Chosen by the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 9)

by Hayley Faiman

  His hand is held out to me, palm up and I slip mine inside of it. He helps me stand and then guides me toward the stairs. I feel… sad and empty. He’s reminded me, yet again that I’m taken, but I know that he’s attracted to me.

  I’m more than attracted to him, and the jealousy I feel just thinking about him and another woman is off the charts. I want to be selfish and force him to take me, to make me his, to claim me for the remainder of my freedom but he won’t. He’s Bratva through and through, he’ll follow their rules.

  We arrive on the dance floor, and my belly dips again when he pulls me against his front, his hands resting on my hips as he moves behind me. Good God, I can’t help but close my eyes as the beat thrums through the club and my body, imagining a different dance with him altogether.

  “You are so goddamn sexy,” he growls against my ear.

  I allow my head to fall back against his shoulder. I reach one of my arms up and wrap it behind his neck as my eyes flutter closed and I continue to move along with the beat. We stay that way for far too long.

  By the time we stop, I’m covered in a light sheen of sweat and so is Konstantin. I turn in his arms when he stops moving and widen my eyes at the sight of him. He looks down at me, his eyes lazy but alert, and almost a look of bewilderment across his features. One of his hands moves to my lower back and presses me so that I can feel his hard length press against my stomach.

  “Never think that because I don’t take you, I don’t want you, sladkaya,” he states.

  I open my mouth to reply, but he’s turned around with his hand in mine and pulling me behind him. We head toward the VIP area again, climbing the stairs quickly. I’m surprised when Zoe and Peter are there, beer bottles, and martini glasses littering the little coffee table.

  Zoe tips her head back with a huge grin. “Konstantin, you are the freaking bomb,” she cries.

  Konstantin releases me, but I hear his faint chuckle at Zoe’s declaration. “You’re having fun, misha?” he asks.

  “Oh my God, he spoke Russian to me,” she breathes as her lips part. “What did he call me?” she asks turning to me, her body swaying slightly.

  “Mouse,” I shrug. Her eyes narrow slightly, so I explain. “It’s an endearment. My dad calls my mom moyo zolotse, which means his gold.”

  “Holy shit, seriously?” she asks. “Man, that is so much better than honey bunches. I want a Russian,” she states.

  Konstantin makes a choking sound but I ignore him. “No, you don’t, Zoe,” I deadpan.

  “Seriously, look at Konstantin. He’s all dark and broody. I want one, and he calls you something and it sounds so fucking sexy.”

  She’s so drunk that I can’t help but smile. “He calls me sweetie or honey,” I say. “Nothing extra special. My uncle Maxim calls Haleigh his little dove.”

  “You’re not helping, I want it,” she demands.

  Konstantin stands and lifts his chin somewhere. I eye him but his focus returns to us. “You want a Russian?” he asks Zoe.

  “No,” Peter and I say at the same time as she says, “Yes.”

  I watch as Konstantin lifts his hand and makes a motion. “What about you, Peter? Need to meet a lady, or man?” he asks lifting a brow.

  “Konstantin,” I gasp.

  Peter’s eyes narrow and he juts his chin out. “I can find my own date,” he growls. I watch as he stands and storms off.

  Standing, I walk over to Konstantin, confused and irritated by his actions. I press my hand against his chest and give him a push. “What the fuck?” I bark.

  He shakes his head a few times as though he disapproves. “One of the Byki saw her in the crowd and was curious if she was single. She wasn’t really dancing with Peter. He wanted to meet her,” Konstantin explains.

  “When did you find this out?” I narrow my eyes.

  Konstantin pulls out his phone and shoves it at me. It’s all there, in text. He must have looked at his phone while we were dancing and I didn’t even realize it. I was in a lusty daze the entire time. I glance back at Zoe who looks far too excited.

  I watch as Zoe’s mouth parts and her head tips back. It’s like a movie playing out right in front of me. The man is huge, bigger than Konstantin, he has to be at least six-foot-five, and his bulk is outrageous. He has sandy blond hair, and I could guess that his eyes are probably blue. I don’t get a chance to check though. He whizzes past me directly to Zoe. His hand reaches out and without a word, she slips hers inside.

