Expose' (Born Bratva Book 3) Read online

  I learned a long time ago that women are drawn to men with power and money. That’s the main reason I don’t have a steady girlfriend. I don’t trust the motives of the women in my circle. That doesn’t keep me from indulging in local pussy whenever I want it, but if I ever do settle down, I want what my mother and father have. They have their own unconventional brand of devotion and loyalty and it works for them.

  As I lean against the wall, I glance to my right and spot Lukyan, one of the Bratva bodyguards. He looks more like a mountain than a man. As he moves in closer to stand at my side, I have to nearly strain my neck to look up at him. He smiles down at me, revealing a gold tooth. The man has the most utterly devious smile I’ve ever seen and it never fails to strike fear in the heart of his adversaries. From day one, my father made it clear that my safety was Lukyan’s personal responsibility, although the position has always been informal. To be a personal bodyguard for a Glazov family member is a coveted position, the competition for which can be fierce, but who the fuck would have the nerve to challenge this guy?

  It’s amazing how you can pick up the energy of a room if you just take a moment to take in what’s going on. Raised voices from the front door draw my attention and what I see most definitely piques my interest. Becky and a slender brunette are having a heated discussion. Now we’re talking. Nothing sexier than a good cat fight. I move in closer for a better look and to ensure that the situation doesn’t escalate -- can’t have anything distracting our customers from parting with their money at the gambling tables.

  “You’re here to apply for a job?” Becky taunts, giving the poor girl no time to answer. “So you’re telling me you just happened to catch a cab here and expect to be hired on the spot? I call bullshit -- and by the way, we’re not hiring.”

  I resist the urge to laugh out loud when the brunette, who looks like an innocent girl playing dress up with too much makeup and a skintight black dress, answers. She can obviously hold her own against bitchy Becky. “Really,” she drawls. “Well, I call bullshit because I highly doubt that you’re the one who does the hiring and firing around here. Now be a dear, won’t you, and go find me someone who has a clue.”

  Becky starts to sputter. She’s not used to anyone standing up to her and she’s well aware that she now has the hushed attention of everyone in the room. “The fuck I will, you little bitch!”

  Nice, Becky. I sigh and shake my head. Becky’s foul mouth is running wild and I’m going to have to step in if this gets much uglier.

  “Your people skills leave a lot to be desired,” says the brunette as she leans in toward Becky with her hands on her slim hips and her chin jutting out defiantly. She does a hair toss – a fucking hair toss -- sending those long curls back over her shoulder, and I swear my dick stands up and salutes. It’s like she crooked a fucking finger at it and told it to come on over here.

  She continues her indignant speech without missing a beat, “If this is how the rest of the staff treats employees, I don’t want to work here anyway.” The brunette turns toward the door, her little ass swaying as she prepares to make a grand exit. Oh, hell, no. Not if I have anything to say about it. I think it’s time for us to get better acquainted.

  “Not so fucking fast, little girl.” Before she can reach the door, I grab her arm and all but drag her across the room and down the hall to my office. She’s practically hissing at me the whole way, tiny tits bouncing as she tries to land a kick to my shin. I slam the door shut behind me and deposit her in one of the leather club chairs across from my desk. Well, well, well. My first night on the job just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

  Logan

  Shit, shit, shit. This is not how I envisioned my job interview going. I look across the desk at the man who is now seated there with his ankles crossed on the desk’s edge and twirling a seven hundred dollar Mont Blanc pen. I know what it is because my stuffy professor carries one and makes sure we all know how much it cost. This guy doesn’t look at all like my stuffy professor, though—he’s gorgeous. His jet black hair and eyes along with the five-o-clock shadow on his face are distracting to say the least. Add to that the fact that he is staring at me and hasn’t said a word yet, and well… it’s enough to make me fidgety.

  “Um, Mr. Glazov, I assume?”

  “That would be my father.” He continues staring and doesn’t bother offering any more information.

