The Profilers (Born Bratva The Lost Years Book 2)

by Suzanne Steele

“Exactly,” Turner agreed. “That’s why we need to set up surveillance until we do.”

  Rene and Richardson looked at each other. Richardson shrugged. “Sure. Count me in.”

  “Oh, so that means you want to go,” Rene teased.

  “You know how it hurts my feelings when you leave me out.” He made a show of wiping away a fake tear.

  “You’re so full of shit, Richardson. I think you’re pretty much part of the team on this one, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Speak for yourself, Rene. I think the guy’s a pain in the ass,” Turner muttered cantankerously even as he shot Rene an amused glance over the brim of his coffee cup.

  Rene threw an arm around Richardson’s shoulders. “Yeah, but he’s our pain in the ass.”

  “True, true. I guess we have no other choice but to take a ride-along.”

  “Now that’s hittin’ below the belt. A ride-along is a reporter or a fuckin’ rookie.” Richardson hitched his pants up. “I’ll have you know, I’m the real deal.” Even though he was playing around, there was an undercurrent of genuine pride in his voice.

  “Alright, then…surveillance, it is,” Turner declared.

  Chapter Forty Three

  The small bell over the door of ‘Value Computers and Repair’ jingled. The happy sound was more like a warning, as far as Preacher was concerned. After the morning he’d had, he was going to make damn sure he knew who was coming and going in his establishment for the next few days. Didn’t need Tommy out here making decisions with his dick.

  A huge smile broke out on Preacher’s face when he saw who it was. A fist bump and a side hug followed in quick succession as he greeted Novak.

  “My man, my man. What’s new in the wonderful world of Bratva?”

  “You know how it is; crime and drama.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Preacher said, shaking his head with a long-suffering sigh.

  After locking the door and turning the ‘open’ sign over to ‘closed’, Preacher ambled back toward the office and gestured for Novak to come along. “Follow me,” he said over his shoulder.

  Novak glanced around the shop, then followed behind him, marveling at the biker’s impressive stature. That is one big motherfucker. Though Preacher loved a good brawl, few were courageous enough to partake in one with him. Novak included himself in that group. If he was ever in a street brawl, he would definitely want Preacher on his side.

  Novak couldn’t help but wonder if the desk chair would hold Preacher when he sat down and pulled up the surveillance footage. Surprisingly, it did, although there was a fair amount of creaking involved as Preacher settled in.

  Novak filled Preacher in on everything that was going on before he got down to brass tacks. “Peter Demandez is what he could have used as an alias. I need his real name and a visual if you’ve got it.”

  “Peter Demandez,” Preacher muttered under his breath. After fast forwarding and rewinding a few times, Preacher found what he was looking for. “There ya go. You say this guy’s a serial killer, huh? You sure about that?” Preacher cut his eyes at Novak.

  “If I’m right, it’s Benzo.”

  “The guy gracing the front page every morning lately?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Damn, the guy looks like a college kid. I gotta say, there ain’t a whole lot that surprises me anymore, but this does. Every time I think I’ve seen it all…” Preacher just shook his head, leaving the sentence to speak for itself.

  “I know. He looks harmless, doesn’t he? All American boy next door ‘n shit. You know, one of the victims said that was why she got in his car. She’s the only one who has survived. Funny thing is, the guy looks familiar. I just can’t be sure with that baseball cap and those ridiculous sunglasses.”

  “Come to think of it, I remember thinking his mustache looked fake too.”

  “So it’s not just that he can’t accessorize for shit, but he deliberately wore a disguise?”

  “Yeah, now that I think about it, he did.”

  “So what made you trust him enough to work up an ID for him?”

  “He came recommended. His reference was a bartender I know real well. Works downtown at that bar, Jake’s.”

  Suddenly a lightbulb went off in Novak’s mind. He knew exactly where he knew this guy from. Now it was just a matter of finding him.

  “I’ve seen enough, Preacher. If I were you, I’d get rid of that tape. If I know those agents, they’re going to be looking for a reason to get a warrant and search this place.”

