Dancing for the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 3) (16 page)

Tatyana has said her peace and she is not wrong. I wish that she was. It would make everything so much easier. I look into her eyes before I sweep my thumb across the apple of her cheek. Her skin’s still so soft, and it makes me shiver just being this close to her. I want to fuck her right now in the middle of the grass, in the daylight, not giving a fuck who sees us.

She’s right. I’m not the same man now as I was years ago, and she is obviously not the same girl she was back then, either. We’ve changed. We’ve grown. We’ve become different beings. We’ve struggled differently. That doesn’t mean that I don’t still want her—I do. I want all of her.

I watched her sleep for a while in the early morning light and she looked perfect there, tangled in my sheets. She looked like she belonged, all of her blonde hair on my dark, navy blue bedding. I want to wrap my arms around her and hold her, tell her that she’s everything, because she is. She always will be.

“You’re not leaving. We’ll learn about each other again, but we will do it together. Kiska will not see me with another woman.
For now,
I don’t want another,” I say giving her the best answer I can, the most honest answer.

“What happens when you do?” she asks, her eyes wide and full of fear.

I frown. I don’t like that she looks at me this way. That fear is taking over her features. I should be the one she looks to for protection. She should never fear me, but I’ve given her every reason to so far.

“It’s something we can visit if it ever happens. Let’s focus on us for now, yeah?” I ask, leaning down and running my nose alongside hers.

“You have to let go of some of that anger, Kirill. It’s going to be between us until you do,” she whispers.

“I will,” I lie.

I don’t know if I can.

It’s been brewing for a decade. Something like that doesn’t just dissipate.

“This swim suit is too small,” I inform her. She grunts before she rolls her eyes.

“Your, whatever she is, bought an extra-small.”

“You’re not fat, but you are no extra-small, Tati. Why did you tell her you were?” I ask, completely confused. She steps back from me and I can’t help my grin at the fire that has returned in her eyes.

“I didn’t tell her I was an extra small. I told her I was a size six, which I am.”

“Sabina’s a bitch, Tati. We’ll get you a new suit,” I murmur, pulling her close to me, needing to hold her in my arms.

There has been a shift in our relationship, though possibly only a slight one. I can feel it. My anger and resentment is still very much here, but perhaps not as strong as it was even yesterday. With Tatyana’s big eyes looking up at me, her plump kissable lips, and her fantastic tits pressed against me, maybe I’m not as angry with her.

Perhaps all these years of being apart and growing is exactly what we needed. I wish that I would have had my Kiska the entire time, but what’s done is done. It is time to move on, even if only a tiny bit.

“I kind of like it. My tits look great in it,” she grins.

“Don’t say that shit,” I grunt, turning and placing my hand on her back to push her toward the house.

“What,
tits
? Why?”

“Because it doesn’t sound ladylike, Tati, and you’re a woman who has a place in this world above others. You need to act accordingly,” I explain.

“You do know I’m going back into stripping, right? I mean, what does it matter if I say
tits
?”

I chuckle and shake my head at her words.

“Oh, fuck it, say tits. What does it matter,” I grumble. She laughs softly as she pulls the door open and steps inside.

Ziven is standing at the kitchen eating, and his brows shoot up at the sight of us together, or maybe it is just the sight of Tatyana’s tits in her bikini top. Either way, I give him a warning look before he chokes on a cough and goes back to eating.

“I have to go into work for a while. I’m going to take Kiska with me if that’s all right? Then, you and Ziven can go to the grocery store and wherever else you need to,” I tell her.

“Will—”

“Sabina has been released for the day, Tati. It will just be Kiska and me,” I interrupt her before she even asks, knowing exactly what she’s going to ask.

Tatyana nods and leaves the room. I presume to take off those scraps of material she’s trying to pass off as bathing attire.

“You fix your shit?” Ziven asks.

“Kind of,” I murmur, reaching for one of the wrapped up sandwiches.

“It’s not my place, but I’ll say it anyway. I think she’s going to be good for you. But you need to actually let her
try
. Don’t be so fucking scary,” he chuckles, throwing a napkin at me.

I should punch him for saying that, and for throwing something at me, but I don’t. I nod, mainly because he’s right.

“You touch her today and I’ll kill you,” I deadpan.

“Understood.” He nods once and that ends the banter.

Ziven is a friend, but he’s also one of my men. He’ll respect me and he’ll respect the woman in my bed.

The woman I am to marry soon.

The woman I have always loved.

The woman, I hope, to love again.

I
WALK INSIDE OF
the club and look around at the sexy, dark red and black interior. If there weren’t stages set up with stripper poles, you would think I was standing in a really nice night club. It’s very posh and classy in its own way, as classy as a strip club can be.

Ziven laughed and almost choked on his drink when I told him where I wanted to go today. Then, he called Kirill to be sure. Apparently, Kirill is in charge of
everything
, though it doesn’t surprise me in the least. He’s awarded me with a babysitter after all.

“
Obnazhennyy.
What does it mean?” I ask as I take in the large room.

“Naked,” a heavy accent says from behind the bar before he stands.

