Priceless: A Dark Bratva Romance: Ruthless Doms, page 22
He gives me a teasing look and quirks an eyebrow at me. “I have some ideas about how we could get a little closer.”
“Oh, do you?” I ask. I turn away casually, very aware of what that predatory look means. I pretend I’m just sauntering, but as soon as I’ve turned fully away, I bolt.
“Marissa,” he warns, but I dodge furniture like a pro, leaving him behind. I make it to our bedroom with him in hot pursuit, and squeal like a little girl when he catches me and lifts me straight up in the air.
“I thought pregnant women could run marathons?” he teases.
I’m panting from the exertion, flailing in his grasp. “Not this pregnant woman,” I pant.
I’m on my back on the bed and he’s got me pinned down beneath him. The muscles on his shoulders flex and bulge as he braces himself over me. Those blue eyes of his make my belly warm and I stop squirming.
“I love you, Nicolai.”
“And I love you.” His voice is deep and husky, sending a thrill of pleasure down my spine.
I know he wrestles demons and always will. That he’s devoted loyalty to his brotherhood. That he breaks the law and lives by a code of conduct the entire Bratva swears allegiance to.
“And I love our child that you carry. No one will ever hurt you again,” he says. “And I will keep our family safe no matter the cost.”
“I know you will,” I whisper.
His father brought him back to Atlanta and appointed him head brigadier, for now. As son to the pakhan, Nicolai will eventually be appointed leader.
Stefan and Nicolai worked tirelessly for months, ensuring that no one who worked for my father had affiliations with the Atlanta contingent. The Bratva men found my father’s actions appalling, and welcomed me and Nicolai home with open arms. Tomas still checks in on occasion, and once a month, Nicolai flies back to Boston and works for him as well.
What my father did was inexcusable even to the most hardened men of the brotherhood. It brings me some consolation knowing as Nicolai’s, I bear the protection of the entire extended brotherhood. And now I carry an heir to the Bratva throne.
“Tomas is coming to pay us a visit,” Nicolas says. I once feared the head of the Boston Bratva, and though I still am not comfortable around him, I trust him.
“Oh? Why?”
“It’s time he found a wife.”
I give him a curious look, waiting for him to tell me more, but when he doesn’t, I prompt him. “Oh? And how will coming here help him with that?”
Nicolai sighs. “He’s been promised the daughter of a rival group, and my father will officiate.”
“Nicolai,” I say, pleading, but I don’t know for what. It seems every time we make any progress, and I’ve accepted the ways of the Bratva, something happens to remind me how they live by their own set of rules.
“It isn’t as terrible as you might think, Marissa.”
“No? Being wed to a man you’ve never met? And dragged away from everyone and everything you love?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes, unlikely unions happen as a result.”
“And sometimes you end up wed to a man you despise.”
But Nicolai shows no sympathy. “Fools marry every day,” he protests. “They know nothing about loyalty or self-sacrifice or honor. Any woman that belongs to Tomas will be glad to call him husband.”
I don’t agree, but it isn’t worth fighting with him. I can’t control this. And I know he’s loyal to Tomas.
With a sigh, I take his hand and place it on my belly. Our baby boy kicks, and I watch as Nicolai’s eyes grow misty. He swallows hard. Bratva men don’t cry, but they aren’t made of stone.
I’ll never forget the way his eyes lit up when the pregnancy test came back positive, or the way he held me when we accepted the news that we’d created new life. We’ve come through hell and back, but each step together—marriage, family life, reinstatement in our family brotherhood—moves the pain of the past further behind us and forges a new road.
Twenty years later
“I’m nearly forty, you know,” I tell Nicolai. I’m staring at myself in the mirror before me, frowning. “Almost an old lady.”
He scoffs. “Forty is the new thirty.”
He was forty over a decade ago and insists that age is just a number. I don’t much care myself, though it’s remarkable to me how far we’ve come. Our oldest son is a sophomore in college, and our daughter is a senior in high school. Nicolai has taken on the role of pakhan. Though Stefan is still youthful and of completely sound mind, he no longer wanted to bear the weight of brotherhood leadership. Nicolai volunteered. It’s time.
I touch the few grays at my temple and stare at the laugh lines around my eyes. My cheeks are fuller, my body curvier, and there are traces of silvery stretch marks in places hidden under my dress. It’s late fall in Atlanta, the weather slightly cooler. I take my book and I head to the porch. I look up when the door opens behind me. Nicolai follows.
I smile at him and slide onto the porch swing. He sits down beside me, and pulls me onto his lap.
“I’ll squash you!” I protest, more than a little self-conscious about the extra few pounds I’ve gained in the past few years. With a growl, he turns me over and slaps my ass, hard.
“Ow!”
“Don’t let me hear a word about your curves,” he says warningly, every bit the dominant caveman he was decades ago. “I love those curves. I love everything about you.”
I kinda melt into him a bit more.
The porch door swings open again, and our daughter Fiona joins us on the porch.
“Boys are idiots,” she pronounces, flouncing onto the white wicker chair that sits across from us.
“Oh?” I ask, eyeing Nicolai. He’s stiffened, his eyes narrowing.
“Relax,” I tell him.
“Please, dad,” Fiona says. “You don’t have to start polishing your rifle.”
Nicolai doesn’t own a rifle. He does, however, own a veritable arsenal of weapons he has readily at his disposal, and Fiona well knows this.
“I’ve been good to your boyfriends,” Nicolai protests. “I haven’t broken a single bone.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yet.”
“Oh, Fiona,” I say. “He won’t.” But I’m not so sure he wouldn’t if one of them mistreated her.
“You know,” she says wistfully. “I just want what you two have. None of my friends’ parents have been married for twenty years. You guys are so into each other it almost makes me sick.” But she smiles. “And I want that.”
Nicolai looks at her gravely. “You deserve that,” he responds.
She gets to her feet with a smile and trots down the stairs, waving over her shoulder when her friend pulls up to the curb. One would think we were an almost normal family, if they didn’t see the black car that follows her friend when they leave, or the trademark Bratva ink.
“You know,” I say teasingly. “I wouldn’t worry so much about the boys pursuing her. Remember, she isn’t into boys so much.” I chew my lip thoughtfully. “It’s her bodyguard I’d keep an eye on.”
I laugh out loud when he sits up so straight I nearly topple off the porch swing.
“I’m teasing,” I tell him. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure he’s gay.”
His eyes crinkle around the edges and he pulls me closer before he bends down and kisses me.
“I’m feeling wistful tonight,” he says. It was twenty years ago we said our vows, on a night just like this. I look up at him and rest my hand on the side of his face. Though he’s aged, sporting salt and pepper in his beard that wasn’t there before, his eyes are as blue as they were the day I met him.
“Oh?” I ask. I rest my head in his lap and sigh into him when he pulls me even closer.
“You are still my precious star,” he says, holding my hand to his chest. “Zvezda moya. All this… our home, our children, your love… what you’ve given me is beyond the worth of a thousand kingdoms. Priceless.”
Zvezda moya.
I’m his star, his light in a world of darkness, and I will shine on.
Author note:
Thank you so much for reading Priceless: A Dark Bratva Romance, a stand-alone entry in the Ruthless Doms series. The Ruthless Doms series is a spin-off of the Wicked Doms, so if you’re looking for more dark romance, take a peek at a few previews. And thank you so much for your support!
~Jane
PREVIEWS
The Bratva’s Baby (Wicked Doms)
Previews
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 break 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.
READ MORE
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?
