse, he barged right against me.

  He took my mouth in a crushing, toe-curling kiss.

  He hiked up my leg, opening me to the long hot hardness he ground against my swollen core.

  My head banged back, and he growled against my neck with rough passion. “Is this what you wanted?”

  “God, yes.”

  Driven by such impatient longing and incendiary lust, I thought I’d die from his intensity.

  Spinning me in a dizzying rush, he kicked out my feet.

  He braced my hands on the elevator wall.

  He hauled up the bottom of my dress and pulled my ass toward him.

  With one hand, he ripped off my panties and then he unzipped behind me.

  I gasped and moaned, pleading and begging the entire time then his thick cock slapped up heavily, hitting my slippery slit.

  “I’m not putting on a condom.” Kirill bit the side of my neck.

  “Good,” I gasped out.

  Then he slammed into me, taking me up to the balls of my feet with his merciless force.

  His thrusts reckless, there were no barriers between us. Just his big solid cock owning my tight needy pussy.

  Dripping wet and screaming out, I came with him grunting like a savage behind me.

  The elevator dinged, doors opening.

  “Blyad.”

  Without withdrawing, Kirill lifted me up a little and marched me out.

  He dropped us both down on the floor right there. He reared up behind me as he rutted into me over and over again.

  After dragging down the top of my dress, he palmed my breasts, he plucked at my nipples. The dress became nothing more than a circle of silky fabric around my waist, and Kirill plowed his cock into me. His balls slapped up against my wet lips and hot clit. His pelvis thudded against my ass. His mouth settled at my neck where he bit and kissed and sucked me.

  With his brutal pace, he hit every single pleasure spot inside of me. Wild sensation flew through me, and he felt so good, so right, so strong I arched into his every thrust.

  I bucked back, slamming my body into him so the depths his cock plundered were forever his alone.

  Our frenzied fuck exploded with a cataclysmic combustion.

  I felt Kirill coming inside of me, the blasts of thick liquid heat catching me on fire as my belly spasmed. Then he yanked out with another bellow and curled one hand around my hip. I glanced back at him to see the most intense expression on his face as he pumped his slick cock. He painted more streams of cum all over my slit. All over my tingling clit.

  I came again, clawing at the floor with my neck arched and my insides quivering.

  As soon as my drawn-out orgasm released me from its incendiary clutches, I fell forward.

  My body quaked all over, and I wanted Kirill inside of me again.

  His seed had washed me inside and out.

  Tingles ran all the way down to my toes and all the way up to my fingertips.

  Kirill came down too, his great magnificent weight on top of me where it felt so good. So welcome.

  His hands traced along my out-flung arms until he threaded our fingers together.

  “I missed you,” I murmured. “Don’t make me wait like that again.”

  “Bossy.”

  I heard the smirk in his voice before he rolled off me.

  Deliciously disheveled with his shirt half unbuttoned and his pants held up only by the muscular shelf of his ass, he lunged to his feet.

  He lifted me in his arms.

  I kicked off the stilettoes while he carried me to the bedroom.

  “Don’t worry,” I murmured against his throat where I could taste his fresh sweat. “I know you’re the boss around here.”

  “You’re damn right I am.” The large palm that cupped my bottom moved only to swat me then massage me.

  * * *

  That night was the final turning point and, apparently, Arkady’s breaking point.

  He’d found my shredded panties and Kirill’s discarded jacket in the elevator and was less than impressed.

  I blushed furiously the next morning when he knocked on the bedroom door then tossed the items inside.

  “Forget something?” he asked in a thundering voice.

  I
wanted to crawl under the covers and hide forever, but Kirill suffered from no such compunction.

  He eased from the bed stark naked, thanked his older brother, then shut the door again.

  Within days, Arkady had moved to the mysterious Zolotov mansion, and I wondered if I’d ever get to see the famed place.

  Kirill gave me a new, easier life, and he granted me one last wish, albeit reluctantly.

  He finally agreed to let me drive the O’Sullivan delivery truck again.

  Well, he let me drive a truck.

  The brand new one he purchased, saying he was making a business investment.

