by SR Jones
THE HEIR
BRATVA BLOOD
SR Jones
Copyright ©2020 The Heir by SR Jones
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or used without the written permission of the publisher.
All events depicted are fictional, and any resemblance to places and persons is coincidental.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Epilogue
MORE BOOKS BY SR JONES
This book is dedicated to my husband – my alpha guy and the best friend I’ve ever had!
Thanks for understanding, babe. It’s been a crazy few months.
Thanks go to my amazing editors, Jessica Fraser, Tami Lund, and Silla Webb.
All the thanks to Silla Webb for organizing me as usual, and that’s not an easy job!
Beta reader Ana Rita Clemente, you rock, lady!
Thanks to ALL the Addicted to Alphas girls! I’ve been MIA while writing this, so apologies for that. You ladies always support me and are the best!
Thanks to Obeithion Design for the absolutely breathtaking cover.
And last but by no means least, I want to thank the awesomely talented Wander Aguiar Photography for the stunning photography!
Chapter One
Zoey
Outside my window, I can hear birds singing. There’s a gentle breeze. The sky is blue between the half-opened wooden shutters, and for one moment, I imagine I feel peace. Real peace. Something I haven’t experienced in so long.
“If you fail in this, you know what will happen to your daughter.” Number Two, the one I hate the most, stares at me through the screen of the phone.
His words shatter any illusion of peace into a million shards of broken hopes and dreams. I loathe him. I swallow down my hatred and try to focus.
The phone they gave me for this trip is some sort of special encrypted thing and not my usual iPhone. It took me a few tries to figure it out. I don’t understand the tech, don’t even try, but it means I’m talking with my handlers now, from a hotel room on the gorgeous green Island of Corfu, and there’s no risk this conversation will be heard.
However, I made sure to buy a pay-as-you-go phone at the airport, and while I was on the plane, I photographed the picture Number Two sent me of him and Esme. I know he’ll delete it from the encrypted phone they gave me, and I need a picture of him if I’m ever going to get my life back and find out who these people are.
How did I fuck my life up so badly to end up here? Out of options. Out of luck.
Corfu is beautiful, and on any other occasion I would view this as a dream trip. I’m here to work with a fellow illustrator, a Russian man named Maxim. Maxim is extremely talented and the childhood friend of my boss, one Konstantin Silvanov.
Konstantin is a scary guy. He’s really, truly bad-ass, and he was my target months ago, when my handlers wanted me to seduce him. That didn’t work, but he saw my illustrations and immediately offered me a job in his game design company. It’s one of many businesses he owns, and I was touched by the offer. My art was the only genuine thing about me, and he saw something in it.
At first, my hated handlers were happy for me to work for him and pass them information, but now they want so much more.
I arrived yesterday and spent an afternoon at the property Andrius owns, and where Konstantin is staying. Maxim and I spent hours working on illustrations, and if Maxim noticed I wasn’t on my A-game or that my hand shook at times, he never said.
Now, though, I’m back in hell, talking a screen showing the three men I detest most in the world, my handlers. Outside the sun shines and the world carries on.
Fail? They’re warning me not to fail? How idiotic of them, when they’re setting me up to fail.
I’ve got a gun that’s hardly a canon and a few years in the British Army where I never actually had to take a life, and yet these idiots expect me to take out an armed guard and a Bratva Pakhan who spent years in the Spetsnaz where he most definitely took lives.
“Why such a small gun?” I ask.
“We needed to hide it well enough that Andrius won’t find it when your bags are searched.”
“And to get through airport security,” I say. “Which you did a great job with because my bag didn’t set off the detectors.” I had been terrified.
How the hell did they hide it well enough to avoid that?
“No, airport security was already taken care of from the inside,” Number Two says as casually as if he’s telling me they organized me a ride from the airport.
It only serves to underline the shady, hidden power these guys have. I once more wonder who the hell they work for, ultimately. Who do they answer to? Is it just them, or is it, as I suspect, somebody way above them? After all, how else would they have the power to do what they do? Who ultimately controls them? That’s who has me in this mess. Above them, there must be a puppet master pulling all our strings.
“Look.” I sigh. “You wanted info on Silvanov. You asked me to sleep with him to get it. I tried that, and it didn’t work. Then, you said to go work for him and gather what intel I could about him and his men. Again, I did what you asked. I got you as much information as I could on them. I was the one who let you know he had his men in the UK and that they were talking business in the courtyard of Bridge Tech. Me. But I don’t understand the continued interest. He’s out of the game now. Why make me do this? It’s probably going to get me killed. If you still need information, it’s Vasily you need to get it from, and I have an in.”
Vasily is Konstantin’s old enforcer and the current Pakhan running Moscow, now that Konstantin has stepped down.
We had the most explosive, soul-shattering sex I’ve ever experienced, and I believe Vasily would go there again if the opportunity presented itself.
