by Henry, Jane
I turn my focused gaze on Marissa. She's walking hand in hand with her motherfucking boyfriend now, and I clench my fist. I hate when he touches her and have had to endure night after night watching her sneak away to be with him. I give her a semblance of privacy. His background's clean, but Jesus what I wouldn't give to break his pretty boy nose for coming near her.
He has the fucking balls to shoot me an audacious glare. I glare back, narrowing my eyes on him. He knows I'm watching his every fucking move. The prick swallows hard and visibly pales.
Good.
My phone rings again. I answer on the first ring.
"Yeah."
"Listen to me." It's Laina. "I had to go where no one would hear me. I'm alone but I don't want anyone to overhear. Do you see Myron?"
"Yes," I say, my eyes reluctantly moving from Marissa to Myron.
"I went on a walk just now and overheard a talk between two of his men." Her voice is hushed, shaking. We deal with high stakes in the Bratva, and I know intuitively anything that would send Laina into a panic matters. "He made a deal, Nicolai."
The blood rushes in my ears so hard and fast it's hard to hear her. I know the kinds of deals she could be talking about.
"He's sold her," she says, her voice breaking. "He's put her up for auction. One week."
"Who did?" I want utter clarity.
"Myron," she breathes into the phone. My hands clench into fists of rage so tightly my knuckles turn white. I could kill him, right here, I could beat his motherfucking body to within an inch of his life before I slit his fucking throat.
This can't be. Our brotherhood does not deal with human trafficking rings. There are no auctions with us.
What can she possibly be talking about?
"How do you know this?" I demand. This is no small task she's given me, no small accusation she makes.
"I heard it with my own ears," she says on a shaky whisper. "You have to take her. There's no other way."
Take her? What the fuck is she talking about?
"No," I whisper into the phone. "I can't do that. I'll come home and we—"
"Everything okay, Nicolai?" Myron stands a few feet away, his dark black eyes suddenly looking more menacing than I remember.
Is it my imagination? Or is he really guilty?
Laina would not lie.
"Fine," I tell him. It takes effort to keep my voice steady. "Are we off to the party?"
He's rented a large hall. Food will be catered and he's even hired a live band.
"Yes," he says, and then he reaches for Marissa. He strokes his hand along her hair with a wistful expression and kisses the top of her head. A fatherly gesture, but in light of what Laina's told me, his gesture makes my skin crawl.
"Nicolai," Laina pleads into the phone. "You have to believe me. She's being taken. Groomed. And put up for auction."
"Where?" I ask, rage boiling inside me at the very thought of anyone touching Marissa.
"I don't know," she whispers. "I have to go. Get her out of there."
The phone goes dead.
I look wildly around the auditorium.
If Laina is wrong, my father will lose his mind, and I'll be punished as a Bratva traitor, facing painful, brutal torture and death.
If she's right...
I curse under my breath and follow them to the party.
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The Bratva’s Baby (Wicked Doms)
Kazimir
The wrought iron park bench I sit on is ice cold, but I hardly feel it. I’m too intent on waiting for the girl to arrive. The Americans think this weather is freezing, but I grew up in the bitter cold of northern Russia. The cold doesn’t touch me. The ill-prepared people around me pull their coats tighter around their bodies and tighten their scarves around their necks. For a minute, I wonder if they’re shielding themselves from me, and not the icy wind.
If they knew what I’ve done… what I’m capable of… what I’m planning to do… they’d do more than cover their necks with scarves.
I scowl into the wind. I hate cowardice.
But this girl… this girl I’ve been commissioned to take as mine. Despite outward appearances, she’s no coward. And that intrigues me.
Sadie Ann Warren. Twenty-one years old. Fine brown hair, plain and mousy but fetching in the way it hangs in haphazard waves around her round face. Light brown eyes, pink cheeks, and full lips.
I wonder what she looks like when she cries. When she smiles. I’ve never seen her smile.
She’s five-foot-one and curvy, though you wouldn’t know it from the way she dresses in thick, bulky, black and gray muted clothing. I know her dress size, her shoe size, her bra size, and I’ve already ordered the type of clothing she’ll wear for me. I smile to myself, and a woman passing by catches the smile. It must look predatory, for her step quickens.
Sadie’s nondescript appearance makes her easily meld into the masses as a nobody, which is perhaps exactly what she wants.
She has no friends. No relatives. And she has no idea that she’s worth millions.
Her boss, the ancient and somewhat senile head librarian of the small-town library where she works won’t even realize she hasn’t shown up for work for several days. My men will make sure her boss is well distracted yet unharmed. Sadie’s abduction, unlike the ones I’ve orchestrated in the past, will be an easy one. If trouble arises eventually, we’ll fake her death.
It’s almost as if it was meant to be. No one will know she’s gone. No one will miss her. She’s the perfect target.
I sip my bitter, steaming black coffee and watch as she makes her way up to the entrance of the library. It’s eight-thirty a.m. precisely, as it is every other day she goes to work. She arrives half an hour early, prepares for the day, then opens the doors at nine. Sadie is predictable and routinized, and I like that. The trademark of a woman who responds well to structure and expectations. She’ll easily conform to my standards… eventually.
