Brutally Broken: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Loki Renard

  “Tell me where you came from,” I suggest to Vadim, though I guess it sounds like more of an order, judging by the way he bristles. “I mean, if you want to,” I add.

  “I was born in Vladivostok. Orphaned within minutes of birth,” he says. “I was taken by a religious order. I thought I was being raised to be a priest. But I got older and I realized that was not what was happening. It was a gang I served, not a god.”

  Everything he says has a meaningful resonance to it, a poetry of misery. I knew he had a sad story. There is tragedy in his eyes and in his touch. It hangs around him, an aura of hardship that resonates with me.

  “Did you leave when you found out it was a gang?”

  He shakes his head.

  “I was brought up to obey,” he says. “To be loyal. I was taught that there is no such thing as a man, only what he serves. A brotherhood.”

  English is not his first language, but he is more eloquent than most people who have spoken it their entire lives. More than the words he uses, is the feeling he conveys when he speaks. I can feel the angst he is experiencing, how deeply he was devoted to the people he believed in.

  “Will your brotherhood be searching for you?”

  “No.”

  That word contains a million miseries. He is doing his best to appear like stone, but I know heartbreak when I see it. He must have been deeply devoted to the men who raised him.

  “What happened, Vadim?”

  “You tell me what happened to you,” he says. “You tell me why you live behind these walls with these servants who are like hostages.”

  “Everybody here is free to go,” I say, insulted. “I don’t take prisoners.”

  “Except me.”

  “Except you,” I admit.

  “You wanted someone to be disposable,” he says. “That’s my role, isn’t it?”

  “I already told you that much,” I say. “I told you, my family has enemies. I need to protect myself.”

  “With a man who has no allegiance to you, one who was rejected from his own adopted family. I have already betrayed those I vowed to defend. Why would you trust me to protect you?”

  “You don’t have to defend me. Your presence is defense enough. When the time comes, defend yourself. And do it with everything you have.”

  * * *

  Vadim

  I am surprised. I assumed I was supposed to be a meat shield for her. I didn’t know she was prepared to give me a chance to survive. I sit in silence as she pulls open a refrigerator door and starts looking for something to eat.

  “Why would I defend myself? You want me to defend you, don’t you?”

  Her voice is muffled as she replies, “If it comes to you fighting for your life, then fight for it. Not mine. I can take care of myself.”

  “Then why did you buy me?”

  She pulls her head out of the refrigerator and looks at me. “Because part of looking after myself is seeming like I can’t.”

  “Art of war,” I murmur. “Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.”

  “Exactly,” she says.

  “Tell me about your enemies.”

  “Tell me about yours,” she says, pulling a tub of ice cream from the freezer.

  “I don’t have enemies.”

  “Someone sold you.”

  “My family.”

  “Ouch.” She looks at me with something like pity. “I wonder if it is worse to have your family turn on you, or lose every single person you love over and over again.”

  “I think it is the same thing,” I say, taking the spoon she hands me. There is something innocent about her now, soft and open and feminine. She is always ladylike, but she slips between kinds of femaleness. Sometimes she is hard and strong, powerful with her resoluteness. Often she is cold and even cruel. But now she is just a girl with ice cream, a woman I have made love to, ravaged, taken completely.

  We sit and eat ice cream, sharing the tub. It is a little intimacy, and an unexpected one. Days ago, I did not think I would eat ice cream again. I thought I would die in the ring where men scream their deaths. I thought my life was going to end in a dirty basement for the amusement of broken souls who believe their wealth gives them a moral power beyond other men.

  I was humbled in my chains, but I was not broken. I learned what strength was, a lesson I had not managed to learn through decades of Bratva life. The man who wields the weapon, who deals the blows, who dominates and destroys, he will never know what real strength is. But the man who falls, who is lost, who endures beatings and threats of death, who has been caged and finds his way to the light again, he is the one who discovers where his real power lies.

  I wonder if Sophie knows these things too. I suspect she does. And I think something else too. If these enemies of hers come, I will not defend myself. I will protect her. One of the lessons I learned in the dark is that there is no value in one’s own life. The only value that matters is being of service to others. The greatest pain I felt wasn’t in being beaten or confined. It was in the separation I was forced to endure. My family. My brothers. Everyone I loved was gone, and I know that even if I returned this very moment, those bonds are forever broken.

  “What are you thinking?”

  I look over at her, surprised by the question. I have not been asked what I am thinking before. My thoughts have always been my own, and I have always kept them to myself. In the end, that might have been one of the reasons I was declared traitor. A closed book may not be read, but the contents are often guessed at.

  “I am thinking that ice cream is not lunch,” I say. She smiles, and it is a bright, innocent expression that makes my heart swell.

  “I don’t think we have any britchst,” she says, mangling the Russian word.

  “Borscht. It’s made from beetroots.”

  “Well, we definitely don’t have any. I can get the chef to get you some, though.”

