Living for the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 4)

by Hayley Faiman

  “Mika,” I whipser. He shakes his head as if to break himself of his gaze.

  “Ashley,” he rumbles before he jerks his head up “Chekov.”

  “Mika,” Yakov grunts.

  We don’t say another word to each other as Yakov guides me away from him and down the hall toward the exit. I can feel Mika’s eyes on my back the entire time, and guilt consumes me.

  I’m happy with Yakov, especially this version of Yakov that I have in my life now,but that doesn’t negate the fact that I was growing to care for Mika. I like him. He’s charming and kind, something I haven’t had a lot of in my life.

  I hope that one day he finds a woman who will adore and cherish all of his wonderful qualities. I wish I could be that woman for him, but my heart does and always will belong to Yakov.

  This badman of mine—who isn’t so bad when we’re alone together; who has me heart and soul—I am only and irrevocaly his.

  Standing in front of the door I ring the bell, wrapping my hand around Ashley’s waist. She’s fidgeting and nervous, my fucking her directly before we came here, obviously not settling her nerves. I press my lips to the top of her hair and she sighs as she leans her body a bit more into my side.

  I smile to myself, enjoying her weight against me when Tatyana opens the door with a wide smile. We greet each other and walk inside of the house. Tatyana wraps her arms around Ashley in a warm hug, I enjoy seeing the women as they’ve naturally become great comrade’s.

  Once we’re inside of the house, I watch Ashley walk straight over to my brand new nephew and pick him up as though it is the most natural thing in the entire world, as though all of her nerves have completely disappeared. Then she sits down next to Emiliya and touches his little nose before she lets him grab hold of her finger. She smiles sweetly at the little bundle before turning her attention to the women, joining in on their conversation.

  Ashley is a completely different woman today than she was six months ago. I don’t even think she realizes how much she has truly changed. Her confidence has grown by leaps and bounds, and her extreme timidness has almost completely disappeared. There are times that she is still obviously unsure of herself or her situation, but she’s growing everyday.

  “She looks good,” Maxim mutters, coming up to my side, handing me a tumbler of vodka.

  “She does,” I nod.

  “Everything good with you two?” he asks.

  “When did you turn into a woman?” I ask, arching my brow.

  “Haleigh has been worried,” he shrugs.

  “I’m taking her back to the city next week,” I announce. “I’m buying her a house in Sands Point for our future family.”

  “A family?” Radimir asks, joining our conversation. We’re outside, but our attention is on the women who own us in the living room of the house.

  “A family,” I nod.

  “Marriage?” Kirill asks.

  “You are all a bunch of gossiping old babushka’s,” I grumble. “Yes, we’ll be getting married. No, it won’t be a gigantic wedding. It will be small, if we have any kind of ceremony at all, and I’ll be impregnanting Ashley as soon as possible, and buying her a house in Sands Point. Is there anything else you old women wish to know?” I announce.

  I watch as their eyes go from one to another, then back to me before they all start to laugh.

  “Watch that tempter, Yakov,” Maxim chuckles.

  “Fuck you all,” I grunt.

  “It’s good you finally realize what you have with her,” Kirill murmurs.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Business?”

  “Business,” Kirill nods.

  Maxim hands all of us a cigar and we venture a little further from the house, not wanting the women to overhear any part of our conversation.

  “Cartel?” I ask.

  “Still silent, no murmurings for now. They’re licking their wounds and regrouping. Who knows? At this point, we just need to stay vigilant. How’s the market in New York?”

  “Can’t keep the shit coming in fast enough. We’ve tripled our drug sales since we lifted the ban, the call girls are making more than ever, and the gun market has quadroopled since the country’s turmoil here the past few years,” I boast proudly.

  “Where are your guns coming from?” Radimir asks, removing his cigar from his mouth and blowing out a puff of smoke.

  “I’ve got some good ones coming from Russia, but I have a line on some different stock that would be coming from Austria,” I say.

  “What’s the trade like?” Kirill asks.