  “I’m one step ahead of you, bro. I’ve already cleaned the files and had the boys from Dauntless clear the place of anything that might be…relevant…to an investigation. I know those fuckin’ feebs can’t take a joke. They take everything so personal. Damn egos of theirs can’t take a fuckin’ joke.”

  Novak patted his shoulder as he rose to his feet. “I can promise you, you making Rene as an agent was a blow to their ego. Play it safe, my man, and thanks.”

  “You got it. Tell Glazov I said hello. You boys know we’re here if you need us.”

  “Ditto.”

  Chapter Forty Four

  “Well, would you look at that,” Turner said from behind his binoculars as he straightened in the front seat of the car. He had parked a couple of blocks down from the shop, but he could see just fine.

  Richardson chomped on a cherry sucker, crunching it down to dust. “Birds of a feather…” he said, his words garbled as he chewed.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Rene agreed.

  “So that there’s Glazov’s righthand man, huh?” Richardson asked. He couldn’t help but fall in line with the public’s fascination with the Bratva brigade, and Novak and Glazov in particular. There was something about the two men that had a way of drawing you in even if you were on opposite sides of the law. Even the agents couldn’t help but respect the Bratva organization and the unshakable family loyalty that formed its foundation. Alexander Glazov personified that loyalty. His family came first and his wife Kathleen was the only woman he had eyes for.

  “None other than Novak in the flesh,” Turner said, lowering the binoculars.

  “Why would Novak be here?” Richardson leaned forward to get a better look at Turner.

  “That’s the million dollar question, my friend.”

  “He’s got to be looking for somebody,” Rene thought out loud. “Bratva and the MC have a peace treaty that’s holding, so they’re not paying Bratva for protection like some businesses in town do. You don’t think he’s looking for Benzo too, do you?”

  “It’s a small world, babe, but that would be too much of a coincidence. The Bratva is probably just looking for somebody who owes them money or something,” Turner answered.

  Rene shook her head. “I don’t believe in coincidence. Something hinky is going on.”

  “Hinky?” Richardson belly laughed, his cheeks flushing from sheer enthusiasm.

  “Yes. Hinky.” Rene turned around to look at him, eyebrow arched to the sky.

  “I dunno, Turner. She may be on to something. Maybe the big, bad, Bratva don’t like men who abuse and then kill women. You guys know how family-oriented those guys are. They’d probably find Benzo’s actions intolerable. And maybe they’d want to do something about it. Does Tee know them? Could they be doing her a favor?”

  Rene shook her head. “I don’t think she knows them. They don’t frequent the bar where she works and she isn’t dating anyone. Maybe Novak’s visit was just a fluke.”

  One thing was for sure: the questions they were asking were only raising more questions. They needed a warrant to look at those surveillance tapes.

  “I say we find a gung-ho judge and get a warrant,” Turner said, his voice grim. “There are plenty of judges who don’t like Glazov. Nice to know they can’t all be paid off. There’s bound to be someone out there who came up against Glazov and lost and is looking for payback. You know how big a judge’s ego can be.”

  “Until we see those tapes we
aren’t going to know why Novak was here or what he’s looking for. Let’s just hope we can get the warrant before Preacher has time to clean up any evidence.”

  Turner couldn’t agree more. He put the car in drive and headed toward the courthouse.

  Chapter Forty Five

  Glazov had his wife pinned against the wall. He’d taken her by surprise in the hallway when she had stepped out of the master suite. Her silk robe had shifted during their initial, brief struggle, with the gathered folds of fabric sliding apart above the tie at her waist. One alabaster shoulder had been bared to his hot gaze. The fabric continued to shift until it hovered precariously over the tip of her breast.

  He leaned in and Kathleen tilted her head to the side, unable to resist the silky caress of his beautiful lips. His open mouth slid down the column of her throat, then his warm breath was guiding his tongue along her collarbone. He sank his teeth into the flesh between her neck and shoulder, and her low moan became a harsh gasp. She shuddered and the silk dipped lower, revealing a taut, pebbled nipple.

  He released her shoulder, licking gently at the impression of his teeth in her skin. Humming in approval, he cupped her breast, flicking the nub back and forth with his thumb as his lips grazed the shell of her ear. “I think you liked that,” he whispered as he pinched her nipple between his finger and thumb.

