The Ghost: A Bratva Blood Novella

by SR Jones

“Because, I’d forgive Cassie if she acted the same way. I have forgiven her many things, as she has me.” He looks at her and smiles, and it’s a lot softer than the one he offered me. “Call him and say you’re sorry. And tell him you do trust him, but you don’t want her in his room overnight. She can stay with Vasily.”

  He grins at me. The bastard, he’s shit stirring between Vasily and Zoey I’d bet.

  “I think Vasily has her friend in his room. Andrius split them up so he could talk to this girl alone because he says the friend is high on drugs or something.”

  Konstantin laughs. “Zoey’s gonna fucking love that.”

  “She doesn’t know,” I say.

  “Yet,” he replies.

  “K,” Cassie says again.

  “What?” he snaps.

  “You say one word to Zoey, and you’re not touching me for a month.”

  He stares at her, and I look between them. She doesn’t back down, and eventually, he sighs.

  “Fine, I won’t say anything.”

  “Good.”

  She comes to me, hugs me, and steps back. “Call him and make it right.”

  “I think he’s talking to Justina now. I’ll head over there.”

  “Not without cover, you won’t,” Konstantin says, then he calls for Reece.

  Seconds later, heavy footsteps thunder down the stairs.

  “Take Violet across to Zoey’s, will you?” Konstantin asks. “She needs to speak to Andrius, and he’s apparently speaking to Justina at the moment.”

  “Sure,” Reece says, easy, nice.

  Why can’t Konstantin, Vasily, and the rest of them be nice the way he is?

  Still, he might be an outspoken bastard, but Konstantin did talk some sense into me. I pause. “Thank you,” I tell him.

  “No problemo,” he replies, using a familiar Greek expression.

  I laugh and pull on my boots by the door before opening it and heading out into the night.

  We bang on Zoey’s door, and she answers it immediately. “Hey, what’s up? Is everything okay? Justina’s on the phone with Andrius, is something going on over there?”

  “Yeah, it’s okay, you don’t need to worry, but I need to speak to him before she hangs up. Where is she?”

  “In the kitchen.” Zoey points to the kitchen, so I head into there, while Reece hangs back.

  Angela is leaning against the counter, sipping at a glass of wine.

  Justina is sitting at the table, her phone held out in front of her. Andrius isn’t who she’s speaking to, though. It’s a young redhead woman.

  “Listen, all you need to know,” Justina says, “is that if Andrius says he can get you protection back in Poland, he can. Stay with him and his men tonight, and keep out of the way tomorrow. In three days or less, you’ll be back home and protected for life.”

  “I’m scared,” the girl whispers in heavily accented English.

  “I know,” Justina replies. “I was terrified too. I trust Andrius with my life, though. If I had kids, which I don’t, I’d trust him with their lives. He’s a hard fucking bastard, but he’s got a good soul. Let him help you.”

  “Thank you for talking to me,” the girl says.

  Andrius appears back on the screen. His face makes my heart skip. “Thanks,” he says gruffly, in Russian.

  “Don’t hang up,” I yell at Justina as she goes to press the button.

  She turns to look at me, putting her hand on her chest. “Jesus, Violet. You scared me.”

  “Andrius,” I say, grabbing the phone from her.

  His face hardens when he looks at me, and it hurts my heart. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Truly. I really am. Please forgive me. I’m jealous; I know. It’s one of my faults. I know you won’t touch her, but I hate even the idea of her sleeping with you. It’s stupid; I know that. It’s all on me. I just miss you.”

  “I’m not sleeping with her. She’s going to stay with Priest. Both of them are. Vasily and myself will take turns to guard the hallway.”

  “If that’s because of me, you don’t have to do that. I know I’m in the wrong, and—”

  “It’s not because of you. It’s the safest way. Priest in the room with them. Myself and Vasily taking turns to sleep and guard the hallway alternately. I have to go.”

  “I love you,” I say.

  His face softens, but he doesn’t say it back. I think I’m going to be sick. Then, with a sad smile, he shakes his head. “Go to bed, zaika. You need to rest and be strong for our baby. I’m going to take Hanna to Priest’s room, and I’ll take the first shift.”

