And yet, he was going to give her to Pasha, not me. Pasha is a walking liability from the minute he wakes up to the minute he passes out drunk every night. He’s an embarrassment to the Bratva, and he costs our family a fortune. My stepfather has spent millions cleaning up his messes, bribing officials not to arrest Pasha for drunkenly running over pedestrians, assault, shoplifting, vandalism.
I do my job perfectly, I earn millions for the family and represent the Bratva with honor, but Pasha still always gets his way.
Dull resentment burns through me.
“I just had a discussion with Diego, about the shipment,” I say. “He paid up front for one hundred guns, and we delivered eighty. Mikhail says that was on your orders?”
His brow wrinkles, deep furrows setting in. “Remember, I told you?” he says in annoyance. “I didn’t like the way Joe Esposito spoke to me at our last meeting.”
Son of a bitch. What is happening? He most definitely did not say anything like that to me.
And even if he felt disrespected, this is not the way to deal with it. I have worked very hard to build a certain reputation here. If I promise anything, I deliver. Because of that, we work well with the Cartel, the Albanians, the Italians, and for the most part, the Chechens. We had some minor problems with them last year, but when I captured a couple of their men trying to hijack a truck of ours last year and sent their heads to their boss in an ice cooler, he sent me a million dollars as an apology.
What Yeger is doing can only end one way: war. And that will be very costly. It’s not just the loss of lives I’m concerned with. Any kind of wide scale hostilities tends to get out of hands, and civilians get caught in the crossfire.
That, in turn, brings the heat down on us. The police, the feds, the media. Then operations are shut down, men go to prison, and profit plummets. It’s not a decision to be made lightly. Like the mafia, we have a ruling council of five, the Elders – my stepfather is one of them. That’s the only reason Pasha is still alive, and I know that they’re getting impatient with that situation.
I wonder if they know what my stepfather has done with the weapons shipment. Unfortunately, going to any of the other Elders with my concerns would be equivalent to declaring war on my own stepfather, and even if they reprimanded him, they might not force him out. And in the meantime, my mother and sister would most definitely be collateral damage.
So for now, I’ll have to try to finesse the situation. “What shall I tell Diego? He’s expecting another shipment in a few days.”
"Don’t tell him shit,” my stepfather says contemptuously. “Just give him eighty guns, he pays the price we ask, and if he doesn’t like it, he can fuck himself.”
"I want to be clear,” I say, careful to keep my tone respectful. “You realize that the mafia will retaliate, and it will escalate to full blown war.”
He just shrugs. Of course he does. He's in Moscow, he won't have to deal with the fallout. “Deal with it,” he says irritably. “Unless you’re not up to the task?’
“Hey, brother!” Pasha shouts from off-screen.
He moves in front of the camera. He’s wearing a blindingly ugly blue three-piece suit, shirt unbuttoned to show off his rope-chain necklaces.
“How is the training?” He yells it like he wants to be heard all the way across the globe, without benefit of the video camera. I remember how much Anya used to hate that. Of course, she’s now forfeited her right to have an opinion on anything...thanks to Pasha.
“It’s going well.”
“Did she mention me?” he smirks, eyes glowing with malice.
“No, she is only permitted to speak when spoken to. And she has other things on her mind right now.”
He looks delighted at this news.
“Once you’ve properly broken her, I’m going to come visit. I’m going take a turn with her before she’s sold,” he says in a bragging voice. “I’ll make her bleed from every fucking hole. Tell her that for me!” He’s yelling again. If she weren’t in a soundproof room, she could probably hear him herself, all the way from Moscow.
My stepfather grimaces. And I know what he’s thinking – the same thing I’m thinking. The reason that he has me breaking her, and not Pasha, is because Pasha would not be capable of doing it. She’d walk all over him. Probably kill him.
I just nod in agreement. “I’ll let her know.”
“Listen, about those mafia bitches – you need to put your foot down. we’re done taking shit from them, okay?”
