Chosen by the Badman

by Hayley Faiman

  I had snapped one of her, secretly earlier, just in case. He confirms that he will be arriving in front of the studio within the hour and I thank him before I hang up, I send the picture to him. Then, I make my way toward my new stable of women. Fuck, this is going to be a long three years, I can already feel it.

  I HOLD MY BREATH as I watch the dancers ahead of me in line do their Pique Turns. The instructors are seriously berating the crap out of them. I can only hope that I don’t get the same treatment. I was spoiled when Haleigh was my instructor. She was always kind, tough but constructive, with her criticism.

  I know how hard instructors can be, as I danced for several different companies in Los Angeles but, as cocky as it sounds, I was always the star. However, I hold zero hope that I will be a star here. I’m a lowly apprentice, and nothing special.

  “Next,” one of my instructors screeches. Her voice is so shrill that it sends chills up my spine.

  It’s my turn. I take a deep breath and position myself, find my spot across the room, and I go. I let my mind go completely blank as I turn. The only voice I hear in my head is that of Haleigh. Her soft instructions and her warnings on my feet, keeping them pointed, keeping them turned correctly, along with my hips being tilted the correct way.

  “What is your name?” the instructor asks once I’ve made it completely across the floor.

  “Kiska Barysheva,” I state proudly.

  I’ve always been proud of my name; my father has made me believe it to be an important name. Plus, when everybody around you is terrified as soon as they hear it; it makes you stand a little straighter.

  “Who have you been studying under?” she asks.

  The room is bathed in question, I can feel it from the students around me. I don’t know why she’s questioning me the way that she is, but I’m going to answer and again, with pride.

  “When she danced, she was known as, Haleigh Stockhardt,” I state.

  The instructor’s eyelids rise with obvious surprise for a moment before she schools her features. “Very well,” she states but doesn’t elaborate.

  We spend the rest of the day dancing, although I can tell that the instructors are giving me a wide berth. I don’t know why and I’m confused by it. I wish that I was in a position to ask them what’s going on, but I’m not.

  “I’m Zoe,” states a petite blonde as she sits down next to me during a water break.

  “Kiska,” I say.

  She smiles and tips her head to the side. “Haleigh was a principal dancer here. I’ve been studying the history of this company for a long time. I’ve watched video after video of the dancers. She was a soloist. She was amazing. Then she just vanished,” she states.

  I press my lips together, unsure of how I should react to her curiosities, and obvious digging. “She married my uncle and retired,” I shrug.

  “She was amazing. I’m not getting married until I’m ready to retire, until I’m past my prime.”

  I smirk and try not to laugh in her face, or cry, both are definite options as reactions to her words. “I’m engaged,” I whisper.

  “But you’ve just begun,” she practically cries.

  If she knew the truth, she would think that my family was insane and she’d probably be frightened of me. I learned at a young age that if someone is not part of the organization, then they fear the organization. I don’t blame them, the men, and the rules—they can be terrifying.

  “Such is life I guess,” I smile as I stand up.

  The instructor claps a few times and we all hurry to the bars to continue our work. We dance until well into the afternoon. Hurrying to pack up my stuff, I throw my bag over my shoulder before Zoe appears at my side again.

  “What are you doing Saturday night? We don’t rehearse Sundays, and some of us were thinking of going out on the town. Peter is local and offered to show us all around,” she explains.

  I look over my shoulder at said, Peter, and notice that he’s smiling in our direction. He’s cute, tall and slim with sandy blond hair that falls like a mop all over his head. If I hadn’t seen my sexy neighbor this morning, then I would be possibly interested in Peter and his bright white smile.

  Pressing my lips together, I start to tell her no thank you, but then I think about how this is the end of my freedom. The next three years are all I have until I am forced to marry gross Akim. “Yeah, that sounds like fun,” I smile.

  “Excellent,” she hisses as we walk outside. “Oh, sweet heavens,” she breathes.

  I glance at her again before I follow her line of vision. Konstantin is standing there. Wearing the same suit pants he was in earlier, his jacket is gone and his tie has been loosened, along with his sleeves being rolled up on his rumpled white shirt. Holy shit he looks even better than he did this morning.