To my left, a small cluster of girls giggles but quiets when they draw closer to me. They’re college-aged, or so. I normally like women much younger than I am. They’re more easily influenced, less jaded to the ways of men. These women, though, are barely women. Compared to Sadie’s maturity, they’re barely more than girls. I look away, but can feel their eyes taking me in, as if they think I’m stupid enough to not know they’re staring. I’m wearing a tan work jacket, worn jeans, and boots, the ones I let stay scuffed and marked as if I’m a construction worker taking a break. With my large stature, I attract attention of the female variety wherever I go. It’s better I look like a worker, an easy role to assume. No one would ever suspect what my real work entails.
The girls pass me and it grates on my nerves how they resume their giggling. Brats. Their fathers shouldn’t let them out of the house dressed the way they are, especially with the likes of me and my brothers prowling the streets. It’s freezing cold and yet they’re dressed in thin skirts, their legs bare, open jackets revealing cleavage and tight little nipples showing straight through the thin fabric of their slutty tops. My palm itches to spank some sense into their little asses. I flex my hand.
It’s been way, way too long since I’ve had a woman to punish.
Control.
Master.
These girls are too young and silly for a man like me.
Sadie is perfect.
My cock hardens with anticipation, and I shift on my seat.
I know everything about her. She pays her meager bills on time, and despite her paltry wage, contributes to the local food pantry with items bought with coupons she clips and sale items she purchases. Money will never be a concern for her again, but I like that she’s fastidious. She reads books during every free moment of time she has, some non-fiction, but most historical romance books. That amuses me about her. She dresses like an amateur nun, but her heroines dress in swaths of silk and jewels. She carries a hard-covered book with her in the bag she holds by her side, and guards it with her life. During her br
eak time, before bed, and when she first wakes up in the morning, she writes in it. I don’t know yet what she writes, but I will. She does something with needles and yarn, knitting or something. I enjoy watching her weave fabric with the vibrant threads.
She fidgets when she’s near a man, especially attractive, powerful men. Men like me.
I’ve never seen her pick up a cell phone or talk to a friend. She’s a loner in every sense of the word.
I went over the plan again this morning with Dimitri.
Capture the girl.
Marry her.
Take her inheritance.
Get rid of her.
I swallow another sip of coffee and watch Sadie through the sliding glass doors of the library.Today she’s wearing an ankle-length navy skirt that hits the tops of her shoes, and she’s wrapped in a bulky gray cardigan the color of dirty dishwater. I imagine stripping the clothes off of her and revealing her creamy, bare, unblemished skin. My dick gets hard when I imagine marking her pretty pale skin. Teeth marks. Rope marks. Reddened skin and puckered flesh, christened with hot wax and my palm. I’ll punish her for the sin of hiding a body like hers. She won’t be allowed to with me.
She’s so little. So virginal. An unsullied canvas.
“Enjoy your last taste of freedom, little girl,” I whisper to myself before I finish my coffee. I push myself to my feet and cross the street.
It’s time she met her future master.
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Preview The Bratva’s Bride (Wicked Doms)
Demyan
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
I slam my fist against the thick punching bag, dust sparkling in the single stream of sunlight like diamonds. My vision blurs, sweat dripping in my eyes from the exertion. I take a second to wipe my arm across my brow, before I’m back at it again.
Pain wraps across my back with every swivel and spin of my torso. Perspiration drips down my body in rivulets, my breathing fast and ragged in the humid room, and yet I’m nowhere near satisfied. I won’t stop until I’ve exhausted myself. Until the storm within me calms. Until I’ve exorcised my demons.
For now.
I pound the bag, the only sound in the room my grunts and the soft thumps when my fists connect. Sometimes, I imagine the bag holds the face of my enemies. Sometimes, my father. But in those moments, I don’t come away sated with revenge but thirsty for more. I’m left dissatisfied and empty, because you cannot beat a man who lies in a grave. When I pummel the bag, it leaves me unfulfilled and restless, but mercifully fatigued. It’s a weariness I welcome, as if somehow, I can beat the anger away with my fists if I try hard enough.
So when Maksym pushes the door to the basement open, he does so tentatively, my only indication he’s arrived the creak of the door between swings of my fist. He doesn’t interrupt me at first, out of respect. The man is like a brother to me.
“What is it?” I snap. I lift the bottle of water on the floor, tip my head back, and douse my mouth with the cool liquid before drenching my face with it.
“Filip found more details, Dem.”
That gets my attention. I grab the towel beside my water bottle and swipe it across my face to clear my vision before I look at him. His ankles are crossed, one shoulder leaning against the door frame. Large and broad, with a thick beard and black eyes that shine, he easily looks the most formidable of our lot, though he has a soft spot, and she lives in a remote cabin in Istra.
“Tell me.”
In the past two weeks, large sums of money have disappeared. Filip, our bookkeeper, is brilliant and impeccable, and until now, we’ve seen no loss in revenue since I’ve been head of our brotherhood. In fact, quite the opposite. Our income has soared, padding our pockets and investments, and Filip’s masterful manipulation of our funds makes illicit transactions fly under the radar. His careful calculations and technological finesse make it possible to have funds allocated in multiple countries that no one can touch. Theft is not uncommon in our line of business, but the severe penalty for stealing from us has kept us safe from extortion since I’ve run this brotherhood. Until now.