  “This was a mistake,” I mutter as I push my body out of the chair, ready to bolt and spend the rest of the evening researching an article about the local animal shelter – hell, anything has to be better than this. But I don’t get far.

  “Sit!” he says, his tone curt.

  I remain standing and meet his glare with one of my own. “Give me a name to address you by and I’ll consider it.”

  “You first.”

  “Logan Ludwick.”

  We spend a couple of seconds staring at each other until finally he responds, “I’m Kodiak.”

  “Well, that explains a lot.”

  “And just what’s that supposed to mean?” The twitch at his temple isn’t reassuring me.

  “The meaning of your name -- you know, an island.”

  He chuckles and the sight of the small smile on his lips helps my muscles relax enough for me to lower myself into the chair once again. “Brains as well as beauty. I am impressed.” The smile disappears and his jaw flexes menacingly. “I still want to know why you’re here.”

  “I was here to get a job,” I hiss indignantly as I stand again and turn for the door. I’ve had enough of this man and his mind games.

  “Sit!” he snarls in a biting tone that brooks no argument.

  I reluctantly ease back down into the chair and mumble under my breath, “Bossy.”

  “You. Have. No. Idea. Now, I want to know how you found an underground gambling house—my father’s underground gambling house.”

  I force myself to maintain eye contact when all I want to do is stare at my hands in my lap. “Well, it’s not like your father isn’t well-known on campus with all that he’s done to keep the library alive.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Once again I find myself squirming. I take a deep breath and decide to go for broke. “Okay, listen. My dad’s got a gambling addiction. He taught me a little about cards when I was growing up. It’s the only skill I have right now to get a job unless I want to flip burgers.”

  “You count cards.” It isn’t a question. He continues thoughtfully, “Interesting. High-low strategy?”

  “Yeah. Look, I’m no expert but I know the basics…and I can deal cards like nobody’s business.” The silence stretches out for what feels like long minutes as he ponders this information.

  “Well, you’ve got a few things going for you. Your looks are…distracting, to say the least,” he murmurs silkily, his gaze roaming down my body, pausing to take in my barely-there cleavage and the promise of skin peeking out from my short skirt. I cross my legs and tug on the fabric that clings to my upper thighs. Abruptly he lifts his gaze to mine as if he has come to a decision. “You seem honest enough, Logan Ludwick. And you would certainly be in a unique position to spot a cheater a mile away. We can always use an extra set of eyes at the Black Jack table, and I happen to know that we have an immediate opening for a dealer.”

  Honest? Are you kidding me? Damn it, how did this get turned around to make me feel guilty?

  “So I’ve got the job?” I ask incredulously.

  “On a trial basis, for now. Come on,” he says impatiently. He stands and chest muscles ripple under his designer shirt as he gestures for me to follow him down the hall. A mountain of a man waits just outside the door, nodding curtly at Kodiak and glancing dismissively at me before falling into step next to him.

  We enter an expansive room that is bustling with activity. The room is huge with a fireplace, and is decorated in rich tones of burgundy with plush French antique furniture in the midst of several rich wood-toned round gambling tables. Every seat is fill
ed with people trying their luck at a variety of games of chance. Vintage crystal chandeliers give the room an elegant, understated ambiance.

  I make a quick mental note that there are no windows or clocks in the room. I glance at a man’s wrist and note that he isn’t wearing a watch, so cell phones and watches are probably checked at the door. I’d be willing to bet clients are frisked and scanned upon their arrival, and I’m positive the place is gone over for listening devices before the evening’s activities begin. There are tables with food, lots and lots of food. There is something for every palate. There’s shrimp cocktail, champagne, French pastries. A gambler could lose track of time for days here and want for nothing, which is probably the general idea.

  I reach for a glass of champagne and he abruptly turns around and shakes his head, uttering only one curt word, “No.”

  Shit, I needed that. It isn’t uncommon for gambling houses to not allow dealers to drink, but I’m not even sure if I’m an employee at this point, so what the hell?