  I notice that she leans on the counter rather than sitting down, and of course I know why. I was not gentle when I spanked her. I gave her a long, hard thrashing that made her cheeks color crimson and I would not be surprised if she is still blushing with heat even now. I am impressed that she is not being petulant about that; there aren’t many women these days who know how to take a spanking, or discipline of any kind. Even in Russia, that is true. My Bratva brothers married women who demand furs and jewels and who cry divorce at the first sign of trouble. After seeing the way they fared in relationships, I never bothered with women besides the sex, which I could pay for any time I pleased, with almost any woman I desired.

  I didn’t have to pay for Sophie’s pussy. I took that. I fucking dominated that, and it was sweeter than any I’ve had before. She was tight and hot and wet, but more than that, she was like fire around my cock, she moved with passion I’ve not felt before. The women I paid for would often feign enthusiasm. They would make fake moans and exaggerated gyrations. They were performers, pretending at lust, but Sophie was consumed by it, and I was wrapped up in her hot, silky flesh, losing myself in a cunt that felt like it was made for me.

  “That would be nice, thank you,” I say, the banality of my words hiding my feelings. This girl does something to me. From the moment I met her, she has been a trigger to parts of my mind and soul I thought were missing, or dead.

  She reaches back absentmindedly and rubs her bottom, then catches my eye and blushes so adorably it’s everything I can do not to take her again, right here, over the counter.

  “Come here,” I say softly.

  “Hm?”

  She has the spoon in her mouth, a little cream on her lower lip. The sight is suggestive and my lust surges again. Fuck asking. I’m taking.

  “Vadim, what...” she starts to ask the question, but it is obvious what I am doing. I stand up and I walk around behind her, pull the skirt up over her ass and push her down over the counter, using the hem and gathered fabric of her skirt to hold her in place, I stare at that cute pink ass of hers and the pussy I a
lready fucked once today, but intend to fuck again right now.

  “Stay still,” I growl softly, keeping her there, using my foot to kick her legs apart and spread that pussy for me again. It looks hot and a little sore, but I can fix that.

  The ice cream becomes my plaything as I take a scoop of it and press it between her thighs, her back arching up with the cool touch of the treat, I rub it into her pussy, coating her sex in the sweet cream. She lets out a soft moan and I free my cock from the pants she paid for, rubbing my dick over the cool cream covering her cunt for a moment or two before I push it straight inside her and feel the heat of her pussy wrapped around me again.

  * * *

  Sophie

  Jesus. Fucking Christ. His dick is inside me, stretching my sore pussy, making me take him once more. My desire was ignited the moment he said those two little words. Come here. But I never got the chance to come. He took me.

  Now he holds himself inside me, and I feel his cock pulsing against the inside of my pussy. He’s fucking me with ice cream as lube, making me dirty and sticky, and he’s not confining himself to using it on my pussy. He reaches forward and pulls my breasts free from my clothing, ripping what has to be ripped, popping buttons that get in his way. He is an animal with no respect for anything, including the ice cream that is now being rubbed into my tits, his big hands massaging my breasts, taking handfuls of my body and teasing them with the cold cream, toying with my nipples that are now slippery with raspberry ripple scent.

  “Vadim...” I moan his name and he slides his hands back to my hips, takes a firm hold of me, then pulls his cock out of me in one long stroke, holding the tip of himself inside me.

  “I like to fuck you,” he grunts, keeping me there in suspense, making my pussy clench with need, but denying me the thrust I so desperately want. “Do you like me fucking you?”

  I take a breath, knowing what it will mean to say yes. He is going to ravage me. He is going to fuck me every day in every way possible. I am going to be his toy. I can feel all of that in the possessive grip he has on my waist, and in the throbbing of the head of his cock, keeping me stretched open for him.

  “Tell me,” he insists, landing a sharp slap on my ass. I let out a whimpering cry as that heat burns and stings through my flesh.

  “I can’t,” I whimper. He reaches forward and rubs my breasts, plays with my nipples, nudges that massive cock in and out of my pussy just a fraction at a time until I am humping my hips back like some kind of desperate animal in heat, trying to get just a little more dick inside me.

  “Tell me,” he growls more sternly. “Or I’ll punish you.”

  “I can’t...” Now it sounds more like a petulant whine, and he does not care for that at all. His cock pulls free of me, and next thing I know, he’s rubbing more ice cream into my bottom, covering my cheeks in the cool milky liquid melt that drips down between my thighs and runs along my sex. I make the mistake of arching out into his touch, trying to get his fingers to go where his cock won’t, but he has other plans for me.

  One hand presses down firmly on the small of my back, keeping me in place as the wooden spoon whips through the air and finds the center of my left cheek. I let out a screech as it lands with what sounds like a gunshot, a solid whack of pure heat making my poor ass squirm. But there’s more to come. He holds me there, half-naked, half-fucked, covered in ice cream, and he whips the spoon against my ass, making me dance with pain.

  I should have just said yes. I should have made this easier on myself, but for some reason, I never make anything easy. Everything has to hurt.

  “Yes!” I scream, before it gets to be too much. “Yes, I want you!”