My stepfather twists around to scowl at his son. “Pasha. Shut your mouth. It’s dealt with. I already told him.”
“Fine,” Pasha says in a huffy tone. “I’m just sick of them trying to push us around. We’re taking back what’s ours. Kick some ass, Kostya!” He bellows the words, and stomps off. Take back what’s ours? What is this nonsense? Nobody’s trying to take anything from us.
My stepfather’s expression turns sour. He hates it when Pasha embarrasses him.
“Keep me updated,” he says shortly, and turns off the screen.
Chapter Eight
Anya
I’m lying in Kostya’s arms, as he strokes the hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. The room is dark, and I can’t remember where we are, but it doesn’t matter. I’m with him. I feel safe, and loved. I know how much he’s risked to be here with me.
“Don’t you wish we could have met some other way?” he murmurs.
My heart melts at his words. He never opens himself to me like this. “Every day of my life.”
“I hate hiding how I feel about you.”
“I hate it to. I’ve always wanted you. From the first time I saw you.”
“Since you were what, ten?”
“Yes,” I reply, dead serious. “I always knew you were the one for me.”
His face grows serious. “I felt the same way. We don’t have to stay here, we don’t have to live like this anymore. We’ll run.”
“We will?” I tremble with hope, hugging his big, solid body to me. “You would do that, for me?”
“I would do anything for you. I’d go to the ends of the earth for you. You know how I feel about you.”
“How do you feel?”
“I’d die for you. I’d go to the ends of the Earth for you. I...”
But before he can say the words that will make me complete, before he can tell me he loves me, I heard footsteps thudding towards us. His lips are moving, but I can’t hear him any more. A loud thump, thump, thump thunders in my ears. And he starts to melt. “Kostya, no! Don’t leave me!” I scream.
He turns to smoke in my arms. I’m alone. He’s gone because of me, I’ve killed him somehow.
A boot in the ribs wakes me up.
“Get up,” a harsh voice barks at me. I don’t recognize the voice, and the room is so dark I can barely see, but when I blink up at the man looming over me, I see a tall, muscular blond guy with vicious eyes the color of dirty gray ice.
“Where is Kostya?” I cry out, panicked, still half in my dream. “What happened to him?” I’m naked, and I try to cover myself with my hands.
The man cuffs me on the head. "The only acceptable answer is yes sir." His voice is thickly accented.
"Yes sir," I grit out.
“And drop your fucking hands.” I obey, hating the way that he stares at my naked body.
The man is holding a sandwich and a bottle of water. I’m ravenously hungry. Kostya left me alone for so long. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Has it been one night, or two? Without a window, I can’t tell.
The man bends down and puts the sandwich on the floor. “Eat it without using your hands.”
Blinking hard in resentment, I bend down to put my mouth on it. He steps on half of it, crushing it.
“You didn’t say thank you. Spoiled American bitch.”
I glare down at the floor, but make my voice sweet and submissive. “Thank you, sir.”
He lifts up his foot, and I frantically eat the unsullied h
alf of the sandwich as fast as I can.
“Finish the rest of it. We don’t waste good food here.”
I force myself to eat the part of the sandwich that he stopped on, which has dirt and little bits of gravel in it. My stomach rebels, churning, and I struggle not to vomit. Then he hands me a bottle of water.
“Thank you, sir.” I drink quickly, my hands shaking. He snatches it away before I can finish, but I managed to get down half of it first.
“Look at that. The American whore is capable of learning simple commands,” he mocks me. I pray to God he’s not my full-time trainer now. At least with Kostya, if I obeyed him, I wasn’t abused.
He goes to the cabinet and returns with the blindfold, leash and collar. He slaps the blindfold across my face. “Put it on.”
“Yes, sir.” I tie it on, keeping my voice submissive and non-threatening.
I’m fully awake now, heart hammering in my chest. Having someone new come in here is terrifying and disorienting. That’s why Kostya did it, of course. Kostya will keep throwing new curveballs at me, so I am constantly unsure and off balance. The least little bit of self-confidence would be a threat to him.
