The Profilers (Born Bratva The Lost Years Book 2)

by Suzanne Steele

  “Are you sure you’re ready? You had major surgery, hon. Those weren’t just nicks and scrapes he gave you with that knife.”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s been a few weeks. The stab wounds are healing fine and I feel good. I refuse to let him control what I can and can’t do.”

  “Okaaaay. Are you scared?”

  “What do you think?” Tee took another drag and rolled her eyes at her friend, even as a frown tugged at her brows.

  Harper laughed, “Better be careful or your face will get stuck like that.”

  Tee passed her the joint again, then continued, “All I know is, I’m tired of letting someone else control my life. Being dead would be better than this.” Of course she left out the part about the secret she was carrying; the small detail that had made itself known during her time with Turner and Murphy. She couldn’t decide how important it was. She’d have to figure that out on her own. The last thing she wanted to do was drag Harper into this mess.

  “Hey, Harper. Be careful yourself, ‘kay? If this sick fuck associates you with me, it could put you in danger.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be careful,” Harper said softly as she blew a smoke ring or two.

  “I’m serious.” Tee stared at Harper and deadpanned her best impression of Whoopi Goldberg a la Ghost. “Harper. You in danger, girrrl.” That sent them both into a fit of happily stoned giggles, and Tee was glad for the reprieve. “God, I love that movie.”

  “Me, too. But it’s too late for warnings, Tee. He already knows we’re roommates.”

  “Way to make me feel better, Harper.”

  “Let’s choose to be positive about this. Two heads are better than one and all that crap. If you lived alone, it would be a whole lot more dangerous. We can look out for each other here and at work. Oh, how did your meeting with your FBI friends go?”

  “Okay, I guess. It was hard to go back to that house.”

  “Did you remember anything new?”

  “No,” Tee lied. She could feel a twinge of guilt, but she had her own reasons for keeping her secret. If she didn’t deal with this right, a serial killer would get away with murder on some fucked-up technicality. It was obvious Benzo had money or he wouldn’t have time to spare to hunt his prey. He could probably hire better lawyers, and Tee knew that the one with the best lawyer would win.

  Tee had decided Lady Justice wasn’t really blind. She was a figment of the imagination. People wanted to believe the best, but not see the truth. When Tee shared her own truth, it would be with the right person; someone who wasn’t scared to bring real justice and wield it like a fucking sledgehammer.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Figuring out Benzo’s real identity was a challenge that motivated Novak. Something about impossibility just made him dig his heels in deeper. Let the guy outsmart the feds, but Novak’s diligence would ensure he didn’t outsmart the Bratva. There was too much to lose; no, too much to gain. Favors. They always came in handy.

  He had come here tonight with a purpose: to talk to Benzo’s only surviving victim, Terry Henderson. The bartender hadn’t seemed too pleased when Novak had asked about her. So her coworkers were protective of her. That said a lot about her right there. He scowled. He wondered if trauma was different for a woman. Was she having a hard time sleeping? Did she suffer from night terrors? Nobody escaped the fear that became a part of your life after you escaped a killer.

  For Novak, it was different. He didn’t fear dying; he did fear incarceration, though. His dreams didn’t consist of blood and screams begging for deliverance. His personal nightmare was SWAT teams outside his house using a battering ram to announce they had a search warrant.

  Though he hadn’t voiced it, Novak had tremendous respect for Ivan. Not many men would have the balls to do another man’s time, even if it was for the Pakhan. You had to respect that shit.

  Novak looked up as a woman slid into the booth and sat directly across from him. Tee studied him through narrowed eyes. Spiked blond hair. Tattoos. Piercings. Blue eyes as frosty as any glacier and every bit as likely to crush anything that got in his way. He was handsome in a ‘fuck with me and I’ll kill you’ kind of way. He leaned in, pinning her to the back of the booth with his stare and sheer force of will.

  “Like what you see, Tee? Name’s Novak.”

  Tee’s eyes widened. “How do you know me?”

