“Very well,” he says briskly as he straightens his cufflinks, lightly brushes imaginary lint from an arm of his tailored jacket, and turns for the door. “I’ll see you at home, then -- where you will sit by my side at dinner, in full view of the household, and then fuck me in my bed.”
I’m practically hissing and spitting at his retreating back as I bellow, “Lock the fucking door!” His sardonic laughter echoes off the walls as his footsteps fade.
As I pack up my supplies, I consider my circumstances. It’s simple, really. I’m in love with a Neanderthal. At least I know better than to try to change him. You can’t fight generations of Russian alpha breeding.
The men in this family are obsessive and exacting when it comes to their women, but – despite how infuriating and irascible these Russian cavemen can be -- no one owns a Glazov man quite like his woman. My man is no different. And that makes me a very lucky woman indeed.
Chapter Two
Nikita
I saunter out to my car, smiling. Did she honestly think I would tolerate being kept at arm’s length? It’s never going to happen. How she got it in her head that she couldn’t see me now that she works for my father, is beyond me. Natasha is a fiercely independent woman and I respect that. But I won’t be put off from taking what’s mine. So I handled it as a Glazov man should -- with brute force.
She thought she had a choice. Now she knows better.
Natasha’s father raised her alone after her mother ran off with another man. He considered the infidelity an insult to him and our Bratva way of life – a form of treason, really, which could easily have meant certain death. But, out of concern for his daughter, he let the bitch go – good riddance -- and made no effort to pursue her or change her mind. She was trash and not worth the effort.
He spent the rest of his short life instilling in his daughter the allegiance to Bratva that her mother had lacked. Evidently he was successful because, even after her father was brutally killed due to yet another betrayal by that cunt, Natasha never attempted to contact her mother. In her eyes, the woman who betrayed her, not once but twice, was as good as dead. I have no doubt that Glazov hunted the whore down and made it so. The Pakhan does not tolerate traitors.
My father blamed himself for the murder of Natasha’s father, and insisted that he be the one to break the horrific news to the little girl. To this day, he sees the murder as the direct result of his reluctant decision to grant her father’s request for mercy for the sake of Natasha. Consequently, Glazov’s ruthlessness now knows no bounds.
But Natasha’s right, I’m never supposed to be anywhere near a clean-up while it’s in progress. I know my secret’s safe with her but I also know that there are always Bratva guards nearby when Natasha works. It was a calculated risk to come see her but one I was willing to take in order to get Natasha to see reason.
I’ve been conditioned to be the Glazov heir who walks the line when it comes to the law -- no criminal activity for me. But when the darkness in my mind digs its talons into my skin, she is my salvation. All the filthy and forbidden pleasures I crave, I can indulge in with her. And she revels in them.
I think, of all the Glazov children, I have inherited more of my father’s traits, including his rumored penchant for absolute control in and out of the bedroom. Natasha got a fresh taste of that just now and I plan to remind her again later tonight.
I hit the highway and head downtown to my office where I will meet with Pyodor Stanislavski Sergeyevich, a Bratva soldier of the highest order. He was released from prison this morning and his first stop will be my office for a transition discussion before he returns to the Bratva compound and the welcoming arms of his family. He holds a place of honor in my father’s heart for taking the fall for a murder he didn’t commit. He refused to allow Glazov to be implicated in the crime and the Pakhan rewards such unwavering loyalty.
It’s not like Pyodor’s an innocent man, though. He’s probably got the bloodiest hands of anyone in our cell, having completed countless hits at the request of the Pakhan, both in and out of prison. Officially, I know nothing of these things, but I have my ways of positioning myself to discreetly obtain the information I need. Until recently, it was believed Pyodor would spend the rest of his life behind bars, but the Pakhan’s power can move mountains – and unlock prison cells.
