Jaded Jewels (Born Bratva Book 7)

by Suzanne Steele

  “You’re going to be the death of me, woman.”

  “Mmm, I beg to differ,” she murmured as she nuzzled his neck. “I’m going to be the life of you, love.”

  “You already are.”

  Chapter Ten

  That night, Roksana, Oleg, and Bazarnik left the Bratva compound in a suitably nondescript van, their destination the old warehouse where the dogfight was to be held. They had gathered enough intel on previous dogfights to know there was usually a period of quiet after the initial set-up was done, before the gangbangers started to arrive. The window of opportunity was almost painfully short; they would have to work quickly.

  Roksana had been looking forward to this all day. By the time Bazarnik was done, the place would be reduced to a pile of ash and rubble. She loved destruction in all its glorious forms. It was her identity—an innate trait that fate had sealed her with simply because her surname was Glazov.

  All was quiet when they arrived. Bazarnik slipped around to the rear of the building to work his magic. While Oleg and Dmitriy kept watch, Roksana ventured off on her own to find a way to break into the main building. Evidently the place had been broken into before, because one of the windows was busted out. She shimmied through it and unlocked the back door, then decided to look around to get the lay of the land for the upcoming dogfight. Nothing could have prepared her for what she found.

  She crept down a long, dimly lit hallway that opened into a cavernous, industrial space. Folding chairs were arranged in a circular pattern around the perimeter of the room. The seats overlooked a relatively small clearing in the middle of the room, partitioned off by a low barrier.

  She ventured inside to get a closer look at the crudely constructed fight pit. Her stomach roiled at what she saw. The wooden walls were stained with blood; no doubt, the blood of dogs that had been brutally misused previously as part of the cartel’s underground gambling operation.

  She would make these fuckers pay. That blood on those plywood walls should have been Sinaloan blood, and it soon would be. This place would be raining blood, bone, and brain matter by the end of the night.

  She crossed the dank room over to one of two trap doors—probably used for ushering the dogs in and the other for taking them out. She pulled a screwdriver from her pocket and loosened the screws that were designed to weaken and pop out when the dog hit it full force running. The trap door they used to take the dogs out led to the back alley. It would work perfectly for what she had in mind.

  She fingered the dog whistle in the pocket of her jeans. She was taking a gamble by assuming the assholes had used them in training. Usually, such whistles were used to break up a dogfight, with the dogs rigorously trained to respond to the sound by ceasing all aggression and running back to their owner. Obedience wasn’t loyalty, though. The cartel relied on punishments and pain to train the dogs. But Roksana was convinced that even the most vicious of these dogs still had the capacity for true loyalty and trust, even love, if one were patient.

  The whole thing was like a train wreck: the grotesque evidence of abuse made it impossible for her to look away from the bloodstained walls, even as the brutality of the carnage was burned into her brain. Her horror on behalf of the animals made her more determined than ever to avenge these helpless animals.

  It wouldn’t have been enough to just burn the place down. The dogfighting ring would just find another location and tonight’s efforts would be for nothing. No, thanks to Escondido, tonight would be a clean sweep of the kingpins involved in the dogfighting operation. But not the dogs. The dogs were coming home with her.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there when Oleg stepped in close behind her. She didn’t need to say anything, her tearstained cheeks said it all. He wrapped her in his arms for a long moment and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Come, devotchka. We need to go.”

  By the time the group took up their position on a nearby hill, concealed behind some trees, a car show of sorts was in progress down below. The nearby parking lot being used by the gangbangers was large enough to display a variety of high-dollar cars and showcase the flashy lowriders the cartel favored. So, this is what you use your dogfighting and drug money for, she thought.

  Cars that had been souped up into lowriders were crisscrossing the parking lot, doing tricks that had the crowd cheering. Scantily dressed women pranced around, feeding the already bloated egos of the men and giving lap dances to the more elite members. The drivers did all they could to outdo their competition. Drug deals were going down in plain sight. Roksana’s fury knew no bounds.