I look over and my eyes widen. He’s handsome, very handsome. Tall and thick, broad in the shoulders, and his light brown hair is clipped short. He’s clean shaven, and when he smirks at me, I shiver at bit. He’s so pretty and big.

“Ziven, what’s this then?” he asks, never taking his eyes off of me.

“This is Tatyana Orlova, and she would like a job,” Ziven explains. The man’s eyes widen and then his smirk becomes a big smile.

“What do you want to do, then? Wait tables?” he asks, chuckling under his breath. It irritates me that this is some kind of joke to him.

“I dance,” I state.

His eyebrows shoot up before he begins speaking rapid Russian. A few moments later, Ziven responds to him and they both laugh. I can’t help but think that this laughter is aimed at me.

“What are you guys saying?” I ask putting my hand on my hip.

“You don’t speak Russian?” the man behind the bar says.

“No, why would I?” I ask.

I know my father was Russian, but just because I am by heritage does not mean I know what the fuck they’re saying.

“You’re Tatyana Orlova,” he states.

I just stare at him, unsure of how to respond to that. Apparently my name means something, but I don’t know what. I choose to ignore the oddity and ask his name.

“Semion,” he murmurs.

“Simon, okay got it.”

“No, Semion,” he says curtly. I just nod. He’ll be Simon to me, and maybe I’ll just call him
boss-man
instead.

“Show me your dancing,” he grunts before he leaves the bar and walks over to the sound system.

I should be embarrassed that Ziven is going to witness this, but I’m not. I’ve danced in front of, and for, so many men, it’s not a big deal to me anymore.

I make my way on stage and shimmy out of my skirt and top, because they are not going to be anything remotely sexy to remove on stage. Then I step up to the pole and I start to dance.

As I dance, the room melts away. I don’t see the men’s eyes on me and I don’t even see them. All I do is
feel
. I feel the way my body sways and I feel the strength of the pole as I wrap myself around it. Spinning, twisting, and using it as my base.

Every move is performed with precision—learned movements to showcase my sexuality and making me appear sensual. When the song ends, I’m topless and standing in the middle of the stage.

“You’re hired. I will send Ziven your schedule,” Semion shouts from his place in the center of the room.

I hurry and put my clothes back on before I say a thanks to him and shake his hand. Ziven doesn’t allow me to dally, he places his hand at the small of my back and guides me out of the club.

Obnazhennyy
.

My new job.

I hope that Semion and the rest of the staff are as great as my old club in San Francisco. It’s true that being on stage gives you a rush like no other, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I don’t. However, I am not going to be completely helpless and penniless. If Kirill and I don’t work out our lives together, then I’ll need income and a job. This will provide for me—this has provided for years.

“You are very good at that, you know?” Ziven asks once we are back in the car.

“Thank you,” I murmur, suddenly too shy to look him in the eye.

“I was surprised when Kirill didn’t object to you dancing. I took you there because it’s a club where I know the owner, and I know that you will be safe and treated with the dignity of your station,” he says. I don’t quite understand all of his words or meanings.

“Dignity?” I scoff.

“Yes, dignity,” he says before he continues. “You are Tatyana Orlova, you are not some girl off the streets. You have a place in this community. And once you’re Tatyana Barysheva, your place will be even more elevated. He runs this area, Tati. He is
the
most powerful man in Southern California. You will have your own personal
Byki
when they are assigned. He will always be with you because you will always be a target,” he explains.

“A target for who,
Agent Green
?” I ask, completely confused.

“He’s such a small piece of the equation. A blip on the radar. The less you know, the better; but trust me Tati, you need to be cautious, always.”

I open my mouth to ask another question, but we’re at our destination, the grocery store. I don’t get the chance to say anything else. We spend the better part of two hours filling up two carts full of food and basics. Kirill has nothing, not even flour and sugar. I like to cook and bake, so we need a stocked kitchen.

Ziven laughs as we take our carts to the register. The woman behind the counter’s eyes widen as she begins to ring everything up. This will be at least a thousand dollars, but Kirill can cover the cost. After he made me abandon my entire apartment and my life, he can pay for the food.

After our shopping trip, Ziven and I head back to the house. Kirill’s car isn’t in the driveway so I know that he and Kiska aren’t home yet. I go inside and get started organizing the huge grocery haul.

“I just got off the phone with the movers and your things have been placed in a storage unit here in town. Everything but your furniture. Kirill deemed those items as unnecessary so they gave them to charity.”

I pause where I am and look up at him in shock. I thought it was all gone. I brought some clothes and my shoebox full of memories, but everything else I figured was trash.

“Seriously?” I breathe.

“Yeah, he said he brought you back here quickly and you were unable to pack your things. What did you think he did with it all?” Ziven asks.

I look up at him with tears shining in my eyes.

“I thought he was going to let my landlord throw everything out,” I sob.

Ziven doesn’t waste a minute. He runs to my side and as soon as his outstretched arms are within my vision, I launch myself at him, burying my face in his neck as I cry. And that is how Kirill finds us seconds later.

Embracing
each other.