  “Okay, night. Love you.”

  I hang up the phone.

  Justina takes it from me, and she gives me a puzzled look. I don’t feel like giving her the details. I’ve never fully trusted her.

  She surprises me by reaching for me and giving me a brief hug. “He’s not an easy person to love. Headstrong. Closed off. The one thing he is, though, is loyal. You have his heart. I tell you this now, Violet. You and I may never be best friends after everything that happened when you entered our lives, but he loves you, girl, and you need to start believing it. Don’t screw it up.”

  She kisses my cheek and sashays past me in a mist of Chanel perfume.

  I’ll text him later, I decide, and tell him once more how much I love him.

  Chapter Eight

  Andrius

  It’s late, nearly three am, and I’m tired as hell. The women are in Priest’s room, sharing the double bed, while Priest folded his massive frame onto the couch.

  Vasily is taking over from me in an hour, and damn do I need the sleep.

  I’m on edge. Anxious. Not a normal feeling for me. I fucking hate the shit that went down with Violet earlier.

  I try to tell myself not to be angry at her. She can’t help it. She’s young. She’s naïve in many ways. Her father was a piece of shit, and he lied to her for her whole life. It still hurts that she doesn’t trust me.

  If I was single and hadn’t seen any pussy in five years, I wouldn’t touch either of those women. They’re damaged, hurt, and they need fucking help; not more trauma. That’s what kills me the most. Not that she thinks I might cheat, but that she doesn’t know me enough to understand I wouldn’t touch those girls with or without Violet in the picture.

  Christ. I pinch the bridge of my nose. I ought to message her. Tell her I love her too because it’s a bad omen on me to face Jan tomorrow without doing so.

  My phone buzzes, and I glance at it. My heart picks up speed when I see Violet’s name in my messages. I click on the message.

  My love, I’m sorry. I’m stupid sometimes, and jealous, and hot headed. I know you won’t think it of me because a lot of the time, I’m shy, probably meek but I have a temper. I see you as mine and the idea of other women around you brings my claws out. I do trust you, though.

  I don’t trust myself. I keep thinking if I didn’t see how my father really was, how can I expect to with other people. I do with you, though, Andrius. I really do. I see you. I just have a temper and an insecure mind.

  I love you.

  I smile and am about to start typing when another message comes through. It’s a photo. Violet on her side, and in her arms, Eliana. The bedroom lamps must be on as they’re covered in a warm glow. They’re so beautiful my heart squeezes.

  I love you too. And our daughter. Kiss her for me.

  Three dots appear and disappear, and then her next message pops up. Do you forgive me?

  I smile. Not sure… I might have to punish you.

  Is it really punishment if I enjoy it?

  Most definitely not. Perhaps I ought to up the stakes?

  I’d probably still enjoy it.

  My cock grows hard, and I wish I was in bed so I could touch myself. I might fuck you in the ass again, zaika. Don’t tempt me.

  The thing is she didn’t hate it because it hurt. She said it was too much, and she was scared by the intensity. I’ve let it go since then, but now I want to have her
screaming and crying my name as I make her come so hard, my cock in her ass, a vibrator in her pussy, that personal massager she loves on her clit. Totally overwhelming.

  The lines appear, disappear, then rinse and repeat. I laugh softly. She’s writing and deleting I bet. Doesn’t know what to say.

  I type some more.

  I’m going to stuff you so full of me and your toys that you scream the house down and come so hard you see stars. Then I’m going to spank your ass red, and then I’m going to fuck you all over again. You’ll feel me for a week.

  No reply comes for a while.

  You’re making me horny, and I have Eliana here.

  I type again. I’m in the hallway and can hardly jerk off out here. You’ll have to lie there thinking about what I’m going to do to you when I get home. As soon as Vasily takes over for me, I’m going to wrap your thong around my cock and make myself come.

  A pause then. Send me a picture.

  I smile. Deal.

