Owned by the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 1)

by Hayley Faiman

  “Most beautiful woman on earth,” he murmurs. His hand slides down the middle of my chest, my stomach, and then he cups my center. His palm is hot and I want so much more.

  “Will you let me in, my wife?” he whispers, and it’s as if he hasn’t been gone for a year, as if he wasn’t cruel with his words the night before he left me.

  I open my legs and I let my husband in.

  Because I am a fool.

  I am a fool who believes this man is meant for me.

  I am a fool who knows this man will break my heart.

  I am just a plain, fucking fool.

  Maxim’s chest rumbles as he slides a finger inside of me and slowly begins to pump it in and out of my core. He touches me the only way he knows how—rough and all-consuming. I arch my back, pushing my breasts forward and throwing my head back against the pillow, enjoying the feeling of him touching me, a piece of him inside of me. I feel his lips on my breasts as he licks and kisses my skin; his lips are soft on my nipples.

  “I cannot wait a moment longer,” he moans, breaking away from me and shedding his own clothes.

  I look at him and notice even more intricate blue tattoos than he had just a year ago cover his body. I shiver at what that means. Dimitri confessed to me months ago that every single tattoo has a meaning, most of them dark and menacing.

  He climbs over me again, and I spread my legs as his thick hips fit perfectly between them. Maxim is much bigger than he was before he left, but it is pure muscle and it scares me to think of how he has earned this new bulk, as sexy as it is.

  I lightly scratch my nails down his back as I look into his eyes; he looks right at me, his face devoid of emotion as he slides inside of me. For a moment, I think I see something flash in his eyes, but then it is gone as fast as it came. I am left looking at a void, and it makes me want to weep.

  I turn my head to the side, avoiding his dead eyes. It hurts my heart.

  Maxim buries his face in my neck and hair as he roughly pulls out and slams inside of me. I feel his hand slide between us as he brings me toward a hard, short orgasm and then he pulls out and strokes himself until he comes all over my stomach.

  I am stunned.

  Shocked.

  Completely disgusted.

  I feel dirty and used.

  All over again.

  “I sleep in the guest room,” he says, his voice thick with his accent.

  “Maxim,” I call out. He stops at the door, sliding his pants up his hips, his eyes completely dead as they look at me.

  “I leave in three days, Haleigh. I send you divorce papers in the mail. You can have everything and then you can be with Dimitri,” he murmurs.

  My eyes widen as I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. It wouldn’t matter if it did because Maxim shuts the door and walks away from me. Again.

  I run to the bathroom and am sick.

  I clean up and slide between the expensive sheets of our bed, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, and staring blankly at the wall.

  A deep, gravelly voice humming wakes me up early in the morning, and I turn to the baby monitor to see Maxim rocking Maksimilyan in his arms, humming a song. I don’t move; I just watch the two men I love most in the world.

  Maxim might be holding Maksimilyan in his arms, but it is obvious that Maksimilyan is the one holding Maxim together at the moment. The vulnerability is back in his eyes, and at this moment, I can see the real Maxim shining through, the man I fell in love with.

  “I hope you are a better man than me. Dimitri will be good to you,” he whispers. I can’t help myself. I sob.

  I listen to him list all of the reasons it would be better for him to leave us again, and I cry, harder and harder. That damn bastard. Doesn’t he know that the best father Maksimilyan could have is the man holding him at this exact moment, a man who knows he isn’t good enough to be his father. A man I know is perfect for the job.

  The next morning, Maxim is gone. Dimitri informs me that he has gone to see Pasha. I don’t bother asking when he will return. I doubt that he will.

  Mariya is sweet, shy, and hardly speaks English. I can tell by being around her, for just moments, that she will be a good addition to this house of misfits. I hope that we can be friends. I now believe that she is truly Maxim’s sister. Their eyes are almost the exact same shade of blue, and every once in a while, one of her expressions mirrors his in a way that makes me laugh.

  I dress Maksimilyan and pack a picnic lunch for the two of us. I cannot sit in this house all day and stare at the front door waiting for my asshole husband to come home and be mean to me again—to treat me like nothing again.