  Just like the baseball cap he’d given me—again destroyed—his unique gesture touched me.

  He gruffly claimed he wouldn’t let me drive around in the old rattletrap truck for my own safety. Even with the new one, he insisted on Grigor doing a thorough inspection of the vehicle both morning and night—making sure I wasn’t being tracked by anyone other than him.

  Sometimes Kirill’s overpowering possessiveness amused me.

  Often, it aroused me.

  He also decreed that if I were to continue the deliveries for my brothers, I only go on the most trusted runs and only with Grigor. The young soldier idolized Kirill and treated me with the utmost respect. During the Yakuza strike, he’d proven himself capable, loyal, and worthy.

  I’d do the same because I wanted Kirill to respect me . . . I’d never do anything to forfeit his love again.

  Occasionally, he let me accompany Sasha on her many shopping sprees and spa days.

  We did get manicures and pedicures, Maksim always there, grumbling in the background the entire time.

  I believed Sasha lived to torture the silent handsome giant.

  This new life shook off all the dim gray shadows of my painful, prisoner-like existence.

  Kirill even let me have my switchblade . . . and he gave me a Glock, saying he never wanted me without protection again.

  During those moments, when somber seriousness angled his features, I knew he was remembering the day he’d found me, rescued me, said that he loved me.

  There were many more nights in the club too.

  I even got him to dance with me on more than one occasion mainly—I figured—to stamp his visible claim on me for all to see.

  Equally as many evenings were spent with just the two of us, in bed . . . on the couch, against a wall, and even in the elevator again.

  My man was insatiable, and I was equally enflamed around him.

  I didn’t have any blinders on, though.

  I’d grown up in the Life, this business.

  I knew Kirill was danger, and he dealt in death.

  This was one of those evenings when I wasn’t down in the club. Neither was I getting fucked with jarring impact by the man I loved.

  I tried to take my mind off Kirill’s new murderous mission, watching every hand on the old-fashioned grandfather clock as each second ticked by.

  The clock must’ve come from his motherland.

  I just hoped he came home to me tonight.

  25

  Kirill

  I EXITED THE APARTMENT, wiping my KA-BAR clean.

  Three kills in two hours, traveling from one side of Boston to the other. I still had one more man to dust before I called it a day.

  “Go kick ass and erase names.” That was how Jo had said goodbye to me earlier, but worry had lurked behind her eyes.

  She needn’t be concerned about me even though she knew exactly what my mission tonight included.

  Working under the cover of darkness, I’d begun my killing spree by quietly jimmying the door of a large townhouse after dismantling the alarm system.

  I moved soundlessly through the first floor to the back where I’d scoped the man sitting at his desk.

  Padding up to him, I’d slung a garotte around his pudgy neck.

  His very first scream cut short as I tightened the wire, he scrambled to get his feet under him.

  His hands lifted, clutching desperately at the garotte digging into his flesh and closing off his oxygen supply.

  I saw my reflection and his—eyes bulging, mouth gasping, fingers clawing—in the floor-to-ceiling window.

  The fat fuck wheezed a final breath before slumping with his head rolled back like a dead weight on his neck.

  I left the same way I came in, slinking silently out.

  This time I was in full control. I attacked with icy vengeance unlike the way I’d mutilated Bastiano Leone the Italian bastard who thought he could buy Jo from her father.

  Every fucker who’d tried Jo out as a potential bride—the assholes her father had whored her out to—would get crossed off my kill list tonight.

  I wouldn’t tolerate anything else hanging over her head.

  My last hit lived conveniently close to the third, and I drove a few streets over, parking well away from my mark.

  Dressed all in black, working solo, I was the very vision of death.

  Leaping a wrought iron fence into the square enclosure of a backyard, I lobbed a rock at the halogen security light that blazed on to illuminate the grounds.

  I snaked along the fence to the side of the house just as a back door opened.

  A tall tank of a man barged out.

  He raised a shotgun, bellowing like a bull, “Who’s there? Goddamn you kids! You sneak into my yard one more time and I’ll tan your fucking hides black and blue.”

  Charming.

