Glazov's Legacy (Born Bratva Book 2) Page 13

  Logan turns her attention to me and speaks.

  “Kodiak wants me to move into the pool house. He says it will help me with my bills.”

  Like hell. All Kodiak wants is to keep an eye on you. Maybe that’s a good idea though. I can keep an eye on your ass too.

  “That might be a good idea, sweetie.”

  I smile, hiding the anxiety I’m feeling right now as I wonder just how much the guys know. I don’t even want to think about what I’m going to have to do to infiltrate my husband’s office over all this drama.

  I shake myself out of the manipulation I’m presently conjuring up in my mind and listen to what she’s saying.

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Glazov. I really don’t want to be an inconvenience to you or your family.”

  “I’m certain you and Kodiak will figure it out. The important thing is that you stop doing that exposé on Bratva.”

  “What am I going to do then? I have no family, no help with tuition, and now, no exposé to save me. My father was a sporadic presence in my home. Dad used the time he did share with me to teach me how to count cards and gamble. He’s a hustler, and I haven’t seen him in years. My mother tries to drink away the pain of all he’s done to her—gambling her money away, sleeping with other women, and coming home all hours of the night. Sometimes he would be gone for days at a time, leaving us with no money or food in the house. I made up my mind that I was never going to be like either one of them. It’s the reason I worked so hard to go to college. This exposé was my ticket out of that lifestyle.”

  Great… use my family as your way out. What the fuck are you thinking, girl? It’s okay to destroy us so you can get an education?

  I chide myself for my thoughts as I watch her eyes well up with tears. Once again, my new best friend, Katrina, rescues me.

  “Honey, you can do an exposé on my drama with Novak, only the parts already public though. I will be monitoring what you write. I can assure you that by the time I get done letting you interview me, you’ll blow them all out of the water.”

  I watch Katrina reach over and take the young girl’s hand as she continues speaking.

  “You’re involved with this family whether you like it or not. When you started seeing Kodiak, you sealed your fate. The men in this family do not let go once they get their talons in; they only sink them in deeper. The only friends or allies you have right now are Kathleen and me. Keep your mouth shut, follow our lead, and you’ll do fine. The Bratva women can be more ruthless than the men. You don’t want to make enemies of them. You aren’t just dealing with us.”

  She waves her hand to indicate the two of us and continues.

  “You’re dealing with Roksana, Natasha, and a whole host of others who will stop at nothing to protect this family. This is serious business you’ve gotten yourself into, and it’s your choice what kind of relationship you will have with the family. You can have a good one with people who will have your back, or you can have a bad one with ruthless individuals who will stop at nothing to protect the cause.”

  Even though the poor girl looks pitiful, her reply is something that puts my mind somewhat at ease.

  “I’ve never had a family to speak of. My dad left when I was young, and my mom tried to drink his memory away. It would be nice to have a family like yours.”

  She looks up at me through dark lashes. She really is a natural beauty. I can easily see how my son fell so hard for her.

  “Thank you so much Mrs…”

  Katrina stops her before she can finish.

  “Stop with the Mrs. titles. If you’re going to be with Kodiak, then you’re one of the girls now. It’s Katrina and Kathleen.”

  I’ve managed to deal with my son and his girlfriend, but dealing with Alexander Glazov is a whole different monster. There is no way I’m going to reveal to this girl that her life could very well be in danger. I’ve got to find out what’s going on. Infiltrating his office is something I can do by myself, but it isn’t going to be easy. The house is under constant surveillance, but he has it set up to where the surveillance team doesn’t have access to certain areas where he wants privacy. His office is, thankfully, one of those places. Our bedroom and the basement dungeon have it, but he turns it off during our play time. He reserves those areas for his own private viewing; it’s his way of keeping a constant eye on me. My husband is a predator, and he enjoys staying one step ahead of his prey. I need to know what he knows. I have to know if he’s planning on killing Logan.

  Glazov

  After quietly making my way into our bedroom, I lock the door behind me. My cock is hungry. I’ve been watching my wife via the surveillance monitor in my office, and now I need relief. Quickly, I remove my shoes, solely for the sake of stalking purposes, then loosen my tie and unbutton the dress shirt that feels like it’s choking me while I head for the mini bar in our room. Chilled vodka, silently poured into a shot glass, works its way down my throat, immediately followed by another.

  It’s said that pouring a glass to the brim is barbaric in nature, and though it suits my mood to do so, my adherence to etiquette won’t permit it. As feral as I am at my core, my European roots ensure that I’m also very particular. The same traits are discernable in my cousin, Novak. I resist the urge to chuckle at the contradiction in terms: particular and predator, not wanting to alert my wife to my presence. She’s presently soaking in the tub, unaware she is being stalked.

  Making my way into the huge bathroom, I lean against the long, smoky grey, granite countertop. No expense has been spared to provide my family with the best of everything in the mansion we inhabit. Despite having lived all over the world, most of my American connections are here in Louisville, Kentucky; it’s the reason the city was my top choice for a place to put down roots and build my empire. I even have a dysfunctional relationship with the FBI through Agent Turner. Of course, it was forced by my hand, but you say potato, I say potahto. As long as the desired results are achieved, I really don’t give a fuck how it comes to pass. Having spent my whole life manipulating people to get what I want, nothing is going to make me change at this point in the game.