  Glazov was in a particularly dark mood, as was evident in his rough handling of her body. His inherent drive to dominate her sexually, to pleasure her as he bent her to his sadistic will, had drawn him to her like a moth to a flame. His wife would be the vessel by which he exorcised his demons, at least for now.

  Glazov was tired of being left out of the loop while Novak did all the footwork on the Benzo situation. Ever since the murder that Ivan had gone down for, Novak had been hellbent on protecting Glazov, and was more determined than ever to keep the legal heat off of him. There was only one problem with that plan: Glazov loved the heat, lived for the thrill of the hunt, and reveled in the takedown of his prey. Being ‘handled’ and insulated like this, even if Novak was convinced it was for the greater good, was frustrating as pure hell. True, the Pakhan was never really out of the loop; Novak made a point of keeping him updated. But without being in the thick of things, Glazov felt…frustrated.

  So very, very frustrated.

  And when Glazov felt frustrated, fucking his wife was the perfect anecdote to what ailed him. Kathleen, with her flaming hair and ripe, womanly curves, was a decadent, gratifying diversion that was guaranteed to take the edge off. At least, Glazov certainly thought so as he tightened his hand around her throat and felt her pulse fluttering beneath the slow stroke of his thumb.

  Kathleen’s eyes gleamed defiantly as she gazed up at him. She had sensed his growing agitation in recent days. The delicious soreness between her legs and the faint shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes were a testament to his increasingly feral hunger for her that seemed to know no bounds. As she looked into his eyes, it was like someone had flipped a switch and her urbane, sophisticated husband was nowhere in sight. The fiercely sexual beast who was manhandling her so thoroughly was known only to her, and his dark intentions were reducing her to a boneless inferno of want.

  Their flashfire chemistry was still off the charts. Every sexual encounter only deepened their fascination with each other. Glazov could ignite her darkest desires with just a look. The look he was giving her now promised boundless pleasure that would come at a price. Kathleen’s instincts hummed with warning as she wondered briefly whether it was a price she would be able to pay.

  Glazov’s hand tightened around the slender column of her throat as he fought to keep his darkest urges at bay. His free hand snaked up her dress and over her inner thigh, his fingertips curling harshly into her soft flesh. Kathleen cried out. Her eyes gleamed with lust as she slowly parted her legs to give him better access. Her skin was like the warmest velvet beneath his fingertips.

  “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His eyes narrowed when she hesitated. “I asked you a question.”

  The look in her eyes couldn’t be mistaken for anything but what it was: a hint of mischief mixed with just enough attitude to challenge him. Little minx…

  “Wherever you want me to go, Glazov,” she said, and couldn’t resist rolling her eyes.

  “Good answer,” he said. “Lose the eye roll next time.”

  “Far be it from me to cross the great and mighty Pakhan.” Her words and tone were defiant, but she winced at the intoxicating combination of pleasure and pain only he could create. Glazov didn’t miss the way her pulse accelerated beneath his touch. Good. He had no intention of this being easy.

  He grabbed a fistful of her hair and roughly thrust a finger inside her. “You’re a little smartass, you know that? Don’t fuck with me, Ptichka. What do you think about one of the guards seeing me take from your body?” When her slick heat surged around his finger and onto his hand, he sneered, “I thought so. The thought of getting caught fucking in this hallway, where anyone and everyone could see me devouring you, turns you on. You’re fucking soaked because you’re a little closet freak. My little closet freak.”

  His thumb slid around her clit as he fingerfucked her with increasingly forceful thrusts of his hand. Now he was staring into her face, studying her expression intently. She reached between them and stroked the erection that strained against his pants. She lowered the zipper and reached inside. His shaft was hard as bone even as his skin felt silky soft in her hand. She ran her thumb over the slit, smearing silky strands of pre-cum over the mushroom head.

  He knew what she needed; what they both needed. “On your knees,” he snarled.

  She dropped to the ground, her robe forgotten as it fell away from her body. Nothing mattered to her except her husband’s gorgeous cock, now only inches from her lips.