  My reward is immediate. Vadim surges inside me, his cock churning ice cream and my own juices together in my pussy and making me a depraved mess of a punished girl. I have every reason to hate this, but he is pushing me to a place of such pure sensation and lust that I can’t help my reactions. I am coming on his cock, my pussy is gripping him tight, rippling with each thrust of his dick. My senses are completely aligned with his, every motion of his body sending ripples through mine until my toes curl with another orgasm and my mind whirls and I collapse against the messy sticky counter, feeling another hot load dripping out between cream-soaked lips.

  That night, I sleep better than I have in years.

  Chapter Four

  Vadim

  One week later...

  We are lying in bed, Sophie curled in the crook of my arm, her tender body coated in a fresh load of my seed. The passion between us is intense and powerful, but not easy. We argue, and then we fuck. Seven days have passed and those seven days have been both the swiftest that have ever sped by, and the slowest.

  I am tormented and torn by her. I do not know how much to believe of what she says. I don’t sense any tendency to lie in her, but the stories she tells and the life she lives is so uncommon, even for a man like me who grew up in a war zone where loyalty was constantly tested and a man’s death often meant more than his life.

  “How do you pay for all of this?”

  “I am the sole heiress of my entire lineage,” she says. “Most fortunes are dissipated as families grow, inheritances split among ever increasing numbers of offspring, but mine has only dwindled. I have the riches of ancient kings at my disposal. I will never want for any material thing.”

  “So you choose to live here, in this fortress.”

  “I choose to make my stand in the place I was born,” she says. “My family has nearly been driven from the Earth, but I will not be driven from my home.”

  I fall silent, thinking that I have not seen a single sign of any kind of hostility. Her home is located an hour or so from the city, the extensive grounds and lands enabling a vista view that extends for miles around. People are not assaulting this house. Nobody comes near it at all. When we go out, it is in her armored vehicle, and always to a location that has been shut down for her. We have dined in empty restaurants, walked in empty parks, we have gone shopping in deserted stores, and we have fucked in almost all of those places too.

  Sometimes it feels as though she is the only woman left on the planet, and I am the only man. There are servants, drivers, guards, but they orbit around her in silence. I have no idea why she trusts them, but she does. There are still many secrets in this house. The walls are dripping with them.

  In my post-sex stupor, I am nearly asleep when the world begins to flash red, bright bulbs turning the world crimson and bringing me out of anything close to sleep.

  “What is going on?”

  Sophie is up next to me, her naked body lithe and alluring in the red light. She pulls a drawer out from under the bed, her ass high, her pussy still gleaming with my cum. I don’t know whether to be concerned or aroused.

  “Intruder detected,” she says, pulling a tablet from the box she just took out of the drawer. “Here. Look.”

  The tablet is connected to a security feed, which appears to be connected to a drone that is moving around over the house, pinpointing the location of the intruders.

  I watch, stunned as a trail of seven men moves around the exterior of the compound. The drone is picking up infra-red high detail on each of the figures, including the outlines of high-powered weapons. These men are armed to the teeth, and they’re walking the perimeter with a shifty low gait that tells me they’re checking it every inch of the way around, looking for a way in.

  “Believe me now?” She hisses the question over at me, as if they can hear us from all the way out there.

  “Never said I didn’t believe you.”

  “Never had to,” she says. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when we go out, or when I tell you we’re not going in public. You think I’m crazy.”

  “I don’t. Why are they here?”

  “This is what they do. They test the perimeter. They let me know they’re still here, still hunting. Still waiting.”

  “But we leave. We go to the city. They could take you there. The car is a
rmored, but there’s ways to attack it regardless. The road could be heavily mined. They could use a RPG. They could...”

  “I know they could,” she says. “And that’s the point. That’s why I go out. Because I want them to know I’m not scared, even if I’m terrified.”

  “What are they waiting for? Why don’t they just strike?”

  She looks at me with hollow eyes. “For the time where the kill will inflict maximum pain. These men don’t want to kill me, Vadim. They want me to suffer. And if I ever bear a child, they will make that child suffer with my death. They don’t want to kill me too soon. They want to draw this out.”

  “This must be a very bad grudge.”

  “It’s not a grudge. It’s a blood curse. It is ancient, and it will not end, as long as their lineage remains.”

  What she is talking about sounds outlandish and ridiculous, but I am from Russia, and I know a feud is no good if it does not last at least a hundred years. There are families who have warred for a thousand years in my country.

  “So end their lineage,” I say.

  “I’m not a murderer,” she replies. “And it is not as easy as that. Their family spans continents. I’m not prepared to wipe out dozens of families to save my own skin. I will die at the hands of these men one day. I have resigned myself to that. But that doesn’t mean I need to make it easy on them.”

  “What are they called, again?” The name she told me a week ago has slipped my mind, I have been far too busy fucking her to pay proper attention.

  “They go by many names,” she says. “I call them Vristok, or murdering bastards.”

  They are still walking around the perimeter. The guards do not seem to be engaging them, they’re being left to do as they please, wolves prowling around the sheep pen. I do not like this. Not one bit.