  “Why, you’re a legend. You’re the one that got away. The only one that got away. I make it my business to know people like you.” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “What I can’t figure out, though, is what dirty little secret you’re hiding.” He was bluffing, but she didn’t need to know that.

  Tee’s breath caught in her throat. Here it was, the opportunity to unload the heavy burden she’d been carrying. This guy definitely looked like he had the muscle to help her. Connections could come in handy. But at what price?

  There was just something about this guy, though… Decision made, Tee took a deep breath, blew it out, and went for it. “Okay. So, the guy had unusual tattoos. Stars.” She blushed at the memory of how she had only seen it because Benzo had danced naked around her. “He…he had a star tattooed…on each knee.”

  “As do I,” he said grimly, then his eyes unexpectedly twinkled as he added, “You’ll have to just take my word on that, though.” Then all traces of humor were gone. “I, too, have a star tattooed on each of my knees. It’s a Russian tattoo. A star on the knees means ‘I’ll never bow’. The star also signifies a thief.”

  “Are you a thief?” She jerked her hand over her mouth, terrified that the words had escaped from her lips before she had time to think about it.

  She was pleasantly surprised when a hearty laugh escaped his throat, and even more surprised when it reached his eyes. “Thief is such an ugly word. I’ve been known to import and export.”

  “Can you help me? Find him?”

  “The information you just gave me may help me do just that. You do realize the word is mum on this conversation, right?”

  “No problem. Look, I’m desperate for help. I live in fear. My life will never be normal until this guy is stopped. He needs to die. I couldn’t care less if you cut his throat and throw him in a ditch. I just want my life back.”

  “Well, then, it looks like Benzo’s death will be beneficial to us both. You don’t make a move, lady, until I contact you and tell you to.”

  “Do you need my contact info? Stay right here; let me get a pen.”

  He leaned in, piercing her with his fierce gaze again. “Tee…I know your phone number, your address. Hell, I know your fucking Social Security number,” he added, and proceeded to recite it from memory.

  Tee gulped. Who was this guy? “Well, you should probably know, then, that I’ve been talking to two FBI agents.”

  “David Turner and Rene Murphy,” he answered, as if bored by information he was already well aware of.

  “How do you know all this stuff?”

  He answered her question with a question. “Did you tell them about the tattoos?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I just felt the need to be very…careful. I don’t want this bastard getting away with what he’s doing. I don’t trust the FBI to put him away.”

  “Smart girl. Keep on not trusting them. Don’t tell them about the tattoos, either. You’re fine talking to them. In fact, if you don’t, they’re going to get suspicious. So just act natural— and don’t you dare tell them you’re collaborating with me.”

  Her eyes lit up. “So you’ll help me?”

  “Let’s just say there may be something in it for me, too.”

  She watched, slack-jawed, as he stood and calmly walked away. Maybe she’d finally found someone who was ruthless enough to help her catch a serial killer. Maybe, just maybe, she could regain some semblance of normalcy in her life. As normal as the life of a woman who had escaped a serial killer could ever be, anyway.

  Harper slid in
next to Tee. “Girl, you holding out on me? Who was the hottie?”

  “Just some young guy who wasn’t interested in a table dance.”

  “You don’t table dance, Tee. You’re a waitress.”

  “I would have called you over.”

  “Well, aren’t you sweet? And I would have hopped aboard and made his dreams come true…and maybe a few of my own. Talk about a bad boy. Yummy. So are you feeling any better? You know, getting out of the house and all.”

  “I think today has been just what the doctor ordered.” Of course, Tee left out the part about her conversation with Novak about the tattoo. She’d still need to hide certain things from Harper. She’d still have secrets. What she wouldn’t have, though, was the heavy burden of the crippling fear Benzo had subjected her to. With this Novak guy on her side, this time it would be Benzo fearing for his life. Let that bastard see what it was like to have his life spin out of control.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  “I’m surprised you’re still awake,” Novak said as he flopped down in his favorite chair in Glazov’s office.