  ***

  I sip at the bland hotel coffee and wait for Vasily and Priest. We have a bit of a dilemma. Do we bring the girls with us and make them wait in the car outside Jan’s hotel? Do we leave them here but risk them panicking and telling Jan about our plans? Do we hand them to the police? In the end, I call Damen and ask if his German Special Forces friend will come babysit them. He says he will, and he’s due in about ten minutes.

  I had a great night sleep after I jerked off and sent Violet picture evidence of said fact. I laid in until ten am. It’s four in the afternoon now, and we’re going to get ourselves set up in the hotel Jan and his crew use as their base, which is only a short walk from where we are staying.

  The German SF dude enters the hotel and comes to my table when he spots me.

  “Sit rep?” he asks in perfect English.

  “Two women, trafficked and traumatized. One’s detoxing.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yep. Need babysitting until we return, and then I’m getting them back to Poland.”

  “Okay.”

  Simple as that. I fucking love dealing with Special Forces dudes. No drama.

  “They’re in room 114 with Priest. He’ll make the introductions.”

  “Fine. If the detox situation deteriorates, do I have your okay to bring in medical help?”

  “Of course.”

  He nods once brusquely, turns on his heel and heads for the elevators beyond the dining room.

  I sip at my drink and listen to the rattle of cutlery and murmur of voices. I hate hotels. Hate the sameness of so many chains and the impersonal atmosphere. I’ve spent far too many hours of my life in the damn places.

  Finishing my coffee, I check my phone, scanning the news headlines, when footsteps to my right have me looking up. Priest and Vasily are at the table, and Priest has a large hold-all bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Ready to rock and roll?” he asks.

  I nod, stand, and follow them out the door as we head down the street to the hotel Jan and his men are in. Showtime.

  It takes us hours to set up in the room opposite the large suite Jan and his men are in. They’re probably still sleeping before partying again tonight. At around seven pm, we hear their door open. There’s a lot of noise, and then eventually silence.

  I place a phone call to the desk downstairs and order room service for the Starz guys’ suite.

  “Get some sandwiches and fries and that way we can have them when they bring it up to an empty room.” Vasily grins.

  “Pretty sure they won’t let you do that,” Priest says.

  “They will if we offer to pay. I bet you anything.”

  Twenty minutes later, we hear footsteps approach. They knock. No answer.

  “Room service,” a female voice calls out.

  “You go out,” Vasily says. “It’s a woman, and if she’s straight, she’ll definitely give us the food if you ask.”

  I roll my eyes, but he laughs.

  Still no answer comes from across the hall. More knocking is followed by an annoyed, hello. I open the door and smile at the irritated woman. “They went out, I think?” I say in German.

  She huffs. “Idiots, ordering room service, then going out. I’ll double check.”

  She takes out a keycard, fits it into the slot, and lets herself in. Less than a minute later, she comes back out. “Yes, they have left and gone out.” She gestures to the tray. “Do you want this? Be a shame to let it go to waste.”

  She gives me a sexy look, and I give her a patented grin. “What is it?”

  “Sandwiches, three bowls of fries, drinks.”

  “Sounds great. You want paid?”

  “No, it will go on their bill,” she states.

  I nod, take the food, and thank her.

  “Told you she’d offer it to you if you went out there,” Vasily huffs.

  I give him the tray of food and turn to Priest. “Ready to do your thing?”

  He grins, nods, and we head out of the room, checking the hallway is clear. Taking a small electronic device from his pocket, he attaches it to the lock and pushes a small card into the keycard slot. Seconds later the door unlocks and gives us the green light. We enter with another glance around.

  Priest stops dead just inside the room, and I bump into him. I stare in horror at the mess.

  “Fuck me,” I murmur in Russian.

  “They like to party,” Priest answers in Russian.

  The room is trashed. There are empty bottles everywhere, some of which are on their side, with beer, vodka, and something red and sticky spilling onto the carpet. Bowls of nuts, olives, and cheese cubes litter the table, and the cheese already smells. We head into the first bedroom, and the stench of sex and sweat is almost overwhelming.