Maksym clears his throat. “It’s a woman, for one.”
I curse and kick the concrete wall. I have no qualms about exacting retribution and meting out punishment, but typically the thieves we’ve dealt with were men. Men, I can handle with fists, a knife, or worse. Women, though…
Damn. I can be vicious and cruel, but prefer the more fragile creatures punished in other ways.
I turn to face him.
“What else?”
“She’s left her location wide open as of last weekend.”
“What do you mean?” I frown at him and cross my arms over my chest.
“It seems almost intentional, Dem. She’s as easy to track as a performer in the public square.”
I shake my head. Why would someone willingly steal money from us and then not bother to cover her tracks?
“Where is she?”
“Kazak.”
An hour from here, near one of our brother groups. I feel my brows rise in surprise. So bold.
He leans against the wall and steps into the room. “If you want, I’ll go.”
I can see it in his eyes, though. He doesn’t want to go. Maksym is no wilting violet, but he has a code he lives by, and as he’s the most faithful to our brotherhood, I want to honor that code. He will take down our most violent opposition, and in recent months has risen to the top as our most accurate assassin, but when it comes to women…
When our brother Kazimir abducted a woman named Sadie last year, Maksym cursed out Dimitri and almost resigned. There is typically no real resignation from the Bratva but death. To Maksym, retribution was one thing but abducting innocents was another. He insisted she did nothing to earn how we treated her. And now that Kazimir and Sadie have settled back in the U.S., he keeps regular contact with them like a sort of doting uncle.
But this woman… what she’s done… she’s earned whatever happens and he knows it.
Hell, if this were a year ago and Dimitri still ran our organization, he’d murder her with one rapid command, not even bothering to punish her before death. And for a moment I fear being in this position of power has weakened me.
“Show me her picture.” I drain the bottle of water and drag the towel over my face again. He takes a picture out of a slim folder, and holds it up to me.
I swear under my breath, shaking my head.
It’s a grainy picture, but I can tell she’s fucking beautiful. Black hair. High cheekbones, pointed chin, thick, dark eyebrows and lashes over light brown eyes. With her softly rounded, oval face, full lips, and pale complexion, she looks like a little pixie. She could be a model for a high-end fashion company, instead of the ruthless hacker who’s undermined our efforts and taken what doesn’t belong to her.
“Is she as small as she looks?”
“As tiny as a child,” he says, frowning. “Just under five feet tall, one hundred pounds.”
I stare at her picture in silence.
“Do we know why she’s done what she has? Are there any ties in any way?”
He shrugs. “Her father and sister were killed in a car accident three years ago, but the papers report it purely accidental.” That means nothing.
I curse again and throw the empty water bottle toward the trash barrel. It nicks the edge and falls to the ground, bouncing along the floor.
“And still, she needs to be stopped.” I’m thinking out loud. I could sit back and let others enact our revenge, or I could use this to my advantage. If I take her myself…
Suddenly, the right course of action seems vividly clear.
I nod, making up my mind. “I’ll go,” I tell him. “I want to extract her myself, and it’s time I paid our brothers in Kazak a visit.” I haven’t seen them since I’ve taken this position of power. I was only a brother in a line of many before. Now, I’m the pakhan, voted in by my brothers.
I snort. “H
ell, it’s a write-off.”
He huffs out a laugh in reply.
“Show me her most recent infractions.”
Maksym nods, and takes out several printouts. “Her recent history,” he tells me. “There’s been half a million dollars in blocked transfers in the past month but done from multiple accounts and in small batches. Normally, it would be hard to track someone like her, but as I said she left it wide open this time. It would seem either she wants us to come for her, or it’s a fatal mistake.”
I curse looking over the evidence. If we hadn’t caught on, she could have destroyed one of the most lucrative transactions in decades.
“And that mistake was?”
“She made every transaction from the same location. The same room. The same computer.”
“Someone so brilliant yet so stupid?”
He shakes his head. “At first we even thought it was a trap. But after further investigation, we found out more about her… It has to be intentional, and there’s no indication she’s affiliated with any of our rivals.”
I shake my head. “She’ll pay for this, Maksym. Her name?”
“Calina,” he says. “Calina Brague. And of course she will pay,” he says, but then he looks away, as if he wants to hide what he has to say next. “But there’s something else you need to know.”
I look at him questioningly. I’ve already decided to go to Kazak and abduct her myself. What else could there be?
“Tell me,” I order, taking the papers from his hand and reading them over again.
“Her location, Dem…”
I’m losing my patience. I raise a brow at him and nod, waiting for him to continue.
“She’s a resident at Saint Andrews Hospital,” he says. “It’s a… mental institution.”
I swear under my breath and mask the cold sweep of anger that sweeps over me.
“Does she work there?” I ask, already knowing the answer to my question.
“No, Dem.” He shakes his head and doesn’t meet my eyes. “She’s a patient.”
Christ.