  “Please tell me you gleaned some helpful information from Ms. Henderson tonight.” Glazov was exasperated from chasing a ghost. He wanted the upper hand on the two troublesome FBI agents and getting info on Benzo was his way of gaining an advantage. Glazov wasn’t used to hearing the word no and he damn sure wasn’t going to play by someone else’s rules. He wanted this shit locked down tight, sooner rather than later.

  “Seems our boy has Russian star tattoos on his knees.”

  “Now we’re talking.”

  “Ironically enough, it could be somebody we know, Glazov.”

  “Let’s not assume anything too fast. It could also be someone fronting as Bratva. There are a lot of copycats out there.”

  Novak pulled the Russian coin from his pocket and looked at it long and hard. He ran the pad of his thumb over the coin, his mind going back to the night it had come into his possession. One man escaped his wrath that night. He’d often thought about finding him and killing him. More and more lately, he was regretting not taking care of that particular bit of unfinished business. In fact, Novak had loosely kept tabs on the man over the years, but it had been a while since he’d checked up on him. Novak didn’t like loose ends.

  Glazov smirked, his eyes amused as he regarded his pensive cousin. “Ah, I know that look. The one that got away, right? Maybe it’s time you check up on him. It’s been a while and I know what happened that night still sticks in your craw,” Glazov said, anticipating Novak’s next move as he so often did.

  “Maybe it is,” Novak mused, his eyes still on the coin. He shot Glazov a frown. “My craw?”

  “Kathleen has quite the way with words sometimes. She’s rubbing off on me…which reminds me, while you’re checking up on old ghosts from your past, I’m going upstairs to check up on the warm woman I’ve got waiting for me in my warm bed. Lock up when you’re finished in here.”

  “Will do.” Novak’s mind was already somewhere else, plotting how he was going to take care of a particularly pesky loose end.

  The past had a way of catching up with you. He had let the man live because doing so had served a purpose as Novak was establishing himself. The lone survivor of that brawl had unwittingly helped put the word out on the streets that Novak was a force to be reckoned with. Reputation was important in Novak’s line of work. But ultimately, the specter from Novak’s past had been taking up too much space in his head for far too long now.