  I sprinted up the front steps, a thrill shooting through me as I entered the last residence.

  Killing always made my blood run hot.

  It ran even hotter knowing Jo waited for me at home.

  I ranged through the house, that time drawing one of my Walthers with a silencer attached.

  Ghosting the cunt was the name of the game, and I wanted the last target to see my face.

  Mumbling and grumbling, he came back inside and slammed the door shut.

  I appeared directly in front of him.

  Eyes going wide, he pulled his gun up again. “Who the fuck—”

  I shot him in the gut, ending his imminent tirade.

  He stumbled back, free hand cupping the slowly seeping wound.

  I stepped closer, and he thumped against the back door.

  He didn’t seem to understand what was happening, staring from the bullet hole to my face.

  Shaken, he raised the shotgun.

  It wavered around—he still kept one hand clutched over the bleeding wound.

  Yanking on the end of the barrel, I tugged the gun from his weakening grasp and tossed it onto a chair.

  “Who are you?” Pain inflected his voice, and he skidded down the door.

  Landing with a thud, he hurried to strip off his shirt. I imagined he was going to try to staunch the blood flow, but that wouldn’t make any difference.

  He wasn’t going to survive the night.

  I could’ve just ended him in a split second, but I wanted this one slow. I wanted the agony to last. I wanted to hear him blubber.

  Plugging another bullet into his shoulder, I watched the truth of fear drip down into his eyes, taking away the last remnants of bluster and fight.

  “I am Kirill Krasnov. And I’m going to enjoy watching you die.”

  This pig had raped Jo’s ass.

  Now I was going to watch him pay for his sins against her flesh.

  “Just call 911. Please. I can pay you. If you want money, I can pay!” Suffering stretched his lips into a wide grimace, sweat dragging trails down his temples.

  “There is no emergency here,” I said, firing once more with cold accuracy.

  That bullet tore through the other side of his gut, and the rapist screamed a sound of mortal terror.

  More crimson wetness oozed from the three holes.

  “I won’t”—he gasped a bloody bubbly breath—“tell. Won’t tell anyone you did this.”

  “I know you won’t.” I shot his left knee, shattering the cap.

  Hi
s whole big body twitched, shaking the floor beneath us.

  A howl stretched his lips back from his teeth.

  Four holes.

  I wondered where I should put the final one.

  Dropping down to a crouch, I brought my face to within inches of his.

  My voice dropped lethally too. “You raped Joanna O’Sullivan.”

  “I don’t know who she—”

  I punched him right on the shoulder where I’d shot him, and he jerked with another bellow of pain.

  “She is my woman. And I’m the enforcer of the Zolotov Bratva.”

  His eyes wheeled wildly in their sockets, primal fear taking over rationality.

  That made me happy.

  “Da. Be scared.” A monstrous grin spread my lips. “Do svidaniya.”

  The final shot charged through his skull, his brain, and out the other side.

  I holstered my gun after removing the silencer. I stood.

  Dark stains of leaking blood began pooling on the floor.

  I moved back through the house. Out the same way I’d come, I retraced my steps.

  I stayed in the shadows, where I’d always lived before.

  Before Joanna came into my life.

  Once inside my SUV, I couldn’t return to her fast enough.

  I parked in the loading bay of the Bratva compound where soldiers milled around on guard.

  Jumping out of the vehicle, I discarded my black gloves and threw them into a dumpster.

  On second thought, I took off my shirt too. It smelled of my night’s activities, and I didn’t want to bring death home to Jo.

  Not tonight of all nights.

  Then I remembered the other errand I’d been on.

  The more important one.

  Opening the vehicle’s door, I retrieved two parcels.

  Then I slipped into the building sticking to the side corridor—I’d give my brothers and Yury a full account of my night’s success tomorrow.

  Now I didn’t want to see anyone but Jo.

  I exited the elevator and spotted her immediately.

  In the kitchen, at the stove, she whirled toward me.

  Her gaze moved over me as if making sure I was in one piece.

  Then she narrowed her eyes. “Where’s your shirt?”

  “Dropped it off at the dry cleaners.”

  Joke.

  Smirk.