  “Hey, so Saturday night is on?” Peter asks from behind us.

  Zoe is completely unresponsive as her legs take her toward the front doors, but her mind is obviously a million miles away. I feel like I should tell her that Konstantin is fucking someone already, but I don’t—I don’t want to sound jealous or bitchy. Even if I am exactly those two things.

  When we’re finally outside and on the sidewalk, I turn my head to look up at Peter with a smile. “Yes, Saturday for sure.”

  “Saturday?” Konstantin’s raspy, deep voice murmurs.

  He wraps his hand around my wrist and tugs me away from the small group. I fall against his side with a squeak.

  I look over to the group, and Zoe’s eyes are bugged out and Peter looks peeved. “Saturday, Peter is taking us all on the town,” I explain refusing to look at Konstantin.

  He grunts. “We’ll see.”

  I try to pull away from him but his grip shifts from my wrist to around my waist, and he holds me too tightly against his hard body. “And you are Peter?” Konstantin asks his voice deep, and almost harsh sounding.

  “I am,” Peter announces lifting his chin in the air a little higher. He shouldn’t.

  Konstantin has a good three inches on Peter, and at least forty pounds of pure bulky muscle. I’ve seen Peter in a tank top, and I’ve seen Konstantin shirtless, Konstantin wins hands down in the muscle department.

  “Kiska will not be joining you,” Konstantin announces.

  Zoe’s brows lift in conjunction with her wide eyes, something I didn’t think was possible, and her mouth opens slightly as she stares up at Konstantin.

  “Excuse me?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  Konstantin tips his head down to look at me. “You’re not going,” he grunts.

  “Who are you, exactly?” Peter asks.

  Konstantin smirks and my eyes narrow on him. “I’m her man.”

  Zoe smiles and her eyes meet mine, giving me a wink. Peter looks like he’s sucked on some sour grape and me? I’m so shocked at his words that I have nothing to say, all of the air in my lungs is completely gone.

  “Come, sladkaya, it’s time to go home,” Konstantin hums and sweet heavens, as Zoe would say, his voice is dripping with pure honey, and it makes my entire body heat.

  He guides me away from Zoe and Peter, and I go, willingly. I’m in a daze, sladkaya, holy fuck, sweetie. It sounds so sexy tumbling from his lips. I think it could take me an entire lifetime to get over it. It was so damn sensual.

  I’m surprised when Kiska doesn’t say anything as I guide her back to our apartment. I would guess that she’d put up some kind of argument, or fight, when I forbade her from going out on Saturday night with a weasel prick. No way in fuck is she going anywhere with him—ever.

  Once we’re inside of the building, it’s as if the slamming of the front entrance door breaks her out of her trance. Her feet stop in the lobby and I watch as her hands form fists and she places them on her hips. Damn, she’s pretty when she’s sweaty and defiant. My cock presses against my pants at the sight of her.

  “Who are you to tell me where and when I can go anywhere?” she demands.

  I tip my head to the side and eye her
curiously, wondering if her parents did her a disservice by not explaining our situation completely. “I’m your guard,” I state.

  “Right, but what you aren’t is my man, my dad, or anything else to me. You’re supposed to ensure my safety. You don’t tell me what I can and cannot do, or with whom,” she tries to explain.

  I chuckle, which causes her face to tint pink with what I assume frustration, annoyance, and anger. Fuck, she’s cute when she’s trying to boss me around. “Sladkaya, you don’t tell me shit. I’m a Brigadier. And I am not on your daddy’s payroll. What I am, is in charge of your safety and wellbeing. That little weasel wants in your hot little snatch. It’s my job to make sure he doesn’t get there, along with anybody else, and to assure your family and your fiancé, that you are indeed safe at all times.”

  I wrap my hand around her bicep and march forward, tugging her behind me. When we finally reach our destination, after climbing three flights of stairs, I stop at her front door and unlock it.

  “You have a key to my apartment?” she screeches.