  Many citizens live their lives with a false sense of safety and security. They are ignorant of the evil that lurks in the shadows, completely unaware that government officials are bought and sold every day. My organization touches people who have no idea they have been influenced by my ideals. Simply put, nothing is as cut and dried as we envision it. We are all at the mercy of politicians; no one is truly looking out for our best interests. I’ve learned to play the game. Hundreds of years of wisdom and knowledge have been passed down to me by the men who ruled our Bratva cells throughout the generations. In turn, I have passed that knowledge down to my sons and daughter, and they will pass it down to their children. So, the cycle continues.

  My cock jumps as I stare at my wife’s nipples, just grazing the top of the bubbles in the tub. Candles illuminate the room, and in the soft light, her milky white skin looks radiant with an incandescent glow. I can smell her from here. The scent is a mixture of lavender and almonds; it’s the scent of my Ptichka.

  She jumps, startled when she opens her eyes to see me watching her.

  “Damn it, Glazov, when are you going to stop stalking me?”

  I cut my eyes at her and, in answer, remove my clothing. I slowly undress, neatly folding the items and placing them on a dressing bench.

  My cock is jutting out, demanding attention. I make my way over to her, fisting a handful of her hair, and pull her mouth toward my swollen member. When she attempts to wrap her lips around the head, I pull her back to study her face.

  She looks up at me through long dark lashes and speaks.

  “You’ve been watching me on surveillance, haven’t you?”

  “I’m always watching you, Ptichka, always.”

  It’s the first time I’ve spoken, and my voice comes out in a low rumble.

  I’m still holding a fistful of wet red hair. She is so fucking beautiful, and i
t’s all the more reason I have to watch over her.

  “Get in the bathtub, and let me sit on your cock.”

  “You’re such a dirty girl. I think I’ve created a monster.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Her statement doesn’t sit well with me.

  “Oh really? Is there something you need to tell me?”

  I don’t wait for an answer before guiding her toward the front of the tub by her ensnared hair in my fist. I let go to sit behind her. My large hand clamps possessively around her neck as I begin to whisper threats in her ear.

  “Having lunch with Kodiak’s woman? What are you up to?”

  When she attempts to answer, I quiet her.

  “Shh, I have no desire to hear your lies. You would do well to support me in my decision to move her into the pool house where she can be monitored by my son.”

  I purposely taunt her with the knowledge that my son works for me. Kodiak and I share a very strong bond, forged in the fires of adversity, and have been close since the day I pulled his tiny body from the burning flames that threatened to take his life. I refused to allow his soul to be stained by the soot that covered his body when we escaped death together.

  “Now, shut the fuck up, and sit on my cock like the good little girl you aren’t. We both know you’re bad to the bone, more lethal and deceptive than the men who work for me. Get your ass turned around now!”

  As she turns to face me, she visibly trembles in response to her fear. She slowly slides her quivering body down on my cock.

  Clamping my hand around her neck, I squeeze until she gasps, startled and worried of what may come next.

  “You’re so wet, you kinky little girl, feeding off the fear I provoke in you. You better be very careful, Ptichka, regarding Logan. I know you, and I know you’re up to something.”

  When she attempts to shake her head in denial, I squeeze my hand tighter and tut in her direction, reprimanding her.

  “I have no desire to hear your lies. Shut up and ride my cock. We’ve already settled this matter. I am not concerned with hearing your explanations. I am, however, concerned with using that tight little body of yours for my pleasure. Now, ride!”

  I lean my head back against the bathtub, allowing it to loll to the side. I close my eyes soaking up the only peace I have—peace I only find when I’m inside the woman I love.

  I can feel my balls clench tightly as my body responds to the magic my wife works on me. I erupt in pleasure; it’s a climax so intense that I’m certain my knees would’ve buckled beneath me had I been standing.

  I stroke my Ptichka’s hair as she leans down onto my chest, falling into the safety I provide her.

  The water ripples around me as she stands to wash her body. I eye the strip of red hair on her pussy, waiting until she rinses off to twist it in my fingers and use it to pull her close to me.

  My tongue dips inside her, and I look up, locking my hooded eyes on hers. Her legs begin to tremble as I alternate tasting her folds and sucking her clit with the full lips my Russian heritage has provided me. Her fingers clench in my long blond hair as I send her over the edge. I never tire of her taste, her smell, her being. She is the only one with the power to make all things right in my world.

  “Dry off, and go sit on the bed. I’ll join you in a moment.”

  Kathleen

  Shit, this is not good. Here comes the interrogation.

  Taking a towel, I rub my long red hair, drying it off at least some before tossing it aside. Glazov’s questions are coming, so I take a moment to mentally prepare myself, despite knowing my efforts are probably in vain. No matter the amount of preparation, it seems he never fails to read my body language. He’s like a human lie detector. No doubt, spending a lifetime interrogating enemies for information has made him an expert in detecting deception.