  “Say it,” he ordered in the deep, authoritative voice he usually reserved for BDSM scenes in their private playroom. Her body responded to the command effortlessly, slipping into submissive mode as she stilled and lowered her eyes. Her lips parted as she breathed the word that would be her ticket to paradise. “Master.”

  “Hmm,” he murmured noncommittally as he pondered where to begin. “Your hand first, I think,” he said with an almost clinical coolness. Obediently, reverently, she stroked his shaft. She moved slowly at first, keeping her grip loose and flexible. “Harder,” he instructed tightly, his jaw clenched with agonized restraint. She began pumping him with firm, fast strokes until he could swear flames were licking at the base of his spine.

  As she worked him into a pleasured frenzy, Kathleen’s core fluttered as the embers of desire that glowed within her whenever he was near burst into full flame. She wanted him; wanted to feel his thick cock stretching and plundering her tender depths to the point of pain; wanted to feel him pounding into her so deep that her womb ached in protest.

  “Lie back.” The words rumbled from his throat as she lowered herself to the floor. He circled her slowly, tugging his slacks over his hips before dropping to his knees by her head. He leaned over her, bracing a hand by her hip as he used his free hand to position the end of his cock between her parted lips. “Suck.” His breathing was already ragged as he contemplated the pleasures that awaited him.

  Kathleen was desperate to have him in her mouth. She yearned to feel his velvety skin against her tongue, longed to feel him grow impossibly harder in the seconds just before he climaxed. She wanted that so badly that it took everything she had not to pull him toward her and simply take what she wanted from him. But she knew better.

  Glazov surged into her mouth on a smooth, steady thrust. Her muffled, choking groan as she struggled to accept him was like pouring gasoline on the fire that raged within him. The head of his cock met with resistance as it pressed against the plush flesh at the back of her throat. Glazov grunted as he pressed forward, to no avail. He rasped gruffly, “Let me in.”

  Kathleen’s hands slid along his hips, tugging him toward he
r, signaling her readiness to accept him fully into her body. Another pulse of his hips, more insistent this time, and he was in. The tight confines of her throat squeezed his cock like a fist and he nearly came from the heady, hot friction. Spreading his knees wide, he lowered himself for even deeper penetration. Take it…take it all…” he whispered as he began to fuck her mouth in earnest.

  He parted her legs and leaned forward to clamp his open mouth over her pussy, hungrily feasting on her sex as he continued to pulse his cock in and out of her mouth. Glazov reveled in how her clit swelled and tightened against his tongue. He latched onto the bud with his lips and sucked it into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth. Kathleen’s whimpers of pleasure and pain spurred him on as he sucked and bit the tender, swollen flesh while pressing his cock deeper into her mouth.

  At this demonstration of his considerable oral prowess, her core tightened in rhythm with each hungry pull of his lips. Kathleen wanted Glazov to lick and suck and bite her silken, aching flesh until there was nothing left. She could no longer think, could only moan incoherently against his skin.

  As she worked her tongue along his shaft, she could feel him hovering on the edge of orgasm. The thick, angry veins that coursed along the length of his cock throbbed against the roof of her mouth as he moved.

  When his balls drew up tight against his body, he sucked in a harsh lungful of air and groaned her name. Kathleen’s legs shook as she came against his mouth. His hungry tongue lapped at her swollen flesh, prolonging her pleasure as he drank from her. In the deepest throes of her climax, her throat tightened around his shaft. In the next instant, his creamy, velvety warmth drenched the back of her throat as his thrusts slowed to soft, steady pulses.

  She drank him down until, with his cheek resting against her inner thigh, he slowly pulled out. She licked his cock clean, inch by inch, before pressing an adoring kiss to the tip.

  He rose to his feet, towering over her as he tucked in his shirt and zipped his pants. “Clean yourself up,” he said, his voice clipped and stern. Kathleen sighed heavily her husband’s urbane, sophisticated façade locked back into place. She, on the other hand, was a disheveled, boneless mess where she lay on the floor, her robe in a crumpled heap beneath her.