  You probably have to compensate for teeny, tiny dicks with your overdone cars. So this is your idea of fun? Well, you’re about to find out what mine is.

  Roksana couldn’t stop thinking about the countless dogs that had been here, tearing each other’s throats out for the sake of owners who didn’t give a fuck about them. She couldn’t wait to see these bastards go up in smoke—but only after she rescued the dogs. As cold blooded as she was, she’d always had a soft spot for four-legged creatures. The way she saw things, it was humans that usually deserved to be annihilated and not animals.

  A smile curved her lips when she thought about what Bazarnik had cooked up for this crew. His expertise in blowing shit up was going to result in numerous enemies being wiped out at once rather than one by one. His powers of destruction were pure instinct. Yes, he was already proving his worth.

  “What are you smiling about?” Oleg growled in her ear, half jealous at the possibility of her thinking about another man, no matter how innocent the thoughts were.

  “I’m smiling because these fuckers are going to pay for what they’ve done to those poor dogs. Bazarnik is going to blow this place sky high and every drop of blood those dogs have spilled will be avenged.”

  Oleg regarded her cautiously, not entirely pleased to see evidence of her high regard for another man. There wasn’t a man among the Glazov family who wasn’t obsessed with their chosen woman. Bratva men loved their mates in an all-consuming way that other women silently envied and dreamed of, usually in vain. Love like that was a relentless fire that brooked no resistance and destroyed anyone and anything that tried to interfere.

  And the Glazov women were as crazy as the men. Some of the women had as much blood on their hands as their men did. Whether it meant taking a baseball bat to a windshield or killing their competition to make a point, they weren’t beyond sending a clear-cut message. They loved hard and they hated viciously. It was one of the reasons Glazov believed there were certain jobs a woman’s femme fatale mindset could accomplish better than any man ever could.

  Such was the case with the Joseph situation. Kathleen had discovered the financial discrepancies, but it would be Glazov’s sister Vladimira who resolved the situation. It worked out well for a man in Glazov’s position. Yes…woman power was a wonderful thing. He was all for it.

  “We’re really pushing it as far as timing. Let’s do this,” Roksana fumed. "I’m sick of watching these egotistical asses try to outdo each other. The dogs should already be in the warehouse holding area by now. If we can get the jump on them while they’re distracted with their lowrider show, we can get the dogs the hell out of there.”

  Oleg felt a wave of compassion, something he had never felt for anyone but her. “Roksana, you’ve got to accept the possibility that you might not be able to rescue these animals. They might get blown up in the explosion. Collateral damage.”

  “Plus, those dogs have been trained to be aggressive as fuck,” Bazarnik interjected flatly, meeting Roksana’s glare head-on. “They’re nobody’s pets. Probably never will be. You want to rescue them? That’s admirable. Yay, you. But, even if you manage to get them out of there, they may never be able to be around people or even other dogs. It would be a shame to put the operation at risk by rescuing, only to have to put them down anyway.” He shrugged. “Just sayin’.”

  She jerked around, pointing at Bazarnik, and if looks could kill.
.. “You! Do your job and blow this shit up when I tell you to.” Turning to Oleg, she fumed, “Those animals are getting rescued. Today.” She jabbed her finger against Oleg’s chest as she demanded, “Do you understand me!?”

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from him as he snarled a warning. “Woman...”

  Her chest heaved in frustration at their clash of wills. Suddenly she was vitally aware of the warmth of his hand against her skin, his iron grip around her wrist. Eventually she gulped and nodded, so he lowered her wrist…and pressed her hand against his cock, which was at full, nearly painful attention, straining against the confines of his pants. When her fingers curled around the stiff outline of his cock, their battle of wills became loaded with the sizzling sexual tension that had marked their relationship from the beginning and was always simmering just below the surface.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  “You can fucking count on it,” he snarled.

