Kindle Edition
©Deadly
©Born Bratva Series
Copyright © 2013 Suzanne Steele
Published by Suzanne Steele
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of Fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales, are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademark status of various products and locales referenced in this fictional work, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover photo © Dollar Photo Club
Cover Copyright © Suzanne Steele
Edited by Eda Price Editing
Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations
Formatting by Suzanne Steele
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All content herein is protected under copyright law.
This e-book is Rated 17+
To the Reader
The men I write about are Alpha males in every sense of the word. They are the men society warns us about. They are dominant males with controlling tendencies. They are the men you know you should stay away from, and yet
you are drawn like a moth to a flame.
If you are looking for a sweet romance, you won't find it here. What you will find is dark passion. Many times my heroes carry what would be considered an obsession for the women they love. Each and every character I create has demanded their voice be heard. I have been true to that calling and I have stayed true to their personalities, which at times the reader may not always agree with. They are dark, they are gritty, and many times their love is dysfunctional but, nonetheless, it is real.
Stalk Me…
Suzanne Steele’s Blog: http://suzannesteelesblog.wordpress.com/
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Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I want to thank God; without him none of this would be possible.
I want to thank my family, who carry the weight of everything so I can write. I love you guys and I couldn’t do what I do without you.
I want to thank Eda Spivey Price, my editor, who came at a time when I needed her most. Eda, you are a Godsend and I will forever be grateful to you for believing in me at a time when I wanted to give up. You were just what I needed to keep writing and pursuing my dream.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
Chapter Thirty Eight
Chapter Thirty Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty One
Chapter Forty Two
Chapter Forty Three
Chapter Forty Four
Chapter Forty Five
Chapter Forty Six
Chapter Forty Seven
Chapter Forty Eight
Chapter Forty Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty One
Chapter Fifty Two
Chapter Fifty Three
Chapter Fifty Four
Chapter Fifty Five
Chapter Fifty Six
Chapter Fifty Seven
Chapter Fifty Eight
Chapter Fifty Nine
Chapter Sixty
Introduction to Diamond Days
Prologue
Roksana
I’ve always known I’m fucked up. I’m certain some professionals would consider me to be a psychopath. But I’m not. Psychopaths are manipulative, they feel no remorse, they experience pleasure from someone else’s pain.
Well…okay, maybe I have a few psychopathic tendencies, like my love for violence. But psychopaths are incapable of forming bonds with others, and that’s just not me. Just because I enjoy the darker side of my line of work doesn’t necessarily mean I’m unable to feel empathy; I’m just selective about it. For that reason, I prefer the term sociopath.
My Bratva family has my whole heart and my loyalty. But outsiders? They get nothing. I see no reason to exert emotional energy on people I may end up killing one day. I interact with people socially and I can fit right in behind the white picket fences of society’s expectations. But in reality, any white picket fence of mine would probably be covered in bloody handprints. I love the blood-stained jobs I carry out for my Pakhan; the man who also happens to be my father.
In a normal family my love of violence would be seen as a problem, something to cover up by whatever means necessary – because, after all, image is everything. In my family we just don’t give a fuck about image. What we do give a fuck about is instilling terror in the heart of our adversaries. Respect. Loyalty. That’s what we care about. That’s what’s important in our world.
My father is proud of his children and he’s a smart enough man to use each of his children’s unique traits to his advantage. I guess he knew I was different when he saw how enthralled I was when one of his soldiers almost beat a man to death in my presence. I can remember it like it was yesterday because, for me, it was the day I came to a crossroad. It was the day I decided I wanted to not only work for my father but to be his hand of justice. It was also the day I met the man I’m to marry. I can’t help but smile as my mind drifts back to the memory.
My heart thunders in my chest when I hear them enter the building. I managed to ditch my brothers tonight and snuck out of the house so I could be here at my father’s warehouse. There will be hell to pay when my little white lie is discovered, but for now I want to watch what’s about to happen. I’ve listened to my brothers talk about Father’s infamous warehouse where our enemies are tortured and now I want to see it for myself.
I could have asked him to let me watch but I just couldn’t take the chance of him saying I’m too young to witness such brutality. At sixteen years old, I’m far beyond my years but when you
grow up in a family like mine…you don’t remain a child for long. My parents are the best parents in the world as far I’m concerned but when you’re born Bratva, innocence doesn’t fit into the equation.
