The Cleaner (Born Bratva Book 4)

by Suzanne Steele

  I can remember, back when it was just my father and me, spending days at the Glazov mansion without ever going home. My father knew where to find me when I wasn’t at home with him, so it was only natural for me to join the Glazov household after he died. The very next day, the Pakhan decreed that our bodyguard was to take me shopping and buy whatever I wanted so I could decorate my room as I saw fit. I’m not sure what he expected, but I was never a ribbons-and-bows kind of girl. My room looked like a lab with a library.

  The sad thing about this mysterious manuscript and the author of it, is that this woman may very well have had a best seller on her hands. With the right editor it could have been turned into one of those “based on a true story” fiction novels. What a waste.

  “I’m going to be so pissed if this thing leaves me hanging, Nikita.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, what if we really get into this and, poof, it just ends? I mean, Officer Conner’s dead now. Holy cliffhanger, Batman.”

  “Well, shit. Now I’m dreading reading it. Thanks a lot.”

  “We have to solve the case, plus I’m just plain curious. You know, if it’s really good maybe we could get Katrina to finish it. She’s the writer in the family and I bet she’d love to sink her teeth into a story like this.”

  “Let me do some checking and see if I can find a legal way for her to finish it. Not yet though---” he reaches out to touch my hand—“For now, it’s our secret.”

  “I agree. What’s one more secret? So,” she continues briskly, “do you want me to read or do you want to?”

  “Read to me.” He lays his head in my lap and I stroke his hair. I can’t help but wonder how my man can be so controlling in bed and yet so tender too. He is the perfect blend of everything I need. I begin reading and lose myself in the raw emotion that resonates within the words.

  Sometimes I wonder if he will kill her. Pangs of guilt claw at my conscience as I try to figure out a way to help my friend. She believes she’s going to die. I wish I could reassure her or maybe tell her she’s wrong. But I’m not sure anymore.

  Deciding what to do about all of this is agony. I turn it over and over in my mind and always come to the same conclusion: there is no way out for her but running—not just running but disappearing and starting over with a new identity.

  This is the first time I’ve been faced with something like this. How many other women get the shit kicked out of them on a daily basis because their cop husband had a bad day?

  The precinct is a boy’s club, a band of brothers who stick together in every aspect of work and life. They’ll cover each other on bad busts, beating up perps, and now spousal abuse. I’m already considered an outsider because I’m a woman. If I try to help my friend, it won’t work because he’s too powerful and well connected. Then I’d go down with her, and what good would that do?

  There are days I wish she had never confided in us. Ever since, I’ve felt like an accessory to her husband’s crimes, as if I’m somehow complicit in his heinous treatment of his wife. If he does kill her, I’ll have her blood on my hands because I did nothing to stop it. And if he ever realizes how much I know about his asshole tendencies, then my career would be over -- maybe even my life.

  I put the notebook down and eye Nikita. “Jesus, do you think her husband killed her?

  “We don’t know that she’s dead. It’s pure speculation. In fact, we can’t really be sure who wrote any of this. Assumptions can creep up on you. For example, I’ve been assuming these notebooks belonged to Karen Conner. After all, they were hidden in her apartment. But she wasn’t married, so maybe not. If the story being told here is true, the wife could still be alive. If her abuser wanted to prove that she could never get away from him, she might very well still be in that abusive relationship.”

  “Murder is a pretty drastic way for a man to keep control of his woman.”

  “You, of all people, should know how deep control issues can go. Not everyone is like my father, who knows how to maintain complete control of a situation…and his woman. Personally, I think this man doesn’t love his wife, it’s more like he’s obsessed with her. And let’s face it, she knows things about him no one else does. To lose control of her or to let her go would put his career in jeopardy. If the wife is still alive then we need to move quickly. The woman is living on borrowed time.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Natasha

  A knock on the door sends us scrambling to put the notebooks back in the box and slide it under the bed, away from prying eyes. We both stand just as Roksana makes an entrance in all her glory.

  “Damn, Roksana, how the hell do you do it? No make-up, jeans and a t-shirt and you still look like a fucking model?”