  But he could deny her nothing. Oleg vowed to himself that he would stop at nothing to ensure that, by the end of the night, the dogs were safe and the humans were dead.

  Chapter Eleven

  Vladimira sat at the head of the formal dining table, glaring bitterly at the man seated at the opposite end. Her guards had tied Joseph to the chair with rope, yet his body was already listing over to one side, his thinning gray hair askew, his eyes open and aware but unfocused. Yafon was seated to her right. His quiet presence soothed her vengeful soul.

  “I decided it would be best to immobilize you so you would be forced to listen to what I have to say. Much like my brother, I’m not fond of repeating myself and I never tolerate being ignored. And I refuse to be marginalized because I’m a woman. This way, I have a captive audience and you have my full attention – whether you want it or not.”

  She had injected him with Succinylcholine chloride to get things started. She was particularly fond of the drug because it left the victim fully conscious and sentient, yet immobilized and unable to do anything about it. It put her in control and Vladimira Glazov was all about control.

  With effortless grace, she set her wine glass down on the table and looked over at Yafon. “I’m offended, Yafon,” she complained solemnly. “We have always been good to our employees. This man’s audacity…stealing from my brother…trying to undermine his business interests. It is something I do not understand. Bratva is a close-knit family. When you are family, you have each other’s back. But instead, this pitiful excuse for a man has stabbed the Pakhan in the back. It’s beyond my comprehension, such betrayal.”

  She directed her attention back to the bookkeeper. “I’ll have you know I was supposed to leave this morning for America, but thanks to you, I had to delay my plans. I don’t like delays, especially when they involve tying up an annoying loose end. That’s what you are now, you know. A loose end. Less than human, really. A bothersome detail that the Pakhan has asked me to take care of personally.”

  A slow, cruel smile curved her blood red lips in response to a slight flicker of emotion in his eyes. “What?” she scoffed. “Is that a surprise to you? It shouldn’t be. The Pakhan wants you made an example of and it is my pleasure to do so. You see, loose ends can cause such problems. I can’t have that.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, bookkeeper,” she said with a sigh. She lifted her hand, tilting it this way and that as she admired the poison ring that never left her finger. “It’s going to be most unpleasant for you when you are buried alive in the diamond mine. It’s so dark down there, and the air is so still…until there isn’t any more air.”

  A single tear rolled down the man’s slackened face, which only spurred her on. “You know the one, don’t you, Joseph?” she purred. “The one scheduled to be blown up tomorrow morning. Yes! I thought you’d know the one I’m talking about,” she exclaimed happily when more tears began their slow descent down his cheeks.

  Suddenly, her smile vanished. Her eyes flashed with contempt, her voice was venomous. “The best you can hope for, bookkeeper, is that you’ll be dead by the time the whole thing blows. If by some miracle you’re still alive, well, I’m certain it will end quickly, if nothing else.

  “I’ve given this a lot of thought. I think it is entirely fitting for you to die in the diamond mines; after all, that was how you chose to steal from the Pakhan.” She turned toward Yafon. “Don’t you think that’s fitting, love?”

  “Yes. Blow him sky high. Leave nothing.”

  But Vladimira had no intention of letting him die in the mine. Her original plan was to give him a final, lethal dose of the drug, which would have sent him off to sleep and eventually stopped his breathing -- much like euthanizing an animal. But the more she thought about it, she didn’t like that idea. It was too easy, too good for him.

  Yes, she knew just the thing. She stood and shot a sidelong glance at Yafon, which garnered an arched eyebrow in return. She rounded the table until she reached Joseph, then she perched on the edge of the table. With a tilt of her chin, she directed Yafon to stand behind the bookkeeper’s chair.

  “You know,” she said, “I don’t do this for just anybody. You have to earn this kind of special treatment.”

