by V. F. Mason
SOVIETNIK'S FURY
V.F. MASON
Copyright © 2017 by V.F. MASON
All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Hot Tree Editing
Cover Design: Sommer Stein at Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Photographer: Lindee Robinson Photography
Formatting and Design: L.J. Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations
Cover Models: Nathaniel Latham and Genelle Seldon
To second Chances
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Contact Me
September 2011
Houston, Texas
Radmir
Surrounded by the night, I slowly opened the door and stepped inside. Moonlight slipped through the cracks and shone brightly in the hallway as a light breeze cooled my heated skin, bringing much needed relief from the fucking hot weather. The ancient house, a mansion really, sitting at the edge of town, reminded me a lot of Downton Abbey. The structure created an aura of mystery and restlessness. Bronze figures and hunting trophies greeted guests, adding to the creepy vibe, but for me, they did nothing.
The house, usually filled with laughter, classical music, and the delicious smells of home-baked food, was shrouded in darkness, the noise from the air conditioner shattering the silence. Obviously, the invitation displayed on my phone wasn't intended for me.
What the fuck was going on?
Removing the gun from the back of my pants and flipping the safety off, I aimed in front of me as I scanned my surroundings. All my senses were on high alert and my gut told me something was terribly wrong.
The kitchen located to my right was empty, everything polished and shiny, but the smell of bleach disturbed my nostrils. Frowning, I moved to the office in search of Cliff, but found it empty. He was usually ensconced with his cigar or having a meal at the table conveniently situated near a window. The guy rarely changed his routine, claiming germs existed everywhere and we should be careful, otherwise we might die soon. Cliff was odd like that, but loyal to a fault, so I dealt with his weird shit.
A single white sheet of paper lay on the table, as if someone intentionally put it there for anyone to read. My gloved hand picked it up as I read out loud. “I won’t do it. I can’t. This—” By how the blue ink slid across the sheet in unreadable letters it was as if someone snatched the paper away from him, as it was clear he didn't finish it. Was that the fucking reason for his call?
Frowning, I thought back to the message he sent me an hour ago, claiming no one but me could help him and the consequences could be fatal if I didn't possess the information he got a hold of. Cliff wasn’t a drama queen, so I believed him. Especially under the current circumstances, when I had a war on my hands over my woman, and I lacked the Bratva’s support since Vasya refused to help me.
Judging by Cliff’s house, he wasn’t wrong in his assumption, and someone must have come to stop him.
The sound of heavy footsteps caught my attention, and I rushed toward the spacious living room, which opened onto a view of the terrace. A figure ran toward the billowing white curtains where hot air blew inward through an open French door.
A man wearing a black mask, dark shirt, and leather pants, with heavy boots covered in blue hospital booties disappeared through it, but not before I caught sight of the tattoo on his hand of horns on top of two hearts entwined. I’d seen many tattoos in my life, but I didn’t recognize this weird one. Who the fuck would have something like that on their skin when they killed people? That was like putting a neon sign on themselves for everyone to see.
“Wait, you fucker,” I shouted, following him. When I stepped on something sticky, my mind registered my surroundings.
The dining table located in the right corner of the room had shards of the finest china scattered around it, as if someone smashed them in a rage. The wide leather sofa and two chairs were smeared in blood and ripped by deep nail-like scratches. Antique figurines and lamps lay broken under the furniture. Someone really fought for their life in the room. The destroyed items were Cliff’s most precious possessions, so the intruders weren’t thieves.
The white Persian carpet was stained by a large red pool, and Cliff lay right in the center of it as the blood poured from him. Holding his hand over his stomach wound, his eyes wide in shock and fear, he choked loudly as he struggled to breathe.
“Fuck, Cliff,” I murmured, kneeling and examining the knife wounds that were delivered to his major arteries, removing any chance he would have of surviving. The weapon lay next to where I kneeled, and without thinking, I picked it up to examine it. By the sharp edges and exquisite leather handle, I concluded it was a rare crocodile razor knife, which could inflict the most pain and suffering for the victim. The fucking killer wasn’t even quick about it.
Cliff groaned loudly, and I placed my hand under his head as sadness filled every bone in my body and pain shot through me. Nothing was left that I could do, only to hold my dear friend in his last minutes of life. One more soul who would be remembered for the rest of my life. Being part of the brotherhood, the sense of loss should be familiar, but it still shot through me like an arrow every single fucking time. “Hey, it’s okay.” I squeezed his hand as he blinked once, probably understanding he had no chance of surviving. Without hesitation, I started chanting a prayer while he spoke through dry lips.
“Thank you.” And in a few seconds, he froze as his heart stopped beating, and then I closed his eyes, hoping he found peace in the other world.