  Maksimilyan and I are lying on a blanket; well, Maksimilyan is sleeping and I am enjoying the sun shining down on my body when there is a rustling behind me. I look up to see Maxim watching us. I smile softly; he nods when he sees me, and then he turns and walks away.

  I am under no illusion that he will be inside of our home when I return. He has already tried to sabotage us by treating me poorly, but doesn’t he realize he can’t sabotage what is meant to be? That is what Maxim and I are, meant to be, and we both know it.

  The house is quiet when I return from the picnic and I walk through different rooms, looking for Mariya and Dimitri. I find them in Dimitri’s office, looking sullen, and I know that he is gone. It is like death. He is leaving me all over again; my son will not have his father, which also means that I will not have my husband.

  “He is gone?” I ask. The two people look up at me and nod slowly.

  “Did he give you divorce papers to deliver to me?” I ask Dimitri. He closes his eyes and nods.

  “Do you know where he is in Moscow?”

  Dimitri snaps his head up to mine and his eyes meet mine questioning.

  “That man loves me and I know he loves Maksimilyan. He sang to him for hours when everybody in the house slept. Sure, he has treated me like shit, but I know it was to push me away. I am not giving up on him, not now and not ever,” I state firmly. Dimitri opens his mouth, but Mariya beats him by speaking first.

  “Go bring Maxim home,” she states simply, her accent thick. I nod.

  “Will you set it up for me, Dimitri? I am going to call Pasha and Sonia to take care of Maksimilyan while I am gone.” Wisely, Dimitri doesn’t say a word as he starts making phone calls.

  My crazy half-cockamamie plan is in place.

  All I know for certain is that I am going to fly to Moscow and try to get my husband to come back with me.

  I already know that he will try to reject me, but it is up to me to be stronger than he is, to be strong for the both of us.

  Maxim is mine and I am his.

  He fucking bought me, dammit, and I will not allow him to throw me away like garbage.

  THE PRIVATE JET LANDS ten hours later in a small Moscow airport. The pilot, a friend of Pasha’s, hands my bags to me and walks away, leaving me standing out in the cool night air alone. I watch hesitantly as a black Audi pulls up beside me, the headlights beaming.

  A very tall, dark-haired man steps out. When my eyes meet his, I instinctively take a step back from him. He is frightening, and not in the way that Maxim is. No, in just one look, I can tell that this man is more dangerous than any man I have ever laid eyes on. His eyes flick over my body in annoyed boredom. With a tight lip, he speaks.

  “Mrs. Lasovska?” he asks, his accent thick and hardly understandable.

  “Yes, I am Haleigh Lasovska,” I say with false bravado.

  This man could snap me like a twig and he wouldn’t even work up a sweat. He takes a step toward me and I hold my breath as he snatches my bags from the death grip I have on them before he shoves them inside the empty trunk. He then walks over to the backseat of the car and opens the door, narrowing his eyes when I don’t move fast enough to his liking. I take him in again as he walks toward the driver’s side of the car. I notice that he looks about my age, but his eyes have seen far too much in their lifetime.

 
“You do not look like ballerina,” he remarks, speeding off toward my unknown destination.

  “I haven’t danced in almost two years. Maxim did not wish me to continue after our marriage, and then I had a baby six months ago,” I inform him. He just nods, but it is a jerk of his head and that concerns me.

  “You have baby?” he asks. His English is surprisingly good for living here in Russia.

  “Yes, Maksimilyan. He looks exactly like Maxim,” I offer with a smile.

  The driver opens his mouth and then closes it just as quickly. I want to ask him what he wants to say, but I do not want to push him. I can only imagine he does not like to be pushed or questioned in the slightest.

  The rest of the ride is silent. About forty-five minutes later, we pull up to a very nice apartment building, nicer and newer than anything I could have imagined being in Russia. I am very uneducated on Russia and Moscow and about how the people live. All I have ever heard were the few stories Maxim had told me about the orphanage and his childhood on the streets.

  “Come,” the driver barks, and I realize I don’t know his name.