  Opening the door, I toss her ass inside. “You attempt to leave this apartment, and I will know it. You may think that you are free to go and do whatever you wish. You are not. You do not live in your safe little bubble anymore. This is New York. It isn’t safe here for you, especially since where we are is not under Bratva rule.”

  I pull the door closed with a slam and lock it. Then I march over to my door and unlock it before I slam it closed as well. Christ, she is going to be the fucking death of me. A little eighteen-year-old prima ballerina is going to de-man me. I wonder how much I would really mind it? I haven’t felt this alive in years.

  I hear a pounding on my front door a few seconds later, and I groan. Unlocking it, I fling it open and look down into her pretty gray eyes. Fucking shit I want her, I want all of her. I want her stripped naked, and I want to take my belt to her ass. I want to make her cry, and scream. I want to tie her up and choke her, and fuck her. Shit. I am so fucked.

  “This is my last chance for freedom and not you, or anybody else will deny that for me.”

  She lifts her chin in her beautiful defiance and I can’t help myself, my lips fucking twitch in a smile. I want to give her the world. I want to make her smile, she’s so damn gorgeous when she does. I give in to her demands. “Okay, sladkaya, you want to go out with that dancing fairy, you can go,” I state.

  Her lips quirk as a huge smile appears on her lips. “However, I go with you,” I state. Her smile immediately falls and her eyes narrow. “I’m your shadow for the next three years. Which means if you want to go out with your little friends, I go as well,” I state.

  “Whatever,” she grumbles.

  I reach out and pinch her chin between my fingers, holding her head where I want it, and tipping it back slightly so that I can look into her eyes.

  “I was chosen to watch over you, Kiska. I will do so. I was chosen to guard your life with my own, die for you if need be. I will do so without hesitation. Do not make this job more difficult than it needs to be,” I murmur.

  “Won’t your girlfriend get jealous?” she asks.

  My brows furrow, then they raise as it dawns on me. Viveka. She came to me last night and actually, we didn’t even fuck. She needed some help with her madam. She wanted to know if she could move to my stable if I had any availability for her here. We ended up getting drunk and just talking all evening. Then we each slept, me on the couch, and her in my bed.

  “Viveka isn’t my woman,” I rasp. Her breathing picks up to almost a pant, and I wonder if she reacts the same when she’s being fucked.

  “Your fuck buddy then?” she asks as her cheeks tint with pink.

  I grin and shake my head once. “I’ve fucked her, yeah. But she’s not my fuck buddy, sladkaya. Are you so concerned because that’s what you would like to be?” I ask, dropping my voice slightly.

  She gasps and tries to wrench away from me, but I don’t let her. I wrap my hand around her waist and hold her a little tighter at her chin. “I’m engaged,” she hisses.

  “You know, any man that fucks you while you wear Akim’s ring is signing his own death wish, yeah?”

  Her eyes widen, and her face pales slightly. Obviously, she didn’t know this, which I find curious. I lean forward a little and run my nose alongside hers, inhaling her scent. She’s worked hard today, and I can smell her sweat, but there is something sweet in her scent as well, vanilla and sugar perhaps.

  “Konstantin,” she whimpers.

  I grunt as my lips move to her ear. “Keep your piz`da away from your little friend Peter, or I’ll gut him and I’ll fucking enjoy it,” I growl. She whimpers as her body shakes slightly, but by the way her pupils are dilated I don’t think it’s from fear. Fuck me, she’s turned on. “Does that turn you on, sladkaya? The fact that I would kill for you, does that make your piz`da wet?”

  “You’re filthy,” she gasps.

  I bark out a harsh laugh and her head jerks as she tries to fight me again. I don’t let her, I hold her firm and steady. “I know I’m filthy, Kiska. You’d like it, I promise,” I breathe.

  Her face turns bright fucking red, and I swear to Christ my cock gets so fucking hard that it could pound nails. “Let me go,” she hisses.

  “Go back to your apartment, and go to bed.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I grin at her continued disobedience. “Sladkaya, don’t make an offer that your piz`da can’t cash. I’ll take you out with your little friends. You fuck it up, and you don’t go again.” I release her and take a step back, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from ripping her clothes off.