What the fuck was going on here? Who would want to kill Cliff?
The Bratva needed to know about this to help me. He was one of our closest friends; they would want his death avenged.
Suddenly, flashlights shone through the house as dogs barked loudly and police screamed to put my gun down.
Right before I raised my hands, I remembered the text message in my cell phone as dread settled inside me.
Who the fuck had the nerve to set me up?
Director
Emerging from the steaming bathroom, I wrapped the towel around my waist. My skin hurt from all the scrubbing I had done to remove Cliff’s blood. I even jerked off in the shower as nothing got me off more than the scent of a freshly killed body.
A surge of power rushed through me from the memories of the fight at his place. The stupid-as-fuck man wanted to live and thought he could interfere in my plan to get what was rightfully mine. Little did he know that he played right into my hands. Radmir had the highest sense of honor; he’d have never left his friend in need.
My laughter echoed in the room as I cracked my neck from side to side, enjoying the stretch and feeling on top of the world.
Pouring myself some wine from the hotel mini-bar, I wondered if anything else in life made me this happy.
Drying my hair with the towel
, I sat down on my chair on the balcony. I rested my bare feet on the small table while my eyes studied the chessboard in front of me.
My white knight moved effortlessly on the board and with one swift, practical move, I blocked the king. “Shah mat!” I murmured, and flicked it away from the board as he fell to the floor and rolled under the furniture. “Sovietnik, you lost.” With that, I picked up the black queen, saluted her with my wine glass, and envisioned my future with Vivian.
The queen belonged to me now.
October 2017
Vivian
The light breeze touched my damp skin, creating goose bumps in its wake. My breath hitched as I listened for anything other than my rapidly beating heart.
Thump, thump, thump.
Licking my lips, swollen from bruising kisses, I tugged my hands one more time hoping to escape the cage he had created, but it was useless. As the tight rope dug deeper into my soft skin, I groaned in distress from the spasms of shooting pain. Why must he be so skilled at this, dammit?
The blindfold covered my eyes, heightening my other senses and forcing an adrenaline rush through my veins.
“You can’t get out of them, Vivian.” Sovietnik’s voice washed over me. His footsteps coming in my direction were the only sound in the otherwise silent space. “I told you to listen to me.” He stopped, right next to me; I could feel his breath fanning my cheek as his hand laced through my hair then tugged it back, making me arch into his touch. His lips nipped my neck, not enough to hurt but enough to leave a mark. I gasped from the slight pain, and he immediately soothed it with his tongue while bathing me in his masculine scent. “You forgot for a second you are mine.” His growl sent shivers through me, and my core became wet, desperate for his attention.
Liar.
Even though everything inside me rejected the words, I hissed at him. “I’m not yours.” My reply was met with a slap to my ass cheeks, burning my skin and no doubt leaving an angry red print. A jolt of pleasure awoke my desire, my nipples hardening as my betraying body reacted to his presence.
“Let’s see, shall we?” he whispered above my mouth right before capturing my lips in another bruising kiss. His hands slid down my ass and picked me up, forcing me to circle my legs around him so my pussy was in direct contact with his hard-on. He rubbed up and down my clit with his dick, driving me crazy with need. He didn’t enter me; he only allowed the tip to push into my opening. Letting go of my mouth and leaving me struggling for breath, he pinched the pointed peak of my right breast. I gasped, and he licked and sucked gently on it as jolts of electricity swept through me. “Vivian,” he murmured. Changing his focus to the other breast, he repeated his action while his hands slid lower and dug painfully into my hips. “I’m going to ruin you tonight.”
Oh, God.
I wasn’t sure I would survive his brand of torture.
Houston, Texas
April 2017
Radmir
The gates slowly slid open, revealing the dusty road and a lonely Jeep standing right in the middle, shining brightly in the sun—almost fucking blinding me.
A man leaned on it with a huge smirk on his face, his arms folded. He winked at me as though it was some kind of fucking joke. Apparently, the Bratva forgot our code; otherwise, Dima, our lawyer, wouldn’t have dared show me anything but respect.
The Bratva, or the Russian Mafia, was a crime organization that raised generations and generations of people with the same values and loyalty code. We lived, fought, and died for the brotherhood. There was a specific hierarchy that could never be broken or questioned, and everyone had to know their place.
The pakhan, the boss, was the head of the organization whose words were absolute when it came to the rules and orders, and anyone who dared break them would face his wrath.
Unfortunately, due to my mood, even the presence of Dominic wouldn’t have reined in the fury inside me.
“You’re free to go, Russian. Don’t do anything stupid.”
I barely restrained myself from flipping the guard off. Ben had the reputation for harassing the inmates as much as possible, getting some kind of fix from all the humiliation. I couldn’t count the number of times he had put me on toilet-cleaning duty or lonely nights in isolation after he beat me up till there was no unmarked place left on my body.