I’m not averse to using Vasily that way again, not if it gets me out of this unholy mess. The fucker might not have answered my calls since our one-night stand, but if I hunted him down and offered it up on a plate, he wouldn’t say no.
He’s avoiding my calls, I believe, for that very reason. “I think it’s the way to go.” I harden my features and deadpan. “Vasily is definitely the heir who has inherited Konstantin’s underworld kingdom. He’s the one we should be focusing on.”
When Konstantin stepped down from his bratva life, he handed it all to Vasily. It makes no sense to me that these guys are still focused on Konstantin.
Number Two stares at me, his beady, flinty eyes hard. “You’re not paid to think, and there is no we.”
“I’m not paid at all,” I scoff.
It’s not quite true. I’m given expenses so I can live, but these bastards don’t pay me a proper salary.
“Your payment is the continued life, health, and education of your daughter, and the huge sum of money we are going to transfer to your aunt to keep your daughter healthy and safe. We’ve gone over this so many times. You do this job, your daughter gets to live with your aunt, free and happy, and we let you st
art over, a new woman. In a few years, maybe sooner, the dust will have settled enough for you to be with your daughter. Do the job, instructions will follow, and your daughter will be free at last.”
“I don’t trust you,” I say truthfully. “This is a death sentence for me. You know it, and I know it. I can’t trust you to do right by Esme, so why should I do this for you?”
“We aren’t monsters.” Number One leans in. He’s always the nicest, the one to try to be reasonable. “We don’t want to hurt little girls, and we have no reason to hurt Esme. If you do this for us. If you do, I personally swear to you, Zoey, that I will ensure Esme is delivered safely to your aunt. We haven’t kept her from you all this time to be cruel; it’s so there’s no link between you. On your files, the ones anyone can see anyway, there’s no daughter, and there’s no link to your aunt or uncle. She’ll be safe.”
“I’ve done everything you’ve asked for five years now,” I plead, despite knowing it’s hopeless. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Not sure.” Number Two is bored, and sarcasm drips from his tone. God, I hate them. “This will be enough, though. Shoot Konstantin Silvanov, and you’re out. You’re on your own after, but we will help you get away. The beach he goes to with Cassie, it’s flanked either side by cliffs, but you can swim around the one on the left easily, which takes you to another cove. There will be a small motorboat there. Use it to get away. Head somewhere else, another island. Get a map, put it in your bag, and get out of there.”
I half laugh and half sob. “I can’t find my way to another island in some shitty motorized dinghy, which I’m sure is all you’ll leave me.”
“Get a grip, Zoey. You’re only in this mess because of that catastrofuck you were involved in, in Iraq.” Number Two shakes his head in disgust.
He doesn’t need to remind me. One of those killed was my lover and the father of the beautiful girl I’m doing all this for.
“You fucked up, and you were given a choice—rot in military jail, and never see your daughter again once she was born, or do what we ask of you.”
“I have, and now I want out. I won’t say a word; you know that.” The threat of harm to my daughter is enough to keep me quiet forever.
These people aren’t government as I had always believed. They’re way too shady and far too efficient. They must have some sway with governments, justice departments, and all sorts of people to pull the shit they do, but they are not state employed; I would bet my life on it. This is some private bullshit, and they’ve been using me for five years. I need my life back.
“Listen, your daughter is about to start a new life, a good life, so long as you don’t fuck up. If you do, then she’ll be in a brothel within the month.”
I nearly vomit right there on the shiny table. “She’s a child!” I shout.
“Exactly. Some people have those kinds of proclivities, and they pay a lot to be able to slake them.”
“You sick fucks.”
“Your insults mean nothing. I don’t care what you think or feel. I only care that you do as we wish.” Number Two flicks an imaginary piece of lint from the arm of his dark jacket.
“Now listen, be friendly with Konstantin and Cassie, and get invited to the beach.”
I hate that I’m about to be ordered to betray a man I’ve genuinely grown to like. And for what? Konstantin has pretty much washed his hands of his business in the UK from what I can tell. He’s even let most of the legit stuff go, except for our company. He’s working on the gaming side of things with his son, Michael. A joint project to try to revitalize that part of the business. He’s been to London a few times and had meetings with me, and last month he flew me out to Corfu to meet with Maxim for the first time. Maxim is a super talented illustrator, and we’ve been working together on some ideas. He’s shy and kind, the antithesis of Konstantin. I find it hard to imagine them being friends, but then we all change from how we were as children.
This week is supposedly about me and Maxim getting some more illustrations done. I told Konstantin last time that the sun and the different environment helped my creative side. I hate the fact that I’ve become such a consummate liar.
I try one last time to sway my handlers.
“I don’t get how many times or ways I have to say this to you. The man is out. He’s gone legit, and frankly, apart from the video games, he’s not got much interest in the legit side of things either. He’s working on building a new protection firm and living here in Corfu in the sun, and that’s his life.”