  “I think I have a way to get them to the West coast, one of the reasons I came here. My associates are too busy with the traffic I have coming their way on the East coast. We need to even out that flow. Getting them from the docks to our men, that’s where I’ll need your help,” I murmur.

  “You mean our ties with the Motorcycle Club?” Maxim asks, arching a brow.

  “Exactly,” I nod.

  “I don’t know if they’ll run guns. They got caught up in a shit storm years ago in Canada running guns. Since then, their whole group has been shying away from that, I hear,” Kirill rumbles.

  “Our buyers are plentiful, but we have to have the product on hand,” I say.

  All three men nod in agreement.

  “Where do you need them delivered to?” Kirill asks as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

  “San Fransico to Denver,” I shrug as if it’s just a small, simple task.

  “That’s twelve hundred miles at least,” Radimir sputters. “They won’t be down for that.”

  “Who is running Denver now?” Kirill asks suspiciously.

  “Pasha needs Timofei to grow the fuck up, and he knows it’s not going to happen in New York. He’s been working with me for a while, and Pasha thought it would help him, but he doesn’t give a fuck about anything but pussy, booze, and fights. Everybody knows who he is, who his father is, and they let him get away with far too much,” I explain, telling them of Pasha, a Pakhan in New York. He’s a man we all trust and respect deeply, and his son—a pissant, spoiled brat named Timofei.

  “You’re not suggesting he run Denver, are you?” Kirill asks, arching a brow.

  “Fuck, no! He’d run that shit into the ground. I’m suggesting we put somebody from here in charge of Denver, and then ship Timofei over there as well. Start a younger group of men. The area that we control is small, and this will give them an opportunity to build it up, see what they’re made of. Plus, it’ll get their feet wet in trafficking,” I shrug.

  “Who do you want?” Radimir asks.

  “I’ve had my eye on Ziven. He’s young, but he’s expierenced and extremely level headed,” I announce.

  “I think he’s level headed enough. He’s hungry enough for success. That’s a great idea,” Kirill murmurs.

  “Who else besides those two?”

  “We can’t spare any more of our top men, and Ziven is a top man, believe me. I know you probably don’t like him, but what about Mika?” Maxim asks, taking a sip of his vodka.

  “Mika’s gone from just a punk Shestyorka to a Boyevik. He’s smart and motivated to succeed,” Kirill announces.

  “The rest of the team we’ll build from there. So Ziven, Timofei, and Mika as the core components?” I ask looking around.

  “Let me make a call to MadDog, see if he’s willing to take this journey to Denver. Then once we get a contract in place, we’ll start moving forward,” Kirill says. I nod.

  “Business adjourned?” Radimir chuckles.

  “Let’s go inside. I’m so goddamn hungry,” Kirill rumbles.

  Together, we walk inside the loud and chaotic house that belongs to Kirill. The women are chattering and the children are running around, screaming and carrying on. I look around at the children who are crying, screaming, or laughing, and then my eyes catch Ashley’s. I see the completely blissful smile shining on her face. She’s still holding my youngest nephew, and she’s so happy. I want to give that to her.

&n
bsp; I want to see her smile this wide, plus ten-fold, at our own baby.

  “Yakov, come and hold your nephew,” Emiliya shouts, scowling at me.

  I’ve been a shit uncle. In town for days and have yet to see my own family. I walk over to Ashley’s side and sink down between Emiliya and Ashley.

  “What’s his name, again?” I ask, feeling like an even bigger shit of an uncle.

  “Rurik. Do you not listen to me when I talk to you?” Emiliya scolds.

  “A little renowned ruler on our hands, here,” I murmur, touching the baby’s little nose.

  “You’re ignoring me,” Emiliya sighs.

  “I am. I know I’ve been a bad uncle. When you told me of his birth, it wasn’t a good time in my life. I apologize, Emiliya. I promise to do better, to be better,” I say sincerely as I turn from the baby to my sister.

  “As long as you’re happy now, and you’re here now, then I’ll forgive you,” she whispers with tears shining in her eyes.