  She promptly turns on her toes and leaves, slamming the door behind her. I wait a beat until I hear her slam her own door. Then I walk over and flip my lock into place. The next three years is going to be pure torture, not only for me but for my cock as well.

  KONSTANTIN AND I HAVEN’T spoken since our argument on Monday evening. It’s better that way. I want him. I wanted him to take me right then and there in his apartment. I can’t want that, no matter what my grandpa says, no matter what anybody says. Konstantin is right, if anybody touches me, it means they die. I’m contracted and officially engaged.

  “You okay?” Zoe asks as we pack up.

  This week has been complete hell on my body. I’ve spent an hour every single night soaking in Epsom salt to try and relax my muscles. What I need is a deep tissue massage, but I won’t get it. Not anytime soon, not with my freaking shadow following me everywhere I go.

  “Yeah, just tired,” I lie. Well, it’s not a complete lie, I am freaking tired.

  She smiles brightly as she hitches her bag over her shoulder. “I cannot wait to go out tonight. Peter says to meet right outside of the Cielo, in the meatpacking district,” she explains. “He said he’d pick you up on the way if you wanted,” she explains.

  I shake my head, trying to imagine him and Konstantin being together in a small cab. “No, Konstantin is taking me,” I admit.

  “My God, I do not know how you do it,” she breathes.

  “Do what?”

  She smirks as she lifts her chin toward the doors. Konstantin is standing there, one hand in his pocket and his neck bent as he focuses on his phone in the other hand. God, he’s beautiful. Absolutely rugged and sexy. I want to lick him, it’s ridiculous.

  “I don’t know how you have that man, as yours, and spend all your time here. I think now I completely understand, why you’re getting married. You know I didn’t get it before, but damn,” she breathes.

  I shake my head. If she knew, if she saw my real fiancé, she wouldn’t be saying the same thing. Hell, if I could put it off… indefinitely I totally would. I would have no issue living my entire life as a spinster, rather than marry Akim.

  “You’re crazy,” I laugh, shaking my head as we walk outside. Konstantin immediately lifts his head, and my belly flips as he tips the corner of his lips up. “See you in a few hours,” I call out.

>   “See you guys there,” Zoe replies before she turns and heads in the opposite direction as me.

  Konstantin doesn’t speak, he walks next to me, but he’s focused on his phone. “What time do we meet your friends?” he asks sounding distracted.

  “Nine,” I state.

  Konstantin only hums but doesn’t say anything else. It’s been the same routine for the past four days. I wonder if this is the way it’s going to be between us for the next three years. If so? This sucks.

  When we arrive at our apartment building he holds the door open for me, his focus still very much on his phone. I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. I want him to pay attention to me. I feel like a child, but I don’t care. I liked his filthy mouth, he was right, I really liked it. I want more. Even if it’s so incredibly wrong, I want it.

  “I’ll knock on your door at seven. We’ll grab a bite to eat,” he states as we arrive on our floor.

  I press my lips together before I speak, “I’ll eat here, it’s fine.”

  Konstantin stops and turns around to face me, his eyes looking so much darker than they ever have. I watch as they flick down my body before they return back to me. “You haven’t been eating enough this week, Kiska. We will go to dinner,” he states, sounding almost angry.

  I don’t respond, watching as he unlocks my door and opens it. “Seven,” he grunts when I walk past him.

  Closing my door gently, I lock it before I stare at it. I don’t know what that was. He leaves me more and more confused every day. I try to shake off his mood, or whatever, and make my way to my bathroom. I need to shower and then get ready for tonight. It’s already almost six, so I only have about an hour.

  Hurrying through my shower, I then run to my closet and start to look through my clothes. Almost everything I own is ballet attire. I don’t have a lot of anything else because I don’t do much else.

  I grab a black cotton mini skirt that probably isn’t dressy enough for whatever club we’re going to, but it’s comfortable and cute so… whatever. Then I search for a top to wear. I find an off the shoulder grey bodysuit.