  Dirty fuckers.

  “They’ll bring some poor bitches back tonight and make them fuck in this stinking den,” Priest says.

  “Yeah, but after, they die.” I grin.

  “True that.”

  We take a look around the room, then head into the next one, and this is neater. There’s a photograph on the table by the bedside. I pick it up and look at it. The woman in it is stunning. Young, maybe only in her late teens or early twenties. “Wonder if this is the woman he has in Dubrovnik?” I say.

  Priest motions for the photo, and I reach it to him. “Seems a bit odd having a picture of a girlfriend or wife out amongst this crew, no?”

  I think about that. It does. I know how macho the Bratva are, but like the Italians, family means a lot. These guys are young, and they’re known to fuck anything that moves. It goes against the stereotype.

  “How old is Gezim?” I say, more to myself than Priest. “Damen said he isn’t easily swayed by drugs and pussy compared to the rest, but he’s no saint either. So who is she?”

  I bring up the file I have on Gezim in my email, which is more detailed than the phone message Damen originally sent.

  “Thirty-five, so not that much of an age difference if she’s in her early twenties, and too young to be her father.”

  Priest comes over to me, looks at the picture of Gezim on my phone, and then at the picture of the girl. “She looks like him,” he says.

  “You think? She’s gorgeous.”

  “Yeah, she is, but look at her nose and the way her mouth turns down. His does that.”

  “What are you thinking? His daughter?”

  “Could be. Makes sense. Keeping her out of the way. Only visiting a few times a year. The picture by his bedside. He could have had her young? What’s his background?” he asks.

  I read the notes again. “Ethnic Albanian, but born and lived in Kosovo. Was a young man when the war was at its bloodiest.”

  “How young?”

  “Fifteen, I think. Doesn’t say, but he’s mid-thirties now.”

  “Okay, so fifteen, he’d probably have been involved in the fighting. Kids were. He’s old enough to fight? He’s old enough to fuck, no? What if he had an affair, or was in love with some young girl? She get
s pregnant, and the girl in the picture is his daughter now living safely in Dubrovnik? Wouldn’t be official records of it.”

  Fuck. It makes sense.

  “Terrible things happened in that war. Maybe the mother was killed?”

  “I’ll get Damen to look into it.”

  She might be useful collateral to use against Gezim to ensure he stays away from me and mine. Not that I’d actually hurt her, but he doesn’t know that.

  We clear the room, and head into the bathroom. It’s as messy as everywhere else, and there’s a syringe by the sink. I grimace.

  “How do the sleeping arrangements work?” Priest asks. “There’s two bedrooms, and I doubt Gezim has any of the men sleeping with him, and Jan probably takes the other room with the women he has. So where do the other men sleep and fuck.

  We walk through to the living room again. “Probably in here,” I say. “There’s a blanket on the sofa, and a pull out sofa bed under the window.” I point to it. “Probably got bed clothes in a cupboard somewhere.”

  “I doubt they used the bedclothes. The fuckers haven’t cleaned anything else, so why those? I expect they slept in their clothes where they fell.”

  “It fucking stinks. Let’s set up and get out.”

  We make quick work of putting the cameras in place and then leave, making sure to close the door behind us and ensure it is locked. Then we wait.

  Around two in the morning, noise in the corridor alerts us to them being back.

  We turn on the monitor, and watch.

  The five men stagger into the room, talking loudly. It’s a mixture of Polish and English. They have three women with them.

  Jan has his arm around two, and he takes them into the bedroom with him, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the table as he passes by. “Later, fuckers,” he says with a grin, kicking the bedroom door shut.

  Loud music starts from a dock in the corner of the living room. It’s rap, and it’s loud enough we can hear it from across the corridor, even if we didn’t have cameras and sound in there.

  “I’m amazed they haven’t had complaints,” Vasily says.

  “They will have, I’d bet, but they’re probably threatening anyone who does so, and any staff too.”

  The four men sit at a table, and one brings out a small plastic bag with white powder in it. He taps out two lines on the table. He and his friend take one.