  She would forgive me no matter what my transgressions. My sweet, little Emiliya—too kind-hearted for this life she was dealt. Too gentle to be a Bratva wife. Yet, here she is, and she’s strong, too. Her strength has been tested, and she is as brave as any other woman in this room.

  “Do you want to hold him?” Ashley whispers from my side.

  I turn away from Emiliya and grin over at Ashley.

  “Nyet, you look too comfortable with him in your arms. I’ll rough Radoslav around a bit instead,” I grin, mentioning Emiliya’s older son. He’s not much older than this little bundle in Ashley’s arms, but he’s toddling around. Him I can’t break so easily.

  We spend the evening together as a family. I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life, except for around these people. I observe the way the couples interact, the way there are gentle touches and caresses between the men and their women, and I realize that I never did that before with Ashley.

  Before we split up, I didn’t touch her in public. If I did, it wasn’t often. Now, I have my arm around her shoulders and I’m dragging my fingertips up and down her bicep, as if it is the most natural thing in the world to do.

  I wonder if this is what it means to open yourself up to another person, or at least part of the process?

  I LOOK AROUND THE apartment and I sigh. I’m going to miss this place and the smell of the ocean coming through the window from the short distance to the sandy beach. Then I shake myself out of my daze and finish packing.

  Yakov and I are leaving in just a few hours, headed back to New York. I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be, but I am. Things between us have been good, but I’m afraid that they won’t last once life gets back to normal for him.

  “What has you worried?” a deep voice asks from the entrance of the room. I jump and turn around to see him standing in the doorway.

  “Nothing?” I try to say. It comes out more like a question.

  “Hmm, tell me,” he murmurs as he steps inside of the room and sits down on the chair opposite me.

  “I’m afraid life is going to go back to the way it was before we came here, six months ago,” I blurt out.

  I watch as his brow furrows and a frown forms on his lips. He’s so handsome, even when he’s concerned and thinking like he is now.

  “And how was that?” he asks.

  “You know, me being cooped up in the apartment all of the time; the slave stuff,” I mumble.

  Before I can blink, he’s on me, his hand against my back, pressing my body into his front, and his arms wrapped around me.

  “Nothing will be as it was, Ashley. Absolutely nothing. The only way I know how to convince you of this is to show you, and then continue to show you until you finally believe it. Everything is different now,” he murmurs as his lips brush mine.

  “Okay,” I sigh.

  “What else is it?” he asks as he continues to hold onto me.

  “I had planned to visit the house I lived in when I was younger. I never made it,” I announce.

  “We’ll go now,” he nods.

  “No, we need to get to the airport. It’s fine. I’ll gather the courage on one of our visits out in the future.

  Yakov shakes his head.

  “We’ll go on the way to the airport. We’re using a private plane. They won’t leave without us, pchelka,” he grins.

  I chew on my bottom lip and stare blankly at the half full suitcase. I’m not sure if I ever want to go back to that house, but I feel like to completely heal, I need to. That chapter of my life is over, and so is the abuse I suffered as a result of my father’s decision to trade me to erase his debts—something that Haleigh’s parents did as well. Yet, the result it had on my life was so different.

  Nonetheless, had none of it happened, I would not be standing in this bedroom with the man that saved my life and my soul; the man who healed me, not only once, but several times. I would never have come to know the love that I have with him now.

  “Ashley?” Yakov murmurs as he wraps one arm around my middle, his other hand wrapping loosely around the front of my neck.

  “I’m scared,” I admit.

  “I’ll be right at your side,” he whispers, his breath hot in my ear. “Then when we get on that plane, it all goes away. It’s forgotten. Gone and dead. I’ll fuck it away, and you’ll remember that our future is what’s important, not either of our pasts.”

  “I love you,” I mutter, trying not to cry.

  “Pack your bags and let’s move forward,” he grunts, squeezing my stomach and my throat gently before releasing me. “I’ll be in the living area.”