I pull into my reserved parking space and step out of my car, letting my gaze take in the details of the underground parking garage as I wait for the elevator. On the way up, I savor the quiet and wait for the doors to open on my floor. I’m greeted by the receptionist’s hungry gaze as she toys with a pencil in her hand, absently rolling the eraser tip between her teeth. As her eyes wander below my waist, she lightly touches her tongue against the erasure tip. I look away and curl my lip in distaste. Disgusting habit.
Natasha hates her, which is the only reason I keep her around. A little jealousy might be just what Natasha needs, though if she saw the hungry way the girl is eyeing my package, she’d kick her ass and throw her out of the building herself – through a window. Natasha, like most Bratva women, has a nasty temper when it comes to her man.
“He’s in there waiting for you, sir,” she purrs.
“Thank you, Tiffany. Please bring us some coffee.”
“Yes, sir,” she replies demurely, slowly standing and smoothing her skirt over her hips before sashaying down the hall to fulfill my request. It’s not so much her looks that piss Natasha off; no, it’s Tiffany’s innate eagerness to obey my every command. I crave submission, and I have no doubt that Tiffany’s submissive nature would carry over into the bedroom. But there would be no challenge in it. On the other hand, Natasha’s submission is often hard-won, and I find the battle of wills immensely gratifying.
I walk into my office and smile as I greet the mountain of a man we refer to as Ivan the Terrible. No one-armed fist thump for him, though, as he wraps both massive arms around me in an exuberant bear hug. I awkwardly return the embrace before pulling away and straightening my tie as I lower myself into the chair behind my desk.
“I am so very grateful to be a free man again. Only your father could make such a thing happen,” he gushes with reverence that is reserved for only his Pakhan. He’s correct, no one but my father could pull something like this off. Glazov’s history with Governor Johnson came in handy, no doubt.
“My father is indeed a miracle worker,” I agree.
We’ve never called Ivan by his birth name, he’s always been Ivan to us because of his mammoth size. He has two daughters who, unfortunately, look just like him. My father might be a miracle worker but there isn’t anything one can do about the girls’ DNA. Dad did, however, ensure that Ivan’s wife and daughters wanted for nothing during Ivan’s years of incarceration. His family will continue to enjoy the lifestyle they’ve become accustomed to because his sacrifice will be remembered and honored for generations to come.
“Ivan, welcome home. I won’t keep you long, I’m sure your wife and those two beautiful daughters of yours are eager to see you. What are your plans after you settle in?”
“I was thinking about opening a restaurant,” he says enthusiastically. “My wife has always wanted one and I’ve got about a million family recipes to work with. My girls are excited about working with their mother—the whole family business thing, you know. I gotta run it past your father first, of course, but I’m thinking it would be a great front for laundering gun money.”
I ignore the money laundering reference and focus on his business aspirations. “You may be on to something there, Ivan. Our city doesn’t have a restaurant with authentic Russian cuisine and I’m sure the boys would love it as a hangout. There wouldn’t be any lack of customers with everyone we have on payroll.”
“You think you could talk to your father about it, tell him you think it’s a good idea? You know, put in a good word for me?”
“Yeah, Ivan, I’m glad to do that for you. On another note, the Pakhan is holding a charity event tonight to raise funds for the e
xpansion of the downtown library’s archives and special collections wing. Supporting the cultural edification of our community is a pet project of his, as I’m sure you know. He hopes you and your family will be able to attend. Everyone’s looking forward to seeing you now that you’re back where you belong.”
“Yeah, maybe my daughters will meet their future husbands. It’s time to start lining up suitors for them, I know my wife already has a few in mind. They’re growing up really fast, before you know it they’ll be giving me beautiful grandchildren.”
I wince at his words, but smooth it out into an indulgent smile before he notices. It’s going to take a special kind of man to marry either of his daughters and produce offspring, but I’m not about to be the one to break the news to him.
Chapter Three
Natasha
I give the room yet another once-over, making sure I’ve left the space impeccably sterile. I stand back, eyeing the sparkling clean room and take pride in it, much like an artist would an intricate sculpture or painting. Damn, I’m good.