  “The same way you do, doll: genetics. Just the luck of the draw. Why don’t you come with me and leave my straight-laced brother here to do the geek work?”

  “Fuck you, Roksana.”

  “I love you too, brother dear, but Daddy has need of the cleaner.”

  “Work on that computer while I’m gone,” I tell Nikita and immediately regret my words.

  “What computer?” Roksana’s curiosity is piqued.

  “None of your business, sister of mine. Maybe I’m not as straight-laced as you think I am,” he says in an offhand voice.

  “Whatever...” she tries to act like she doesn’t care, but I know better. “I have real work to do.”

  “Tormenting your love-struck bodyguard, no doubt?”

  “Hmmm,” she hums with a smug smile. “That too. Let’s go, Natasha.”

  All I hear as I walk out the door is Nikita’s growled command, “Get your ass back to me safe and sound, and no partying.”

  “You’re such a buzz kill, Nik. Let the girl have some fun once in a while.”

  “Fuck you twice, Roksana.”

  Their bantering is something I’ve become accustomed to over the years. It’s just their twisted way of saying I love you. When a Glazov stops talking, that’s when you need to worry.

  I’m shocked when we get outside and Oleg is standing by my SUV. “He thinks he’s driving,” Roksana drawls loud enough for him to hear her.

  I take the keys from his hand and look up at him. “Sorry, nobody drives my ride but me.”

  Roksana slides up next to him and stands on her tip toes to stage whisper, “Looks like you’ll be sitting in the back with me, lapochka.”

  The only light that ever flickers in his dead eyes is for the woman tormenting him right now. He palms her lower back, pushing her toward the backseat. “Oh, you’re so rough,” she purrs and I swear she rubs up against him like a goddamn cat.

  “You have no idea,” he bites out between gritted teeth.

  “That’s the problem, Oleg,” she pouts. “I’m still waiting for you to slam me against the wall and fuck me like I know you want to.”

  Poor guy, he’s got a long road ahead of him with this woman. Roksana continues her verbal onslaught, directing her next words at me.

  “He’s trying to pull that shit you tried to pull with Nikita. You know, the whole ‘I can’t mix business with pleasure’ thing. What he doesn’t realize is I’ve already told my father I want him. It seems my dear daddy believes he’s the only man who can handle me—that remains to be seen. Is that your gun, Oleg, or are you just glad to see me?”

  I don’t need to see a thing to know she’s running her hand over the guy’s hard cock. She continues to talk trash as I drive. She’s talking to me but it is all directed to her prey seated beside her.

  “Oh, I forgot. It seems my bodyguard has a penchant for sadism. After what he just did to the poor man you’re getting ready to dispose of, he’s probably all kinds of worked up. You know how he loves his work. I can stop by your room and take care of that for you later, Oleg.”

  I hear a hissing sound from the back seat and I glance in the rearview mirror. My breath catches in my throat as raw, animal lust transforms his harsh features, his eyes vitally alive as he s
tares down at her. She’s playing with fire and loving it.

  Roksana has set her sights on this man and I know she will have him. It’s common knowledge that he’s in love with her and when he finally gives in to his feelings for her, there are going to be some serious fireworks. Hell, there will probably be a pile of smoldering, broken furniture underneath them by the time they’re done. God help any man who tries to get near her because I know he’ll torture the son of a bitch until he begs him for death.

  By the time we pull up to the warehouse and exit the car, I’m not at all shocked that he’s sporting one hell of an erection. Of course Roksana can’t resist one last verbal shot.

  “Remember, Oleg, be a good boy and I can take care of that not-so-little…situation…for you later.”

  When he takes an abrupt step in her direction, she jumps back in fear but her eyes are shimmering with carnal heat.

  “I just can’t get enough of you, Oleg. You scare the shit out of me, and I like it.”

  He snarls as he regards her with more than a little frustration. Then just as suddenly, he turns away and strides into the warehouse. We follow along behind him. It’s time to get to work.