  Novak tossed the coin in the air and caught it effortlessly, then locked the door on his way out. He felt lighter than he had in a while. It was time to clean house.

  ~~~

  Glazov eased into the bedroom, loosening his tie as he strode to the bed. His wife’s red hair was splayed over the pillow like a sea of flames. She was sexiness personified, and the sight of her in his bed made him want to fuck her as urgently as he had when he’d first seen her years earlier.

  His wife was perfect and she was his for the taking. So soft and lush beneath his hands, so tight and hot around his cock. Feeling like his breath was burning a hole in his chest, he undressed and rested a knee on the mattress beside her. He secured his tie around her wrists, tightened it, and placed it over a hook on the headboard. He’d had the hook installed for moments like this, when he wanted her restrained and at his mercy but didn’t have the patience to venture down to the dungeon or the playroom.

  She stirred, smiling sleepily as she stretched and arched her back. The sight of her magnificent tits tilting up toward him and her hips shifting softly on the mattress was just too much. He had to have her, had to get inside her. There would be time for finesse later; all he wanted was in. But he knew he needed to get her ready. The kind of fucking he had in mind demanded that he make her come at least once, if not twice, to get her prepared to take what he was going to give her.

  He positioned his shoulders between her legs. He spread her apart and began slowly running his tongue up and down her slick folds. Her body squirmed and a decadent moan of pleasure slipped from her parted lips. “You taste divine, my little Ptichka.” She pushed her hips up in an effort to gain more contact with his greedy mouth.

  “Such a pretty little pussy,” he taunted her in between licks and flicks of his tongue. “I want to drink from you when you come.”

  The images his words were conjuring in her mind were almost enough to get her there. Her hips began bucking as his full lips and tongue worked together to suck and probe her swollen, aching clit. He smiled against her skin when she began rambling incoherently in the breathless ‘sex kitten’ voice he loved to hear.

  “Oh, please, Glazov, please make me come. Everything you do to me feels so good.” He slipped a finger inside her and pressed his fingertip rhythmically against her sweet spot. It didn’t take long until an orgasm had her writhing and bucking beneath his mouth. As she gasped for air, he gripped her hips, holding her still as he continued to devour her and one orgasm rolled into another.

  He didn’t waste any time as he mounted her and pushed his rock hard cock into her. He shuddered as her welcoming heat surrounded him. Leaning in close, his glistening lips sliding along the shell of her ear, he whispered, “This greedy pussy likes my big cock. Doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, yes…so good. Don’t hold back, Glazov. Give it to me hard. Hard as you can.” It was true, she couldn’t get enough of her husband and the pleasure he gave her, and she loved it when he reared back and slammed into her.

  She was hot, her skin slick with sweat. Her pussy wrapped around him tight, like a hand in a glove. He circled his hips in a maneuver that he knew was sure to stimulate her already-sensitive clit. The fullness of his thick shaft and the contact of his body against her swollen clit was enough to send her spiraling again as she surrendered to another shuddering wave of pleasure. Glazov could feel sweat sliding down his temples as he pounded into her. Long, slow pulls of his hips were followed by shattering downward thrusts that had his cock slamming against her deepest, tightest places. When the orgasm slammed into him, his body froze in place as his muscles clenched. The force of his body’s response squeezed the breath from his lungs as his hips dug in deeper and his cock released hot jets of cum deep inside her. In the moments that followed, he rolled his hips through the aftershocks of pleasure, marking her, owning her once again.

  This ultimate act of possession had become a primal need within Glazov. He had to make her his over and over again. It was never enough. From the day he’d first seen her, a beast within him had been awakened and he’d been locked in battle with it ever since. Sure, he’d always been a beast when it came to crime, but she had tapped into a sexual facet of his nature that went far beyond anything he’d ever experienced before.

  Until he’d met Kathleen, women had been a convenience, objects to be used and tossed aside. Kathleen had dug her talons into him so deeply that he knew he’d never be free. She owned him every bit as much as he owned her.

 
He rested his head on her forehead while loosening the tie around her hands. “Now…now, Ptichka, I can sleep in peace.”

  She smiled because she knew it was the truth. She was the only peace Glazov could find in his world of perpetual chaos. He would do anything to hang on to that peace; to hang on to her.

  She continued to marvel that a man like Glazov had been so determined to possess a woman who, in the beginning, had wanted nothing to do with him. She really wasn’t his type. Before they met, he had spent time with Bratva women who wore too much makeup, talked too loud without ever saying anything of substance, and had very few original parts; women who were nothing like her. The more she had resisted him, though, the more determined he’d been to have her.

  At first, she thought he just wanted her because he couldn’t have her. That’s how most men were, after all. But not Glazov. Then, after she married him, she had believed he would grow tired of her and send her away. But his obsession with her had only grown. He’d been obsessed with protecting his Bratva legacy, but after meeting her, that obsession had taken on sharper lines as he had realized he truly wanted a family…with her. Only with her.

  Once the children were born, he used them to strengthen his hold on her even as his own obsession with her deepened. Through all of that, she did something she never believed was possible: she fell in love with him. Despite her best efforts to the contrary, Kathleen was hopelessly, eternally devoted to a killer, a gangster, the heart and soul of the Bratva…the Pakhan.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  It had taken a wild night of lovemaking to put David down the night before. It had been a rough, savage, demanding, and dominant session. He’d been like a wild man taking all his frustrations out on Rene’s body. No doubt there would be bruises, but it wouldn’t be the first time Rene had carried his marks of ownership. She smiled at the thought and at the way her muscles ached.

  He turned over, resting on an elbow and looking down at her. “Sorry I was so rough last night.” His sheepish grin warmed her heart.