He never would have survived against me in a street fight or outside prison, but this place had its own special rules. No one would consider helping a prisoner who challenged the guards.
So, I bit my tongue every time and tried to focus on the bigger picture, like getting the fuck away from here. Back then, I had a reason to live.
Ben wouldn’t get any satisfaction from me; instead, I grinned at him and saluted with my hand.
“Fuck you.” Before he could say anything else, the gates closed as the dust under my feet blew into my face, but who the fuck cared? Inhaling deeply, my lungs welcomed the disgusting smells and desolate environment.
Freedom at last, Radmir. Freedom.
Someone cleared his throat, and my eyes snapped around to notice Dima right next to me as he opened his arms and gave me a man hug, patting my back vigorously. “Good to see you out, man, really good,” he whispered, squeezing me one last time, and then he leaned back, flashing me yet another fucking annoying grin. As much as I thought of scolding him for his behavior, the memories of the small boy I had picked up on the streets wouldn’t let me.
Practically all the Bratva consisted of the boys or teenagers I took under my wing. That thought alone made me feel older than my thirty-nine years.
“You too, Dima, you too. Thank you for getting me out of this.” Credit had to be given when it was due. I had no fucking clue how he managed to find Cliff’s real killer or his deal with the judge; all that mattered was Dima gave me back my freedom.
Something flashed in his eyes, but he kept his mouth shut, and it unsettled me. Dima and Dominic both often had a weird expression as if they wanted to tell me something every time the subject of my freedom came up but didn’t know how.
A rush of adrenaline surged through my veins at the knowledge I was finally fucking free from the dump where I’d spent five years. Technically it was six, but I refused to count the six months before the sentence as hope was still alive back then that the Bratva could find a solution to my problems, and the last six months; we knew I was getting out, it was just a matter of when.
No more cuffs.
No more beatings from the guards or fights for dominance with inmates.
No more fucked-up food or wearing fucking orange.
I was a free man.
One who was about to make those people who put him inside here pay.
“Do you have all the files?” Dima tensed, but under my harsh stare, he nodded and extended his hand with the folders.
“Are you sure about this, brat?” he asked, clearly not liking my decision because it endangered everything I had fought for during the last five years.
Oh, I was sure.
So many people to collect debts from.
But I’d start with the one who’d betrayed me the most.
The woman I loved, the only woman who occupied my thoughts all those years, from the moment I’d met her.
The only woman in this world I used to live for.
Vivian.
New York, New York
Vivian
My phone rang loudly in the silent room, echoing off the walls and chilling my bones, as my body stilled and couldn’t move from the fear running through my veins.
I was waiting for that call, dreaded it, but it had come and it was terrifying.
No part of me wanted to answer, but sometimes life didn’t give you choices. A harsh truth I had learned to survive in this world.
Padding slowly on the icy-cold marble floor, I gulped as much air into my lungs as possible so I wouldn’t appear weak to anyone.
Finally reaching the phone near the table lamp next to the sofa, I raised it to my ear and answered with a
firm voice. “Hello?”
“Vivian.” My father’s voice spoke from the other end of the line, laced with worry. “He is out.”
Three simple words.
Yet those three simple words threatened to destroy my life as I knew it, and I was powerless to stop it.
Without bothering to listen to anything else he had to say, I disconnected the call, threw the phone on the chair, and walked onto the balcony, trying to calm myself with the New York view at night.
Shimmering lights illuminated the city in a way that created a feeling of mystery and romance. But while on most days it calmed me and allowed my mind to drift away, in that moment, it didn’t help me as much as I willed it to.
The light breeze cooled my heated skin, covered only with a light, white, satin nightshirt. My long hair was pulled over my shoulder, and I closed my eyes for a second, letting go of all the worries.
Instantly, my head was filled with the images of two entwined bodies, lying on a bed while the man softly caressed the cheek of a woman who had a smile on her face.
“Vivian.” The voice.
The voice was deep and husky.
The voice in my nightmares.
The voice in my dreams.
The voice that belonged to the only man who was in my life, who I used to love unconditionally.
The man who was the father of my child.
He was out of prison.
And he would come for revenge.
All I could do was pray for mercy.
Radmir
Entering the warehouse, I cracked my neck from side to side as the person sitting with his arms tied to the metal chair whimpered.
Giving him my sinister smile, I said to Dima, Petor, and Vitya, “Leave.”
They complained, but not before Vitya whispered into my ear, “Think before you act.”
With that, the warehouse door closed, leaving me alone with various torture devices spread on the table and the motherfucker who testified against me in court all those years ago. One solitary bulb lit the cold and dark space.