From my position at the top of the rickety stairs, I have a perfect view. A stranger accompanies my father into the room. He’s tall—maybe 6’3 and solidly built with a lean but muscular frame. He wears his long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail the same way my father does. I can’t see what color his eyes are but I’d be willing to bet they’re blue because I have a feeling he’s Russian and that tends to be the case in many of our descendants. There’s no way I can know that, in a matter of moments, I’ll begin a journey with him that will last a lifetime.
My body begins to tremble with excitement as I settle in to watch what I know is the beginning of a torture session. The men’s voices pull me in and I strain to listen, not wanting to miss one word of what’s being said. My father is the first to speak to the man whose arms and legs are now bound tightly to a straight back wooden chair.
“You think you can attempt to force yourself on one of the women who works for me and there will be no repercussions? That I would allow such a thing?”
“The bitch is lying. I never fucking touched her.”
“Ahh, I see…so you’re saying Oleg is a liar.”
That must be the tall stranger’s name, Oleg. I resist the urge to say it and see how it feels rolling off my tongue. I watch the man to see how he reacts to what my father says and he’s completely unreadable. Even though their victim who’s tied to the chair is vigorously shaking his head no at my father’s accusation, Oleg simply stands there with his hands clasped at his waist as if he’s awaiting my father’s instructions. Most of the men who work for my father would show some kind of response, but not this guy—he’s completely un-fucking-readable.
“Oleg… Are you a liar?” my father asks, sounding appalled that this was a possibility he should have thought of earlier. He has a way of turning shit around on people and my chest feels warm with pride as he turns his prowess on the man they’re interrogating.
“Never when it comes to you, my Pakhan.”
Their victim suddenly changes his story. It’s the first hint of just how dangerous this Oleg guy is. The man is clearly scared to call him a liar.
“Okay, okay, I probably was a little pushy. But I didn’t mean no harm.”
My father’s response is so fast that I never see it coming. The blood spurting from the deep cut on the man’s lip gives evidence to the fact he’s been back-handed by the Pakhan. My heart races as the violence escalates.
“You stupid motherfucker! If you enjoy being rough with a woman, there is no shortage of women who like that shit. But…to have the audacity to try and force yourself on one of my employees, in my establishment, is just plain stupid. You’ve not only disrespected her, you’ve disrespected me.”
“She’s no saint, boss. That woman gets around.”
“You know, if I’ve learned anything in my line of work it’s that you can’t reason with a man who can’t see the error of his ways.”
My father barely nods at Oleg, who proceeds to remove his suit coat and his cufflinks, placing the latter in his trouser pocket. He takes his time rolling his shirtsleeves up, never giving heed to the man’s tears or his pleas for mercy.
I’m half expecting him to begin brutally beating the man, as is common practice among the other men who work for my father, when he turns them loose on someone. Oleg is different. He’s taking his time, like he wants to savor the kill.
Oleg squats in front of the man and takes one of his fingers, gently holding it almost as if it were a child’s. He slowly runs his long fingers over the digit, studying the anatomy of the man’s hand. The victim’s screams resonate off the warehouse walls when Oleg effortlessly breaks the finger at the first joint, then the second, then at the knuckle where it connects to his hand. I squeeze my legs together as I attempt to ward off the unfamiliar feelings this sadistic man brings out in me.
I’m so engrossed in the scene playing out before me that I’m not paying attention when my father leans in and whispers something in Oleg's ear. It isn’t until they both turn toward me and look up that I realize they’ve seen me. Son of a bitch…
My father’s eyes sparkle with cold amusement, but Oleg’s eyes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen before —they’re dead, vacant. It’s as if the man is nothing more than an object, like a filing cabinet or an office chair.
“My daughter, Roksana…she is intrigued with violence, or perhaps just with you.”
I look for some sort of reaction on Oleg’s face but there’s nothing to give me a hint of what’s going on in his mind.
“Get down here, girl!”
“Shit!” I mutter under my breath as I bend down and slide my four-inch heels back on; no need to worry about making noise now. My father scares the shit out of me. I never know how he’s going to react and we both know I’m not supposed to be here.
I trudge down the steps and cross the cement floor, my footfalls echoing in the cavernous space. Standing in front of my father, I mentally ready myself as he scans my face thoughtfully. My father has a way of reading people’s body language – hell, I think he can read people’s minds. And when it comes to his kids, he misses nothing.