  I’m much more than a cleaner for the Glazov family; I’m a trained ME and I take my professional skills seriously. The Glazovs always put great stock in education, particularly when it came to nurturing the genius-level intellects of their progeny. Lucky for me, they included me in their homeschooling efforts when it became clear that I had little use for the mind-numbing academics being taught in traditional classrooms. I worked my ass off in advanced classes from an early age, and had graduated from high school and was pursuing my advanced degree by the time I could drive – thus taking my place within our cell far earlier than anyone expected.

  I approach the straight back chair the dead man occupies, his wrists and ankles tied to the wooden structure. I lift one of his hands and grimace when I see that just about every bone appears to have been broken.

  Roksana speaks but when I glance up she’s looking straight at Oleg. “It seems Oleg has a new hobby: strengthening his hands to use as lethal weapons. He likes to see how much pain he can inflict with those big paws of his. I can’t help but wonder what else he can do with those long, thick fingers,” she says with a smirk.

  I roll my eyes and try to ignore them. They’ll be at it all night, so I turn my attention back to the body. The fingers are bent in unnatural twists and turns, much like an arthritic hand would be. I can’t imagine the hours of torture Oleg inflicted on him. I wonder if Roksana can stomach watching him work—probably so. Tiny bruises adorn his fingernails.

  “Oleg, it looks like you used his nail beds as a pin cushion.”

  “Damn, you’re good, girl,” says Roksana. “I just wonder how good you are, Oleg?”

  He ignores her comment, for the moment more intent on watching me work. The screwdriver shoved up the deceased’s nasal cavity and embedded deeply into his brain was the kill shot.

  “Damn, Oleg,” I gasp. “What did this guy ever do to you?”

  “Logan caught him cheating. It’s important to send a message.”

  “I see…Your reasoning is like Kodiak’s: since he used his hands to steal, his hands suffered the consequences.”

  He looks from me to the bloodied corpse and back again. “His hands and his mind.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He used his hands and his mind to steal from my boss. He was counting cards.”

  Roksana’s deep, throaty laughter breaks the awkward silence. “One day your boss is going to be your father-in-law. There’s no need to endear yourself at this point,” Roksana taunts.

  The poor guy doesn’t stand a chance. He’s bound to be aware of the obsessive tendencies that run in the Glazov family. Once they set their sights on something, or in this case someone, they are relentless. I’ve seen it happen more times than I can count.

  “Well, I have to say, Logan has more than proven herself. I think she’s an asset to the cell. And it’s a good thing, too, since you Glazovs always get what you want,” I say as I walk around the card counter’s body while I options for cleanup.

  Roksana stands on her tiptoes and runs her tongue up Oleg’s cheek before murmuring softly, “You’d do well to remember that.”

  He grabs her ponytail and wraps it around his fist and she just laughs, although it sounds a bit shaky, I think.

  “Like I said, Oleg…You scare the shit out of me and I like it.”

  I clear my throat awkwardly, “So I’m assuming you want to burn this one up, or are we opting for acid? Either one works for me. Burning is faster, of course.”

  “Burn him,” Oleg says softly, his heated gaze roaming up and down Roksana’s body.

  “Until only ashes remain,” she whispers, meeting his heavy-lidded gaze with her own.

  “Jesus, get a room, you two. Seriously, only you would think of cremation as foreplay,” I say, shaking my head as I fire up the incinerator. Oleg unties the body and heaves it over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. He trudges over to the incinerator. When I look at Roksana she just raises a brow like it’s no big deal.

  I open the door and Oleg tosses the carcass into the eternal flames. I spend the next half hour doing what I do best as I scrub and soak and rinse every surface of the room. I’m just packing up my supplies when Roksana decides to push her luck.

  “Well, now you’re all done!” she says with glee as she claps her hands together. “Let’s go party, girl!”

  “The only place I’m going to be partying is in bed with my man, Roksana.”

  “Gross. He’s my brother, I don’t need that image burned into my brain. He’s also a fuckin’ party pooper,” she says emphatically as she crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ll never let a man tell me what to do.”