I gather up my cleaning supplies and head out the door to my black SUV. Most of the Bratva women drive something more feminine and classy like a Lexus or a Benz, but all the guys drive black SUVs. I drive what the guys drive. Personally, I think mine’s a bit better. I’m not the ‘standard’ anything, not when it comes to my job and definitely not when it comes to my ride.
Hell, yeah, my ride is tricked out with bonuses only I possess, some of which I designed myself and had custom built. I push a hidden button on the back of the vehicle. The motor whirs as the oversized metal tray slides smoothly along the tracks out of hiding. This particular ‘upgrade’ of mine has saved my ass more than once when I’ve been called upon to transport a dead body. Worth every penny.
Just recently, I was pulled over with body parts hidden in that compartment but the cop never suspected a thing. I smirk when I remember how quickly Nikita arrived on the scene. We all carry cell phones with GPS and panic buttons so we’re never caught off guard. It was the first time I ever had to push that panic button and my best friend was there within minutes.
Nikita’s a hard ass like his dad, but when it comes to me he’s protective and loyal and that counts for a lot in my world. He’s all business with everyone else, but when it comes to me or his family, we see a softer side of him no one else does.
I slide the carrying case of cleaning supplies onto the tray and push the button that ensures it retracts and conceals its contents from prying eyes. If I were pulled over, I could use my forensics degree as a reason for having a medical examiner’s kit, but why even take the chance? The most important part of my job is preventing questions from being asked in the first place.
My next stop is the Glazov mansion that I call home. I chuckle as I think about why I finally took the Pakhan up on his longstanding offer for me to live at the main residence. Glazov had done a job for the Ramirez brothers by rescuing a woman being held by some gangbangers. They had abducted her and were holding her hostage in a dog cage. I felt sorry for her at first. But the bitch got real comfortable in the Glazov mansion and set her sights on Nikita. She thought he was her knight in shining armor after he helped bring her to safety. She latched onto him. Big mistake.
I had decided to kill the bitch but Glazov recognized my thirst for blood and wasted no time shipping her ass back home to New York. Of course, Glazov found my jealousy for his son endearing. But I’m sure it wouldn’t have gone over well if we had rescued the girl only to have me slit her throat. The last thing we need is a war with those crazy Colombian fucks.
The drive to the mansion is uneventful. Glazov’s car is there when I pull up. He insists on being briefed after every job, which works for me. I knock before entering his office and he waves me in as he talks on the phone. I take a seat in front of his desk and look around the room. Family pictures line bookshelves that hold a small fortune in Russian literature. First editions, of course.
My eyes lock on to a picture that brings back a treasured memory from my childhood. A bodyguard managed to take a picture of Nikita and me making a pinky swear that we would marry. We pinky swore, Nikita. That’s forever. Glazov catches me eyeing the photo as he hangs up the phone.
“That was taken the day you promised my son you’d marry him, which is the reason I want to meet with you today.”
I look down at the huge diamond surrounded by black diamonds on the fourth finger of my left hand. It’s a constant reminder of the man I belong to. Glazov’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“My wife, with the help of Roksana and Katrina, have begun planning your engagement party. You’re certain you don’t want to be married in the motherland of Russia? It would be only a matter of a phone call.”
“Yes, sir, Louisville has always been home.”
“Very well, the decision is yours.”
“I assume all is well between you and my son? No more problems?” he asks with the trademark Glazov penetrating stare. “I assumed that after I sent Sofia home, you two would resolve any difficulties that remained between you. But my son has looked troubled lately. Would you have any idea why that is?”
“There are no problems, sir,” I say quietly. After a few more seconds under his relentless gaze, I gulp and continue, “I mean, there were…”
“Indeed,” he murmurs.