  “He’s training to be a Torpedo,” Konstantin explains.

  I gasp. “You seriously just set my new friend up with a guy training to be a fucking contract killer?” I hiss.

  Konstantin shrugs one of his shoulders as his only form of reply. I glance back at Zoe and the stranger and am surprised to see them sitting very close together. She’s got a huge smile on her face as she talks to him.

  “Let them be, sladkaya,” Konstantin murmurs as his hands wrap around my waist and he moves me around, forcing me to face the group of sweating, dancing bodies beneath us. “Bronislav is a good man, Kiska. Do you think I would set your friend up with someone who wasn’t?” he asks as his chest presses against my back.

  “I want to go home,” I mutter.

  The excitement of the club, of our dance together, it’s completely worn off. I want to go home, and I want to cry. My eyes catch Peter who is dancing with a girl, his hands are all over her and then I think about Zoe sitting on the couch meeting a new man. I’m jealous and tired, and just so damn frustrated.

  I want to be able to have fun, to be wild and free, and if I want Konstantin, I want to be able to act on my attraction toward him. I can’t have any of it though. I’m only playing at being free right now. It’s all a game, an act, and not reality. I will never be free—I have never been free.

  “I’ll take you home,” he rasps against my neck. He’s gone before I can say anything else and I watch as he walks over to Zoe and Bronislav. They talk for a moment, and then he slaps the other man on the shoulder before closing the distance between us. “Bronislav will take Zoe and Peter home. Let’s go.”

  My eyes find Zoe’s and she smiles widely as she waves at me. “Are you sure she’s safe, Kon?” I ask him without moving even an inch.

  Konstantin’s eyes pin me to my spot, they’re dark and serious and so very sexy. “I would not put a woman in jeopardy, not ever,” he rumbles.

  “Okay,” I exhale.

  Kiska is quiet in the passenger seat as I drive toward the apartment. She was okay, then she completely changed. I don’t bother her about it, I am thinking about things as well. I want her, more than I’ve wanted a woman in a long time. I can’t have her though. It pisses me off.

  When we finally arrive at our apartment complex and park, she swings her door open and bolts for the staircase. She’s fast, but not as quick as I am. I’m behind her in a flash and wrap my hand around her waist. “Kiska,” I call, my voice echoing in the empty stairwell.

  She turns around to face me, and I see wetness shining in her eyes. “I’m not free. I’ll never be free, not ever, will I?” she asks as her bottom lip trembles.

  Lifting my hand, I rub my thumb along her bottom lip, my eyes tracking its movement before I move them to hers. “None of us are free, sladkaya. Not your mother, or your father. Not me, nobody.”

  “My grandpa was wrong,” she says softly.

  Lifting a brow, I ask, “What was Sergei wrong about, Kiska?”

  Her eyes meet mine, and I see fire swirling as her anger rises. “He told me that I have Orlova blood and it demands what it wishes, and takes what it desires. He was wrong though. I will never get what I desire,” she ends her sentence in a whisper.

  “What do you desire?” I question, pressing my thumb a little harder to her plump bottom lip.

  Her tongue touches the pad of my finger and I swear to Christ I could come in my fucking pants right now. “It doesn’t matter,” she breathes.

  I close my eyes for a second, trying t
o control myself, to keep from fucking her against this stairwell wall because I am that goddamn turned on. If she says it’s me she desires there will be no stopping me. I’ll have her tonight, in my bed, tied, bound, and crying from pleasurable pain.

  “Nothing,” she says her voice a little louder.

  My hand falls from her mouth, and I clear my throat as I look to the side. “If you don’t desire anything, Kiska. Then you will have exactly that, nothing,” I state.

  I turn and begin to walk up the stairs. She isn’t far behind me, I can hear her footsteps as she follows me and once we’re on our floor, I wait for her next to my own door, watching as she unlocks her place and slips inside. I stay planted with my hand on my knob as I wait for the click of her deadbolt to lock into place. Only when it does do I walk inside of my own place.

  Fuck.

  Kiska Barysheva is a goddamn death wish.