  “What is your name?” I ask as we walk inside. He goes straight to the elevator. He slides a key card into a slot and punches the penthouse button; of course, Maxim would have the penthouse.

  “Alex,” he says not looking at me but looking straight ahead as the elevator quickly flies to the top of the tall building.

  The doors open and I am taken aback by the modern gorgeousness that is presented in front of me. The floors are a slick hardwood; low black sofas, a gigantic television, and modern pieces of art are scattered around the living area.

  I step out of the elevator and expect Alex to follow, but he doesn’t. He simply nods as the doors close, leaving me completely alone inside of this modern penthouse apartment. I see something in the middle of the room and I walk toward it, almost vomiting at the sight of what is being proudly displayed in the middle of my husband’s living room.

  It is a stripper pole.

  A. Stripper. Pole.

  I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as images of naked women wrapping themselves around the pole, my husband sitting just inches from their perfect bodies, fill my head. I want to cry, but I am so freaking sick of crying.

  I will not cry. I am here for one thing and one thing only, to bring my husband home. The room is silent and then I hear voices coming from one of the hallways. I decide I need to find Maxim. This ends now and I cannot be too far away from Maksimilyan for any length of time.

  I can hear the echo of my heels clicking down the hallway. They sound loud as I walk toward the back of the apartment and I wonder if Maxim, and whoever is the other voice, can hear me. I take a deep breath, standing at what I assume is his closed bedroom door, and I say a silent prayer that what I find will not break my already weak heart entirely.

  I turn the knob and gasp at the sight.

  “The fuck?” Maxim roars. I just stand there, unable to blink, to look away, to do anything at all, whatsoever.

  Maxim is sitting in a chair, clothed—thank God—while a completely naked woman straddles his thighs, rubbing herself against his crotch. Her legs are spread wide open on either side of him, her hands are on her clit while Maxim’s hands are on her breasts.

  I stand a little taller and narrow my eyes.

  “You speak English?” I ask the very gorgeous blonde girl. She is tall and thin; her long blonde hair is on my husband’s chest.

  “Yes,” she says, taking her hand from her crotch.

  Maxim has not moved his hands, and I narrow my eyes at him.

  The pig.

  “Get your pussy off my husband,” I growl, using a word I have never once said aloud.

  The scene before me evokes some raw side of me that I cannot hold back.

  “Come on. I call you later, yeah?” Maxim offers with a nod. She nods back at him as Maxim pats her ass.

  I watch stoically as she scrambles to get dressed, and I don’t say anything until I hear the click of the door signaling she is gone.

  “Why are you here? I give you what you want, a divorce.” His voice is slurred, and he struggles to stand, his body swaying. The drunken bastard.

  “You didn’t give me what I wanted, Maxim,” I sigh, walking over to him to help him to the big king-size bed, his hand wrapping around my waist.

  “I give you everything I had in America—my house, my money, my son, and I give you divorce so you can marry Dimitri,” he whispers.

  I want to slap him, but I don’t. Instead, I take a step back and just look at him.

  “Do you love me, Maxim?”

  I try a different approach. He is looking for a fight, an excuse to push me away, but I won’t give that to him, not anymore. He narrows his eyes at me a bit, and when I don’t shift my gaze, when I hold his and do not fold under his false intimidation, he sighs heavily.

  “This does not matter.” His focus is gone, and he closes his eyes, as if using his brain and telling me his feelings are too freaking taxing.

  I decide Maxim is a man of action. Words do not come easily to him. I slide my shoes off my feet and slowly remove my tank top. Then I slide my shorts down my legs, leaving me in only a bra and a pair of panties. Maxim licks his lips at my nakedness, and I know that despite the pretty, perfect, young thing that was just in here, he is focused solely on me at the moment.

  “Do you love me, Maxim?” I whisper my voice husky and dripping with want as I move to take my bra off. Maxim’s eyes focus on my breasts and then my lips before he licks his own again.

  “Haleigh,” he growls. I unhook my bra and let it fall down my arms.

  Maxim clenches his fists at his sides so I go in for the kill. I hook my panties with my thumbs and pull them down my legs, leaving me completely exposed and vulnerable.