“Yes, there were, but we’ve, um…discussed them.” At his slow, knowing smile, I stumble over my next words, “We’ve come to an understanding. There are no problems. Not now.” I clear my throat and wait.
“Very well,” he says with a nod. “You will let me know if that changes. I want my son to be happy, of course. But your father entrusted you to my care. Therefore, your welfare is of utmost concern to me as well. That, and the fact that Nikita can be an insufferable ass.” He chuckles and takes a deep breath. “On another note, tonight is the charity gala for the library expansion. I expect you to attend—on my son’s arm, of course.”
“Of course.”
He leans in, his expression solemn. “Your father would be proud of you, zvezda moya.”
“Thank you, sir. I miss him.”
“As do I. In your achievements and your loyalty, you honor his memory.” He reaches into a drawer and hands me an envelope.
“Sir, I’m content with my salary, it isn’t necessary to pay me for today’s job.”
“Shh, I decide what’s necessary.”
I thank him and accept the envelope. I lower my gaze, unable to withstand his intense scrutiny. When I look up, he has turned his attention to the papers on his desk, his autocratic demeanor making it clear that I have been dismissed. Like father, like son.
Chapter Four
Cop Killer
Even though it’s only dusk, the parking garage’s murky lighting makes it seem much later. The interior light is on in the police cruiser. She’s doing paperwork. There’s so much going on in this city and she’s hiding in here doing paperwork? Don’t they know there’s a cop killer on the loose?
They will after tonight.
I revel in the calm before the storm as she flips through pages of forms, unaware that I’m watching and waiting behind the large concrete column next to the car. The computer screen casts a flickering blue haze over her features and the blonde hair she wears pulled back in a severe bun. When she got ready for work this morning, she had no way of knowing that such a simple detail would make my task so much easier.
Time to make my move.
I amble over to the cruiser and tap on the window. She glances up and jerks back in surprise at the interruption. She appears chagrined to be caught off guard, as she should be. I smile as she does a double-take, her eyes widening with recognition. She lowers the window and rests her arm along the edge.
“Hey! Where have you been? We’ve been--”
I slice her throat with a straight razor. Blood spurts in an arc that sprays the windshield. Each beat of her heart adds a new layer to the bloody mosaic that swiftly obscures
the glass. As her failing heart begins to slow, blood gushes from the wound like water from a pot that’s boiling over. I’m mesmerized by the gory sight and linger longer than I should.
As a cop, she should have known better than to be predictable. I knew she’d be here because it’s what she does every evening, a little mindless paperwork to kill some time before closing out her shift.
I reach across her, ignoring her guttural, gurgling attempts at speech, and press my gloved fingertip against the bloody windshield to write two words.
Cop Killer
I’ve always hated how the press gets to name serial killers. How can someone who has so much control over life and death allow some stupid reporter to decide how they are perceived by the world? I’m certainly not going to settle for that. This is my kill, my game, my world, and my name.
I steal away from the parking garage with no one the wiser. Taking care of the security cameras earlier had been easy enough, just a matter of spraying the lens with jet black paint.
I leave with a spring in my step and her badge in my pocket. It’s begun, finally, and by the time the sun comes up tomorrow the city will be in a panic. A cop killer is walking the streets, wreaking havoc. Welcome to my world…
Chapter Five
Nikita
I haven’t seen Natasha since this morning when I stood over her, telling her how it is: she’s mine now, and she will be mine until the day we take our last breath. Even after death, she’ll still be mine because I have no intention of living a single day without her.
What the fuck was she thinking anyway? She of all people should know it’s impossible to get away from a Glazov. Sometimes I think she’s fucking with my head just to bring out the beast in me. It’s a damn good thing she likes it so much.
Right now, the sight of her as she descends the staircase in a long, black satin gown is what’s fucking with my head. Specifically, the deep slit up the front of her right thigh. It points right to the silky smooth skin between her legs, which my mouth was happily exploring before she kicked me out an hour ago so she could get ready.
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