  He leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and a grim expression as he looks out over the crowd. I reach over, tapping his arm and whisper, “What are we doing?” His only response is to look down at me with the same serious, brooding look he’s had since I got here. Why in the hell does he have to be so damn good looking? I take a minute to check him out again. He’s tall and thin, but it’s the lean muscle kind of thin. There is nothing scrawny about this man. My eyes move up to the vein that’s throbbing at his temple just as he turns, eyeing me again. “Like what you see, spy of mine? You gonna tell me why you’re sneaking around here? Or do I have to find out for myself?”

  “I’m not a spy,” I pop off in my defense.

  “No, of course not…I always trust sexy, card counting beauties who appear out of nowhere.” His eyes are intently locked on mine as if he’s awaiting a response.

  Okay…I take the time to study the room. Russian bodyguards are discreetly positioned around the perimeter of the room. The enormous man who had been standing with Kodiak at the front door and later outside his office, is now standing next to him.

  I spot the woman who met me at the door and, judging by the way she’s glaring at me, she’s not happy to see that I’m still here. She leans over and whispers to the woman next to her. Her companion is way too blonde, has enormous store-bought boobs, and enough make-up slathered on her face to need to be removed with a chisel later tonight. If those two are dressing to be a distraction it’s working, because they are seriously tacky as hell.

  It doesn’t matter how much makeup I use or how much leg I show, I don’t think I’m going to fit in here and, at this point, I have no desire to ever come back. Looks like I might be finding a different topic for my article.

  Kodiak

  I’m lying on my bed smoking a cigarette and, I swear, it feels like I brought Logan Ludwick home with me. The impact she had on me tonight isn’t something I’m accustomed to and I don’t like it. Never have I been so intrigued by a woman. The smoke swirls and up and around lazily, much the same way my thoughts are meandering right now. I’ve got a couple of rules that have worked well for me up until now: I don’t date women who work for my father and, well…I don’t date, period. I fuck, I move on. Simple. It eliminates the drama that comes with having a steady woman.

  There is too much drama in my life already for me to ever consider adding a woman to the mix. And why would I? In my line of work, the caliber of woman you choose can be a matter of life and death – her death, maybe even yours. There are the sluts that circle Bratva members like the gold digging whores they are. And then there are the good girls, Bratva princesses who might as well wear a chastity belt locked up by daddy himself – that is, until daddy chooses their husband, usually a strategic move to align families or claim territory. And then there are women like my mother.

  As far as I’m concerned, my mother is a queen among women – loving and devoted to her family, unflinchingly loyal to my father and Bratva. She is also hard as steel and more than willing to spill the blood of anyone who crosses a member of our family or betrays the Bratva way of life…or makes the mistake of casting a hungry glance my father’s way. She has kept my father enthralled with her charms all these years, and that’s saying something. Their bond is deeper than anything I’ve ever seen. It’s an unconventional relationship with jagged edges that are their business and no one else’s, but rumor has it that she bewitched Glazov all those years ago and he’s not looked at another woman since. Sometimes I can almost believe it.

  I chuckle to myself as I think back on my interaction with Logan tonight. I’m willing to bet she isn’t used to wearing much makeup, and she nearly tripped in those four-inch heels every time she tugged on the hem of that tiny little dress. She was so out of her element, her innocent nature shone like a fucking beacon and, yeah, it was sexy as hell. I deliberately put her in a cab and sent her home so I could follow her -- well, so Lukyan and I could follow her. He didn’t like it when we pulled up to the dorm and I wouldn’t let him go with me.

  “I don’t like it, boss.”

  “That would be my father.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  I just shook my head and got out, following her at a discreet distance. Stalking is in my nature, it goes with carrying the Glazov name. After all, I learned from the best—my father. I watched as she let herself into her dorm, and waited on the sidewalk until I saw her light come on. And I waited until she appeared at the window to close the curtains. Good girl. Wouldn’t want anyone loitering on the sidewalk to see anything they shouldn’t see. Just the thought of someone catching a glimpse of all that creamy skin sets my teeth on edge so I head back to the car, deliberately unclenching my fists and blowing out a deep breath. Lukyan wisely chooses not to question the scowl that remains on my face during the silent drive home.