The man unchains my ankle, and then fastens the collar around my neck. I’m led out of the room, and as we enter the hallway, the man yanks it viciously. I stumble and almost fall, and he yanks again, so hard I almost choke.
“I’m doing what you told me!” I cry out in protest. “You don’t need to do that! Sir!”
“I know. I’m doing it because it amuses me.”
Then there’s an explosion of pain on my right butt cheek, as he slaps it so hard that my eyes water.
“And don’t ever speak without being spoken to first.”
“Yes, sir.” It takes everything I have to force those words past my lips.
I’m dragged through the house, slamming into furniture, stumbling and choking. Finally, I’m pushed through a doorway. My blindfold is snatched off, and the man prods my back, forcing me into the middle of the room.
I blink in the bright lights. This room has been set up as a photography studio. There’s a rack of slinky dresses, another rack of shoes, and a camera on a tripod pointed at a white screen.
Has Raisa been in here already? Every day that I’m here, I lose more hope.
I blink again, my eyes slowly adjusting to the glare. On the far side of the room, there’s a mini beauty salon. Bottles of color, hot rollers, and hair dryers are lined up on shelves. A vanity with a lit-up mirror sits next to a sink.
As I scan the room, I realize we’re not alone. There’s a woman standing to a salon chair, and she’s looking at me with a loathsome smirk. It disgusts me to see her there, cooperating with these animals. Her hair is bleached white-blonde, razor-cut and flat-ironed. She’s pretty, but in a hardened way that speaks of years of heavy drinking and probably smoking, given the faint smell of nicotine that wafts my way. Her thick tan foundation almost hides acne-pitted cheeks.
I hear footsteps headed our way. Kostya walks into the room and nods at the cold-eyed man who’d dragged me in here.
“You can go now,” he says.
The man leaves without a backward glance, and I glare after him. I have easily half a dozen new bruises throbbing on my hip, my side, my ribs, from all the furniture that he ran me into.
Kostya crosses the room swiftly and grabs me by the chin, tipping my head back so far that it hurts my neck. “I don’t like the look on your face. You don’t get to be angry at me or my men, Anya. Let me make this very clear. My family’s future depends on my ability to turn you into a good, obedient little sex-bot who’s eager to crawl for whatever master purchases her. I cannot save you, but I can save my mother and sister, and I will do whatever the fuck it takes to get you ready for that auction. Are we clear?”
I look searchingly into his eyes, desperate for just a glimpse of the man that I once thought I loved.
“Couldn’t you at least save Raisa? Then this will all have been worth it.”
“Don’t you get it?” He sounds frustrated at my stupidity. “Selling her is part of your punishment.”
Tears fill my eyes and bead on my lashes. His gaze drops, and I feel a small flare of satisfaction amidst my hurt and fear and hate. He can’t look me in the face anymore. Good.
"You will cooperate with the stylist," he says, scowling. “She’s going to do your hair and makeup, and get you ready for your photography session. I don’t want you to so much as look at her wrong, do you understand me?”
An idea flashes through my mind. I know Kostya well enough that what I’m planning might have a chance. I’ll be in for a world of hurt, but it might get me what I want. And after the things I’ve done, all the pain and loss that I’ve caused ever since I dared to turn down a Bratva man’s marriage proposal, I deserve anything that happens to me.
Part of me wants to tell Kostya what the Bratva have really cost me – because it would hurt him too. But now is not the time. Right now, it’s time to use my head and act strategically.
"Is there nothing I can do for Raisa?” I ask quietly. “I would go willingly, I would cooperate, I’d do whatever you ask of me, if you just let her go.”
“I won’t explain myself again. Since when are you hard of hearing?” He glowers at me and storms out of the room. I do still have power over him. He should be in here watching me, but his guilt is driving him away.
The hairdresser points at the rack of the dresses. “Put on one. Pick something that shows off your tits. Oh wait, they all do,” she sneers.
I add her to the mental list of people I’d happily kill, and fetch a short pink dress that barely covers my crotch. The cleavage plunges down to my navel.