  She completely misses the scorching look she gets from Oleg. Little did any of us know that the Pakhan would make Roksana eat those words, sooner rather than later.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Natasha

  “Natasha, I love you as my own child. For this reason, it is I alone who must break your innocent heart tonight. Zvezda moya, I have news of your father…”

  “No, Glazov, no, no, no…”

  I struggle against his protective hold on me, my tiny arms fighting to break free and escape this horror.

  “Your mother’s demons have run wild this night, my darling. She has been gone for so long, we thought we were well and truly rid of her. She owed a drug dealer money, more money than she could ever hope to pay. So she concocted a story and told the dealer your father had a safe with over a hundred thousand dollars in it. They came for it tonight. Your father fought like the brave warrior he was.”

  I thrash and wail in my grief, as the Pakhan cradles me to his chest, rocking me slowly as he speaks. “I promise you, little one, I will find the men who did this. They will die like the dogs they are. But you,” he says as he clasps my jaw and holds my gaze, “you will live, Natasha. You will meet the sun each day under my protection. You will rest easy through the night knowing your Pakhan watches over you.”

  I sag against Glazov’s chest, weeping for a father lost and a father found. True to his word, Glazov found and destroyed the men who killed my father. He sent a brutal message out to the dark underbelly of the city, a gruesome, bloody message for anyone who would dare cross our cell or anyone in it.

  “Wake up, baby, wake up, you’re dreaming again.” Even as I struggle to wake up, I can tell from Nikita’s grim voice that something is very, very, wrong.

  “Jesus. Shit, why do I have to dream about that night? I’m okay, I’m okay. Just please tell me nobody’s dead.”

  “Oh, nobody’s dead but when father gets his hands on Roksana there may be a death—hers. Come, I’ll explain on the way and you can tell me about your dream.”

  I quickly brush my teeth and get dressed, and as my lover and best friend always does, he sends down for coffee to take with us. I gulp it dow
n as we leave the house and as we head out in the SUV, he fills me in.

  “That fucking wild ass sister of mine. Did she ask you to go party with her after the job?”

  “Yeah, but I told I her I was coming home to get some sleep.”

  “Well, she took it upon herself to go out alone. Some jock basketball player was hitting on her at a bar. She didn’t know Oleg had tracked her down and was standing in the shadows watching the whole time. Natasha, he beat that boy so bad the bones in his face are shattered. It took three bouncers and two football players to pull Oleg off the kid.”

  “Shit, are you going to be able to get him out of this?”

  He side eyes me coldly, “What do you think?”

  “I think you’ll bail him out, and I think none of the witnesses will want to testify if it ever goes to trial.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for. But there are no guarantees in my line of work. Be that as it may, it’s going to be very interesting to see how my father deals with his wild daughter. I would not want to be in her position right now. I can assure you, Alexander Glazov is pissed.”

  “I wonder what he’ll do about this fuck up. I mean, she’s been giving Oleg hell for years now. It’s clear she wants him, but I think she’s been assuming that she can continue to run wild because Oleg won’t mix business with pleasure.”

  “I hate that fucking phrase so much,” Nikita grouses. “Well, whether she’s ready or not, I don’t think we’ll have to wait long to find out.”

  The rest of the night is spent getting Roksana and Oleg out on bond. If Roksana doesn’t learn her lesson from tonight’s drama and ease up on Oleg, the Pakhan will take matters into his own hands. And that’s bound to get messy.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Nikita

  Just as Natasha predicted, a judge on the Bratva payroll released Natasha and Oleg on their own recognizance. For the first time, she’s speechless, so we drive home in silence. We are met at the door by our father.

  He steps aside to allow us to enter the foyer, where we wait for him to speak. It is quite a sight. Even in a silk, monogrammed robe, Alexander Glazov is the epitome of dignity and ruthless authority. Roksana bows her head, duly chastened and unable to meet her father’s gaze. Oleg is utterly still, save for his jaw clenching and unclenching, his tattooed hands folded in front of him. Natasha and I begin to step away to give them some privacy but my father holds up his hand to stop us.