  And with that, Yafon reached around Joseph’s head, clamped his hand over the man’s mouth, and pinched his nose closed. The drug kept Joseph from struggling even as his lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen, but it didn’t keep fear and desperation from flickering in his eyes. When the oxygen deprivation hit its peak and Joseph’s need for air was driven by pure instinct, she nodded at Yafon. Keeping her palm down, she opened the ring’s tiny storage compartment and held it just under Joseph’s nose.

  She nodded to Yafon and he released his hold on the bookkeeper’s nose. With his mouth still covered, he had no choice but to inhale the toxic powder frantically through his nose. His face immediately flushed to a flaming red before darkening as the poison entered his system. A violent shudder wracked his body. His tongue rapidly swelled until it protruded grotesquely from his mouth. His head drooped onto his chest, his nose dusted with residue from the deadly powder. And with that, Joseph the Bookkeeper was no more.

  She stepped away and turned to two beefy men who had been standing in a corner of the room, discreetly awaiting her command. “Lakov, Isaak. Get the body out of my house before things get messy. Seal it inside the mine at your convenience. The explosives will do the rest in the morning.”

  Yafon kissed her cheek as he pulled her from the room. “Come, love, we have a plane to catch and a wedding to plan.”

  “I haven’t said yes.”

  “Ah, but we both know you will. Your brother has blessed the union already. And I intend to be very, very persuasive.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The warehouse’s main parking lot started filling up like a boxing match in Vegas. Every kind of pimped out truck, car, and SUV known to man was pulling into the place. Many had participated in the car show earlier.

  Oleg, Roksana, and Bazarnik were joined by Dmitriy and Anastasia. Anastasia had been the most recent addition to the crew until Bazarnik came along. Glazov had seen her potential and given her a new life and new identity as a Bratva assassin. He had quickly recognized her deviant potential after she killed her crooked cop of an ex-husband and took out a few others along the way.

  During her initial training, Anastasia had met Dmitriy. Bratva had given her a new look: stick-straight, jet black hair cut in a blunt bob, emerald green contact lenses. But Dmitriy had liked what he saw from the start, but he fell for her killer instincts. Now he just needed to convince her to marry him. But first things first.

  They crouched between the trees on the hill overlooking the warehouse, each looking through high-powered binoculars that had been fitted with cameras.

  “I want those fucking dogs out of there before you blow that place up,” Roksana hissed at Bazarnik.

  “One thing I’ve never been accused of is animal cruelty,” Bazarnik
said to her with a wink.

  “Motherfucker, you better watch that twitchy eye of yours,” Dmitriy warned. “You don’t want Oleg breaking every bone in your hands. Then you wouldn’t be able to play with matches.”

  “Right. I also couldn’t rig buildings to blow up, which is another hobby I happen to enjoy.”

  “Yeah, other people knit but you blow Bratva enemies up. Speaking of that, you got the set-up done so fast. You sure it’s all good?” Dmitriy wondered aloud. “No disrespect, man, but the question has to be asked.”

  “Gee, I guess I don’t know what the hell I’m doing after all.” A wicked grin crossed Bazarnik’s face with an ease that made Dmitriy wonder just how deep and dark the trouble in his soul went. Bazarnik was the kind of guy who scared the shit out of people without even trying. It wasn’t the piercings or the tattoos that did it, it was something that went much deeper, that shone in his eyes.

  Bazarnik had always likened his energy to an active volcano; the people nearby learned to live with the constant threat of an eruption, they just didn’t know how or when it would happen. The best thing that could be done was to not move your house on the side of the mountain that the lava would be flowing down like a lake of fire.

  Long ago, Bazarnik had gone to Guatemala to do some work for the Glazovs. The memory of standing on a veranda and watching a live volcano had stayed with him. The thing that had struck him most was that people had built their houses on the side of the mountain that housed the live volcano. When the volcano inevitably erupted, it would incinerate everything and everyone in its path. He couldn’t wrap his brain around why anyone would choose to live in such a state of false security.