“I’m glad you’re intrigued with Oleg’s sadistic nature.” His eyes mock me as he continues. “I’ve assigned him to a new job – he’ll be watching over you. He will be my eyes where you are concerned. You know I am always watching, little one.”
“Father…I don’t need a bodyguard,” I huff indignantly as I slam my hands onto my hips and scowl. I briefly glance over at Oleg, suddenly aware of my desire to maintain my dignity in front of this stranger. I clear my throat and straighten my posture, resting my arms loosely at my sides. I’m going for ‘impassive’ but I have no idea if I succeed.
My father raises a sardonic brow as if he’s just waiting for me to challenge him on this decision. I immediately lower my gaze.
“I thought so.”
That’s how it is with my father; it’s his way, or no way. I look up at him through long lashes – after all, I am still very much his little girl -- and see that he’s now focusing his attention on Oleg.
“Oleg, meet my daughter, Roksana. As her personal bodyguard, your life’s mission from this day forward is to take care of her.” My father chuckles as he continues. “I don’t envy you—Roksana can be quite a handful.”
I take stock of my new bodyguard -- his direct yet respectful eye contact, and reverent but firm voice as he speaks to my father.
“You have my word, my Pakhan—I will guard her with my life.”
Then he turns that dead stare on me, and for the first time in my life I’m afraid of someone other than my father. My life just got a hell of a lot more complicated.
Chapter One
Roksana
I wave the makeup artist and beautician away with an impatient flick of my wrist. They scurry out the door like they’re scared I might bitch slap them if they don’t move fast enough. It never gets old…the power that comes with being a Glazov.
I circle the woman seated in the chair. I’m the shark and she’s the blood-soaked prey. I lean down and whisper in her ear, “Emily’s dead. I killed her. From now on, your name is Anastasia. Do you know why I picked that name for you?”
I have been put in charge of Anastasia’s Bratva indoctrination. Teaching her the nuances of life in our cell will prepare her to command respect as she moves within our circle. The first person she must learn to read is me. My father is watching her progress closely and disappointing him is not an option.
My respect for my father is born of deep love and even deeper fear. To come between my father and me is to ensure certain death. If she ever does… it won’t be him putting a bullet between her eyes, it’ll be me.
When I’m certain I have her complete attention, I continue. “The name Anastasia means ‘r
esurrection’. The only part of you that interests us is the serial killer that resides in you. That woman, Emily, who lived in the suburbs, is dead. The upstanding citizen you were before you started killing is a thing of the past. If I ever see a trace of Emily, I’ll cut your throat from ear to ear.
“Let’s get one thing straight. My father paid a lot of money to have you remade. Such extensive cosmetic surgery, performed by one of the top three surgeons in the country, doesn’t come cheap. You owe the Pakhan your life and are in his debt now. And because you owe him…I. Own. You.”
I sense him before I see him. When I turn to enjoy the view, as I always do whenever he enters a room, Oleg’s expression doesn’t give anything away. But I know him well enough to recognize the touch of humor that lights his eyes. The sadistic son of a bitch is entertained by my little ‘pep talk’ for our newest recruit.
I sashay over to him, putting a little extra sway in my hips for effect. My hand slides over his abdomen, heading south to settle over his cock. I stand on my tiptoes and whisper loud enough for her to hear, “This is mine. God help any bitch who tries to get next to you. You and I both know this cock won’t work for anyone but me… but I’ll still make sure it’s the last thing she ever does.”
Heat flares in his eyes and his cock hardens under my hand. It’s a good thing my jealous streak turns him on.
I turn my attention back to Anastasia. Slow, deliberate steps bring me within inches of her. Tilting her chin with a single finger, I cock my head to the side and snarl, “Look at me, bitch. There’s one more thing you need to know. Stay the fuck away from him. You don’t talk to him, you don’t look at him. Any interaction you do have with him is through me. He’s mine and, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, I don’t fucking share. Fuck with my man – flirt with him, touch him, hell, if you so much as compliment his cufflinks -- and I’ll cut you up so bad they won’t find anything but ribbons of flesh. Am I making myself clear?”
“Crystal,” she says quietly, and I smile at the barely detectable bite in her voice. I can see that she wants to mouth off at me, but she’s holding back. That shows discipline and tells me everything I need to know. This girl isn’t weak – I know that for a fact or I wouldn’t have made a case for bringing her into the Bratva fold.
Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5) Page 1