  He comes in the room wearing drawstring pants that fit low on his hips. The V-line shape that defines his lower torso is visible, and even though we just made love, I still feel a clenching in my abdomen. He chuckles like he knows what I’m feeling. His long blond hair falls loosely around his shoulders, enhancing his massive tanned chest. Even after twenty years, my husband is still a looker. He has full, plump, exotic Russian lips, and his eyes are an icy blue that change to steel grey when he’s angry.

  He makes his way over to me and places his forefinger beneath my chin, lifting it and forcing me to look him in the eye.

  “Are you done checking me out? I’m flattered by your attention, but we need to talk.”

  He chuckles again when I blush, still embarrassed when I’m caught staring at him.

  “I know what you’re doing.”

  His statement is one of accusation.

  Immediately my heart begins to race, and an intense feeling of trepidation washes over me. Does he know, or is he just fucking with my head to try and get information he really doesn’t have? I opt for the second choice and speak.

  “You give me too much credit, Glazov. You always think I’m up to something. You always say I underestimate you, yet you overestimate me.”

  “I’m confident my assessment of you is accurate. For example, the way you’re trying to turn around what I said to you just now, that’s called deflection, Ptichka. It’s what people do when they desire to take the attention off the subject being discussed. Right now, that subject is that I know what you’re doing. You can either tell me the truth, or you can lie and suffer the consequences.”

  I’m still not convinced he knows anything. He’s fishing, and there’s no damn way I’m taking the bait. I decide silence is my best option.

  “Better to err on the side of caution, don’t you think? Though I know I’m right, we can play your little game, and when the truth comes out—and it will, it always does—we’ll deal with the fact that you felt it necessary to lie to your husband.”

  I roll my eyes at his rhetorical question, trying to make light of the situation.

  “Why. Did. You. Have. Lunch. With. Logan?”

  Okay, here’s my chance to pull this off so I can get inside his office and find out how much he really knows.

  “Glazov, I don’t expect you to understand the life of a Bratva wife. All we women have is each other.”

  “You have me.”

  “You know what I’m saying. We can’t have friends outside the organization.”

  I take a moment to look at his profile, and his face is chiseled, set in stone, but at least he is listening, so I continue.

  “I’m fine with the isolation, knowing how important it is to have a wall of defense. Logan doesn’t yet understand our lifestyle or our ways. You should be glad we’re guiding her.”

  “I have Kodiak guiding her.”

  “You know what I mean. Women need other women.”

  “Be very careful, Ptichka. I’m observing everything you do.”

  Don’t I know it… Now it is only a matter of sneaking into his office and bypassing his surveillance, but that, I’m afraid, is much easier said than done.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Glazov

  It didn’t take much to find the son of a bitch who had almost beat Ivan’s nephew to death and attempted to rape his girlfriend. It troubles me deeply that, because of this scumbag, the couple might not make it. I know one of two things will happen with them. A tragedy like this will either engender distance in a relationship or forge an unbreakable bond. This maggot took something from those kids they would never be able to reclaim—their innocence.

  I directed my men to hit the streets and find anyone associated with the hate group. It’s how we work. We start on the outside and work our way in, interrogating family members, friends, bosses, associates, and anyone else who may have ties with the person we’re searching for. No one is exempt, not even the vendor on the street where they buy their hotdogs.

  Novak, my son Nikita, and his girlfriend, Natasha, are standing by in my warehouse. With them, are a few of my bodyguards; all are watching and waiting for
my instructions.

  I stand over the man who is laid out on the stainless steel surgical table in one of the many torture rooms here. Looking down at him, his face is a contorted mass of hate, leering up at me as he spits out a threat.

  “My boys are going to fucking kill you.”

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  He never sees the butt of my gun crashing down on the side of his head, rendering him unconscious and ensuring he follows my command.

  I pull a small, stainless steel tray over that holds the instruments needed to do exactly as I promised we would do when we found him—pull his fucking teeth out of his bald ass head. Grabbing a dental gag and placing it in his mouth, I open it so forcefully that his jaw dislocates; he wakes up screaming in pain.

  Now, we’re getting somewhere.

  I grab a pair of extraction forceps, clamp them down on a tooth, and then rock them back and forth as needed to expand the socket. When I deem it ready, I pull one of the son of a bitch’s teeth right out of his ignorant ass head. One by one, I repeat the task until his mouth is a bloody, toothless mess.

  Upon finishing, I turn from the man, who is once again in a state of unconsciousness, and speak to Natasha.

  “Make it clean, a heart attack or something, and then burn his ass in the incinerator. You don’t have time to be cleaning up a crime scene; you’re on call.” She nods her head in agreement.

  Not giving a damn if she decides to use potassium chloride or a fucking air embolism, I only care that she doesn’t waste the rest of the day cleaning brain matter off the walls.

  I grab my driver, needing to get home to clean the stench of this maggot off me.

  Natasha’s great to have around because I don’t have to tell her what to do in the clean-up process. By the time she gets done, there will be no trace left of the horror I subjected that asshole to. My son doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to marry that girl.