  I’m willing to die though. Fuck me, I’m willing to kiss death’s sweetness—just for a fucking taste.

  ANOTHER TWO WEEKS PASS, and the sexual tension between Konstantin and I is so thick that it is palpable. He asks me every single night what it is that I desire and every single night I tell him nothing. It’s a lie, he knows it as much as I do. I desire him. All of him, every filthy fucking inch of him, I want him inside of me, I want him to consume me. I can’t let that happen though. I’m not free.

  “Zoe,” my instructor screeches from across the room. Zoe misses a step and teeters, almost falling over from her Arabesque position. “Fix your fucking ankles,” she growls.

  Zoe does as she’s told, but she’s been a jumbled mess all day long. Once we’re on a break, I ask her what’s happened and why she’s so fumbled today. She sighs and gets this dreamy look in her eyes, that’s when I know that it must have to do with Bronislav.

  “It’s Bron, oh my gosh, Kiska. I should really give Konstantin a kiss for introducing us,” she gushes. Peter makes a gagging sound but Zoe just rolls her eyes. “Seriously, he’s amazing.”

  I nod and close my eyes for a second, trying to dig deep inside of me so that I can pull out some happiness for my friend. “I’m glad you found someone,” I murmur.

  “Oh no, here I am gushing about Bron, but you’re hurting. What’s happened?” she asks as she wraps her hand around me.

  “You finally kick that asshole to the curb?” Peter snorts.

  I debate on telling them the truth. They wouldn’t understand, so I don’t, but I really want to. “No, but we’re just friends right now,” I shrug.

  Zoe scrunches her nose like she smells something awful. I want to tell her that I feel the same way, I don’t want to be friends with Konstantin, not ever. I want to be more, be everything with him.

  I understand now how all of my aunts and uncles fell for each other in what seemed like minutes over the years. It only took one look at Konstantin for me to fall, and I fell hard.

  Our instructor claps her hands to signal that our break is over. We hurry to our places at the barre and begin to practice some more. For the next several hours I’m able to clear my mind of all things, Konstantin. It takes work, but I keep it that way until class is finished and then until we walk outside.

  When I see him standing on the sidewalk waiting for me, I’m unable to keep my mind from thinking about how badly I want him. It’s a vicious cycle, a vicious cycle I have been repeating daily for weeks. I’m sick of it.

  “Bron and I are going out to dinner and a movie, maybe some dancing tomorrow night. Why don’t you guys join us? I bet Bron would love to have Konstantin there, he speaks so highly of him all of the time,” Zoe suggests.

  I open my mouth to decline but Konstantin is right there, and he answers for me. “That sounds great. I’ll call Bronislav,” he grins.

  Turning to face him, I narrow my eyes, only to find him grinning at me. Fucking jerk. Zoe smiles widely and waves as she takes off toward her place.

  “Why did you do that?” I ask as I start to swiftly walk toward our apartment.

  “You want to be a normal girl, normal girls go on double dates with their friends,” he shrugs as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

  I snort. “I’m not a normal girl, and you and Bronislav, are not normal men.”

  Konstantin only shrugs again, as we continue on our way. I want to scream at him, to kiss him, and to beg him to take me and do anything he wishes to do to me. I don’t though. I have to be more mature than that. I’m engaged to another man. I can’t do something that would not only put myself in harm’s way but would also sign Konstantin’s death wish. The rules are clear-cut and if I break them, at a minimum Konstantin dies.

  When we arrive at my apartment door, Konstantin wraps his hand around my wrist to keep me from opening my door. “What do you desire, sladkaya?” he asks, his voice deep and husky, dripping with need.

  “Nothing, baby,” I whisper.

  He grunts. “When your nothing becomes something, come to me.”

  “It would be certain death,” I murmur.

  He grins, and it’s almost childlike, lopsided, and he looks so damn cute and sexy all rolled into one. “I’ve knocked on death’s door a time or two, sladkaya. I think I can take care of myself,” he winks. He doesn’t give me a chance to reply before he turns and walks toward his own doorway.