“We know.” Number Three speaks up from where he’s standing in the corner. His arms are crossed over his skinny chest, and he’s wearing a jacket with elbow patches. He looks like a geography teacher, not a killer. Appearances can be deceptive. “We don’t need your information anymore. The brief has changed. You know this.”
“We need you to kill Mr. Silvanov.” Number Two just puts it out there. “Get it done, Zoey. This isn’t a negotiation. Oh, and kill the girlfriend too.”
For a moment, his words don’t sink in, and then I burst out laughing. It echoes in the room, too loud and a touch unhinged. “Are you fucking crazy? I’m not killing Cassie.”
“You have one small gun, so you have very little choice. You’ve told us he takes you to the beach, correct? He drives?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s pretty damn certain he has a weapon in the car. You let her live, and she can get to the car. That’s you dead if she shoots you, which, if I were her and you’d just killed my lover, I would.”
“Cassie won’t shoot me. She’s … nice.”
“No one is nice when they’ve just seen the person they love most in the world shot.” Number One makes a salient point.
“I don’t think I can do it. I mean logistically, not because I’m wussing out. He’s fucking Spetsnaz. He will have a gun on him, and he will have an armed guard with him. The beach isn’t that far from the property. His business partner is the coldest, deadliest motherfucker you could ever meet, and his name still puts the fear of God in people. How am I going to kill Konstantin and not be dead myself within minutes?”
Not that they’ll care if I die, but they’ll care if I talk. “Rather, I wouldn’t be dead; instead, I’d be very efficiently tortured. Most likely, I’ll be tortured by Andrius, and you and I both know that once someone is tortured badly enough, they will break, and they will sing.”
Number two shrugs. “You don’t know who we are, so you can hardly identify us. You’ll have a boat in the next bay, which gives you time to get away. If you get caught, I suggest you kill yourself because if you’re dead, Esme gets a good life, but if you do talk, anything at all, Esme dies. It is in your daughter’s best interests that you get away, and if you don’t, turn the gun on yourself.” Number Two shrugs once more.
They are so fucking cold. I abhor them. It burns in me the hatred I hold for these men, and for those who control them because there is someone above. There must be; otherwise, these men are horrifyingly powerful with the things they can control.
“Focus, Zoey,” Number Two snaps. “Make sure you get to go swimming with them. Talk about how much you loved it last time, and if Cassie is as softhearted as your report claims, you’ll get another invite. Once you are on the beach with them, and they have their backs to you, three shots, back of the head one after the other. Might need a follow up shot or two, and then you’re done. You can do it.”
Oh God, I am going to be sick.
“No,” I say. “No. No way. I can’t.”
“Why? You’re trained in firearms.”
“I’ve never killed, though, and I know him, and I know Cassie and Andrius.”
Fuck, I need to think of any way out of this. K’s shown more kindness to me than almost anyone else in the past ten years of my life.
“You have no choice,” Number Three says, holding up the picture of my beautiful baby. My darling Esme. “You don’t do this, and we will sell her to a brothel. You do this, though, and you�
��re out. Done. Finished. We let your daughter go, and she can live with your aunt while you lay low, and at some point in the next few years, you can maybe go find her. In the meantime, she’ll be safe and loved and with family. They take good care of her at the schools we send her to, but it is hardly the same.”
Out. Free. Esme living with my aunt, with family. Then I see Cassie’s face and the way it lights up whenever Konstantin is around. I can’t. Oh God I can’t.
“You think we’re making empty threats?” Number Three gives a hollow laugh. “I wish we were.”
He holds up his phone and shows me an image. “His name was Raydon. His father should have done something for us, something he failed to do it. Two weeks later, Raydon’s body was found in Thailand, used and abused.”
The contents of my stomach won’t stay down any longer, and I bend over and throw up violently all over the wooden floor.
When I’m done, I turn to Number Three on my screen. His face is impassive, but my eyes are streaming. “Don’t you have a soul?”
He comes out of the corner of the room, eyes blazing, and walks right up to the screen. “You think you’re the only one with people who are in harm’s way? I will do whatever it takes. All you need to know is the situation you are in is not so different to the situation we are in, so you’re looking for sympathy in the wrong place.”
Holy shit. His words confirm my worst thoughts and fears. These guys are the same as me. Pawns in a game with a puppeteer more powerful than them pulling the strings.
I’m fucked. I’m dead. If I kill Konstantin, Andrius and his brothers in arms will stop at nothing to find me and end my life, but I know enough about them to know they won’t kill an innocent child.
Something cold and certain solidifies in me. I will do this, and I will try to stay alive long enough to get to Esme and see that she’s safe, but if I can’t, I will kill myself. I’ll also write a letter to Andrius and post it on my way to the house that way it won’t reach him until I’ve done this awful thing, but I’ll tell him everything. How I have no alternative but to do what the Order tell me. I’ll tell him about my daughter and pray it will be enough to save her. I think it might. Andrius has his code, after all, from everything I’ve learned about the man.