  I don’t turn to watch him walk away, but I can tell that he’s left the room. His presence is that consuming. I quickly finish packing my suitcase, not wanting to delay us anymore than we will already be delayed because of my need to have closure.

  Once I’m finished, I take a long look around the room, checking all of the drawers and cabinets to make sure that I’ve gathered all of my personal items. It looks so sad and empty now, devoid of any personality. This place was my own, mine, for six months straight. Nobody could tell me what to do or what to think when I entered this apartment. I was in control here.

  I’m going to miss it, but I needed it to happen. I needed Yakov to completely leave me to fend for myself; yet when he did, I wasn’t completely alone. I had a wonderful support system, and I’m thankful for that. I needed to grow. I needed to prove that, emotionally, I could stand on my own two feet.

  It was tough, but I survived. I hope that I never have to do it again; but I do know that if it happens, I will survive and even live. I am not easily crushed. Though I may be battered, I’m not broken.

  I walk into the living room, wheeling my large suitcase behind me, only to find Yakov and Mika in a quiet conversation. I regard them, noticing that neither one looks angry. They’re serious, as they are always serious, but they don’t look mad.

  “Thank you,” Mika murmurs to Yakov with a grimace, as if it hurts him to say the words.

  “From what I’ve heard, you’ve earned it all on your own,” Yakov replies coolly.

  “Take care of her, yeah?” Mika says as his eyes connect to mine and he gives me a sad smile.

  “Always,” Yakov replies.

  Mika leaves without another word. Yakov turns to me and I raise an eyebrow in question. He shakes his head, ignoring my questioning glance.

  “Ready?” he asks as his hand wraps around the handle of my suitcase. I nod and pick up a duffle bag, which he grasps and takes from my hands as well.

  “I should help,” I point out.

  “I think I’m strong enough to wheel your suitcase and carry your duffle bag,” he grunts, throwing the bag over his shoulder.

  I don’t say anything else, my stomach too full of fluttering butterflies to speak. As we walk out of the apartment, it hits me exactly where we’re headed. Not toward the airport, but toward that house. I don’t know if my father still lives there, but I feel anxious at possibly seeing him again. I w
rap my hand around Yakov’s forearm and tug gently before we reach the car. He turns around and looks at me with a furrowed brow.

  “What if I see him?” I whisper.

  “You won’t,” he shrugs.

  “How do you know that?” I gasp.

  “I found the file Gregori had on you. I looked him up. He’s not a hard man to find, seeing that he’s an idiot. I was going to return you to your family, pchelka. Originally, that was my intention. Then, when I found him and the file that showed he and a cousin of yours readily handed you over to save his own skin, I couldn’t see taking you back there. They didn’t care for you,” he shrugs as if it is no big thing, dancing around giving me a direct answer. I should question him more, but I don’t, he wouldn’t tell me even if I did.

  “You’ve always protected me,” I whisper, taking a step closer to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and looking into his pretty, light blue eyes.

  “When we get back to New York, we’ll do some research on the rest of your family, yeah?” he suggests.

  “I love that idea,” I whisper, feeling out of kilter.

  “I’ve only ever wanted you to live happily, Ashley. You were merely surviving, and I always just wanted you to live,” he rumbles.

  I’ve heard this said to me more than once, but it’s never hit me as hard as it hits me now. This beautiful man who saved me, who nursed me back to health, both physically and mentally—he’s only ever wanted my happiness.

  I love him for wanting that for me, even if it meant that he would be miserable because he didn’t think he could give me what I needed to be happy. I cup his cheeks in my hands, noting how much thicker his stubble is becoming each day, and I rise to my toes placing a gentle kiss on his full lips.

  “Thank you for everything, Jacob. I’m living now—living for you,” I whisper against his mouth.

  “Live for yourself, too, pchelka,” he grunts.

  “I’m living for us,” I murmur.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here and get this shit over with so I can fuck you,” he whispers before his tongue fills my mouth in a hard, all consuming, deep kiss.