  I slip inside before he can say anything else as his words swirl around in my head. I want him. No, I need him. I’m breaking and I’m going to bring him down, but I’m starting to wonder if he wants me to bring him down, to beg him.

  Once I’m locked inside of my apartment, I let out a breath. I need to eat, ice my feet, and go to bed. I head toward the kitchen and open my refrigerator door where I grab the first container I see. Everything in my fridge is a prepped meal.

  I had a meeting with the dietician last week, something that I kept from Konstantin. I’m too full figured. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to trim down anymore. I’m built like my mother who has curves and always has no matter how much or how little she’s weighed.

  My meal heats in the microwave as my phone begins to ring from my duffle bag. I hurry and snatch it from the side pocket, noticing it’s my father and quickly answer. I haven’t had a chance to talk to my parents much since moving, so I’m a little surprised to find him calling me.

  “Hey, Papa,” I pant into the phone.

  “Why are you out of breath?” be barks almost harshly.

  Rolling my eyes, I walk over to the microwave that’s signaled my food is finished and open it up. “I was heating up my dinner, and my phone was all the way across the room, I ran,” I admit.

  He grunts but as is his way, he gets straight to the point. “Your fiancé has requested a list of your recitals. Apparently, he’s asked you for this list, and you’ve neglected to supply him with it. Kiska, I know he is not your choice, but you will not put me in a position like this again. It is immature.”

  “I didn’t mean to, I swear. I’ve been dancing all day, almost every day. I don’t have a schedule because I have to try out for each performance. My first tryout is next week,” I explain in a rush.

  “What do you mean you have to try out? You already tried out.”

  I shake my head as though he can see me “Papa, I have to try out for every performance. I’m only an apprentice. I won’t make every show,” I try to gently explain.

  He growls but doesn’t respond. “He’ll be visiting you in the city next month. Carve some time out for him, yeah?”

  I shiver in disgust just thinking about Akim. I don’t want to carve time out for him. I don’t even want to see him. He’s contacted my father because he didn’t get the answers he wanted from me when he wanted them? Who is the immature one here? What a dick.

  “I’ll try,” I whisper.

  He sighs heavily before he speaks again “I did not think you would dislike him so much, Kiska girl.”

  I feel bad, and bitchy, and just plain tired of the entire argument. I don’t want to talk about it, there is n
othing else to be done. The contract cannot be broken, it’s been signed by Akim and my father. What’s done is done. I tell him as much and he grunts.

  “If you are truly that unhappy with him after his visit, then I’ll look at the contract. I’m sure there is a loophole somewhere.”

  “Nyet,” I practically shout. “I am not a child, Papa. You matched us for a reason and to protect me. You gave me three years to do as I’ve always dreamed and dance. You have done more than needed, and I’m grateful for it. I appreciate everything, please, don’t make all of this harder on me,” I whisper the last few words.

  He doesn’t speak for what feels like hours and my food is getting cold, but I don’t care, I’m suddenly not hungry any longer. “I love you, Kiska,” he states and then the phone line goes dead.

  I throw my food in the trash and head to bed, ignoring my aching feet. I could have told my dad that I was falling for Konstantin. He probably would have allowed me to marry him or at least considered it. I didn’t though.

  I need to be an adult, and doing that would only put my papa and Konstantin in danger. Akim may not be anything to look at, but there is a danger that lurks behind his eyes. I have a feeling that he can be vengeful, and I won’t put the men I care about in harm’s way—no matter how badly I want Konstantin.

  Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel better, or differently, but tonight? Tonight, I know deep down that I am stuck with Akim. I know that my grandfather was wrong. Maybe the Orlova blood isn’t as strong in my veins because I am not strong enough to defy or to take what I desire. I’m just not. I’m Kiska Barysheva, and soon I’ll be Kiska Entina, and none of this will matter—only Akim will matter.

  Closing my eyes, I curl into a ball in the center of my bed and I cry.

  The apartment walls aren’t thick enough. I know they aren’t when I hear Kiska crying. I press my forehead to our adjoining wall and pinch my eyes closed. Fuck. Everything inside of me demands that I go to her—everything but my head. I’m too smart to do that, to put myself in a position where I know I won’t be able to control my desires.