  I head over to my desk and boot up my laptop. I was going to do this tomorrow but my head’s swirling with too many questions to wait. I’ve got Lukyan doing a background check on our newest Black Jack dealer – she didn’t officially accept the job but I see that as a minor detail. In the meantime, I want to check out a few things on my own. Oh, I do love the internet. It’s a fucking stalker’s heaven to be one Google search away from finding out whatever I need to know— and right now I need to find out more about the lovely, elusive Logan.

  I type in her name and the first thing that comes up is her track star fame. That suits you. You strike me as a runner in more ways than one -- the way you kept getting out of that chair, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. You couldn’t get out of there fast enough tonight, baby. Maybe you bit off a little more than you could chew. We’ll see what we can do about that.

  Next I click on the link to the Ballard High School website. Blah, blah, blah, first and second place at the Louisville Science Fair. Not what I’m looking for.

  I click over to the Track and Field archives page and find her listed under the 300m hurdles. I sit back and watch a video of her, a long, brown braid flying behind her as she takes the hurdles one by one, smooth as silk. It’s easy to see why she won the scholarship that has her attending University of Louisville. The girl can run like the wind and jump like a gazelle. I stare at her as she bends at the waist to catch her breath at the finish line. Her body is a combination of sleek, lean muscle and an almost feline grace -- the opposite of what I usually go for.

  My past is full of one-night stands with women who don’t expect any more than that. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I felt up a natural breast. In my world, women generally think more is more, and they’re willing to pay for it – or find a man who will. But just the thought of getting up close and personal with those succulent little perky tits of hers has me shifting in my chair as I adjust my cock. Yeah, I want this one—badly.

  By the time Lukyan and I finish gathering Intel on her, I’ll know the brand of make-up she uses and how she likes her eggs. Nothing will be hidden from me. She’s up to somethi
ng and she’s so far out of her league. Problem is, I don’t think she realizes it. The fact that she has no idea what she’s getting herself into is a complete turn-on for me, but it’s a potentially deadly tightrope she’s walking. If I don’t look out for her she could very well end up dead. That bothers me more than I really care to admit, but, hell, there it is. So I’ll be watching and waiting. Once she gets caught in my web, I’ll waste no time taking what I and every Bratva boy want…complete control.

  Logan

  I let my mind wander as I brush the hairspray out of my hair. It feels good to have a clean face sans the overdone make-up. I look like me again, ready to chill in a comfortable pair of yoga pants and a spaghetti strap top. For the first time tonight, I feel comfortable in my own skin and it isn’t only because of the way I’m dressed. I left the gambling house earlier tonight in a cab with no intention of going back, no matter what Kodiak said about being able to put my skills to use there. I can’t remember ever being in a place so intense. It had an electric energy all its own, an undercurrent of danger, as if something could happen at any given moment. I’m not in the habit of putting myself in dangerous situations. I like stability. After growing up in a house where you never knew when a vase or dinner plate might come flying across the room, I’m perfectly content with my boring little life.

  If I learned anything tonight, it’s that reading Kodiak Glazov is damn near impossible. It was maddening to not be able to get a read on him, and I have no intention of wasting that kind of energy to write the winning article. The only thing that came easily tonight was my ability to stare at him. His hair is glossy and has just enough body to keep it out of his face, only enhancing the intense eyebrows that sweep over those coal black eyes. The whole five-o-clock shadow thing he has going on is downright sexy. Even the way he smells makes me want to lean in for a nice, deep breath. It’s a mixture of leather and tobacco, with a hint of raspberry that becomes smoother and tempers down after being in his presence for a moment, only to pull you in once again for just one more whiff of decadence. I make a mental note to try to find out what brand of cologne it is.