  “Maxim, do you love me?” I take the steps I need to be right in front of his spread thighs, nestling myself between them.

  “Why are you here?” he murmurs, his gaze on my eyes. I smile softly.

  “Because I love my husband. I do not want another. I want my Maxim. Tell me you love me, baby,” I whisper. As if that word is some kind of trigger, he wraps his hands around my waist tightly, certainly bruising my skin, and I revel in it.

  “Of course, I love you, golubushka. Only you,” he groans.

  I feel his tongue swirl around my nipple before he sucks it between his perfect teeth and lightly bites down. My hands fly into his hair and I arch my back, pressing my chest toward him.

  Maxim licks and kisses my breasts, lightly nipping them with his teeth. Then he kisses down my body, my stomach, and my hips. He falls to his knees, and his blue eyes clash with mine, his tattooed hands wrapping around my hips.

  “I am on my knees for you, golubushka. I have never been on my knees for another person in my life. You have brought me here more times than I can count. It is against my nature to bow to a woman, but here I am. I have fucked up. I have done things I am not proud of and I have hurt you more than I could ever know. I am sorry,” he almost moans. His eyes water and everything else melts away. I fall to my knees in front of him and hold is cheeks in my hands.

  “We have been through hell, Maxim. It would be smart to walk away from each other, but I cannot let you just walk out of my life, out of our baby’s life. I love you, Maxim. You don’t bow to me. We bow to each other. As long as we stick together, share this life, the good and bad together, without pushing each other away and purposely hurting each other, then we can come out on the other side happy,” I say pleadingly, hoping he is hearing me.

  Maxim nods and his lips lightly brush against mine—once, twice and then he thrusts his tongue inside of my mouth and I moan at the contact, my fingers wrapping in his hair and lighting tugging on the strands.

  “Will you accept me back, after all I have done? I will spend the rest of my life making everything right, making it up to you. I am so sorry,” he whispers, so lightly, so softly, that I almost don’t hear him.


  I am a foolish woman. I will always forgive my Maxim of his sins.

  “No more women, Maxim,” I mutter as his fingers slide through my damp core.

  “Nyet, no more, Haleigh. There have been no other women and there will never be again.” He thrusts two fingers deep inside of me, and I spread my thighs farther apart as I arch my back, throwing my head back at the roughness of his touch. I revel in it.

  “Come on my fingers, angel moy, my good girl,” he rasps as his thumb swirls and presses against my clit.

  I grind down on his hand, my body searching for the release only he can give me, and I come hard, my core pulsing around his fingers, which are buried deep inside of me still; his eyes intent on watching me ride out my orgasm.

  “Will you make love to me, Maxim?” I ask, my voice as shaky as my thighs.

  Maxim gulps as he slides his hand from my body and picks me up, carrying me to the bed then laying me down. He's so gentle and sweet I could cry, but I won’t. No more tears will fall from my eyes. I finally have all that I need in this life.

  My Maxim and my Maksimilyan, it is all I could need and want.

  I watch in rapt anticipation as Maxim slowly strips the clothes from his body. Standing in front of me, his tattoos litter his tanned skin and his eyes shine with love. My heart mends; it knows exactly where it needs to be, and that is here with my Maxim. He slides up my body, his lips touching every inch of my skin; his long, thick cock rests against my hip as his lips suck and lick, and his teeth bite my neck.

  “Baby,” I groan, gently thrusting my hips toward his body. He moans at my word, a simple word, but it is the way I feel when he calls me golubushka—loved and wanted.

  “Take me,” he rasps, as he slides inside of my pussy, hot and thick, stretching me. He gently nudges my thighs wider as he spreads his knees, his hands wrapped around my hips.

  “Maxim,” I gasp as he pulls me up so that my ass is resting on his thighs.

  “I want to watch you take me, Haleigh. I want to see how beautiful your pussy looks when it wraps around my cock. This pussy was made for my cock, and no matter what has happened in the past, this pussy will only take my cock from this day forward, do you understand me?” he moans, as I fist the sheets at my side. My eyes never leave Maxim’s determined gaze; his jaw is set and he looks pissed.