“Get over here. Time to make you pretty for the buyers,” she taunts me.
“How can you be happy that you’re helping to send women off to be raped and tortured?” I demand.
“Because I’m not one of you, and because I get paid very well.”
OK. I’m going to put my plan into action. Playing the long game. I stalk over and stand very close to her, looking her up and down.
She stumbles back a step. “The fuck you looking at?” she says, sounding a little unsure now.
“A used-up piece of trash.”
She bristles, and tries to stand taller. I’ve got a good three inches on her, and a very fit, muscular body, and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ air that can’t be faked. In a fight, I could rip her tongue out and then feed it to her.
“Sit your ass in that chair or I’ll tell Kostya you’re talking back.”
“ ‘I’ll tell Kostya’,” I mock her. “Well, in that case you’d better have something worth telling.” And I draw back my fist and punch her, shattering her nose. My hand stings and throbs, but it is so, so worth it.
Before she can scream, I punch her again, in the stomach. She doubles over, gagging.
“Kostya! Aleksandr! Help me!” she gurgles, spitting blood.
I kick over the table next to the reclining salon chair with a loud clatter. Kostya and the blond man come running in.
Kostya grabs me by the hair and hauls me off the woman.
“Get out,” he grits at the blond man, who must be Aleksandr. Aleksandr shoots a murderous glare at me, and helps the woman stagger from the room.
Kostya stares down at me, face filled with despair.
“Anya, why?” he demands, his voice husky and almost tender. “Don’t you understand what I’m going to have to do to you now?”
KOSTYA
We’re back in her room. She’s dangling from the chain that hangs in the middle of the room, her tiptoes brushing the floor. Her hair hangs in her face, tears streak her cheeks, but she’s still glaring at me with blazing defiance.
I clench the handle of the braided leather whip so hard my hand is numb. Red marks cris-cross her full breasts, her flat belly. Her dress lies in tatters on the floor.
She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever met – and right now, I desperately wish sh
e wasn’t.
“Why do you have to test me like this?” I shout at her. “What do you think would happen if I sent you to auction acting like a spoiled little brat?”
“I hate you!” she shouts at me, her voice hoarse from the screams I’ve wrenched from her throat. “You know why?”
“I couldn’t care less. Apologize! And beg for my forgiveness!”
I slash her with the whip again, and she bucks on the chains, legs thrashing.
“I hate you because you tricked me!” Tears pour down her cheeks. “I thought you were a real man, Kostya, I thought you were the strongest man I’d ever met! You’re a cowardly little bitch, is what you are! Every time Yeger snaps his fingers, you dance for him like a whore!”
I swing the whip again, snapping it across her breasts, and she shrieks so loud that it bounces off the walls.
Tears of pain run down her cheeks. Panting, she looks me right in the eye. “I fell in love with you, Kostya. You were the only man I ever loved. But you’re not a man at all, are you?”
Her words shouldn’t have any power over me, but every word is a dagger driven right into my heart. She loved me. And I think I loved her. I think I still do. I should have fought for her.
Now, the only way I can save her is to train her properly, because if she goes to auction like this, both she and I are dead.
“Apologize!” I draw my arm back, and bring it down hard. The whip makes a cracking sound as it whistles through the air, and a red stripe blazes across her stomach. Her screech is mingled with pain and rage.
“I hate you, Kostya!”
“Good! You should, because I’m going to break you, and fucking sell you like a piece of meat! Apologize!” I snap the whip again. Her whole body convulses.
I can’t go on much longer. I feel the strength draining from my body. My arms tremble. What the fuck is this witchcraft?
“You’re weak!” she screams at the top of her lungs. “You’re terrified of your stepfather! You can’t even stick up for your own mother!”
I stalk behind her and slash her three times, leaving blazing red weals on her back. Her body jerks violently and she screams every time. How much longer can she hold out? Is she going to make me beat her to death?
Kostya A Dark Bratva Hate Story Page 7