Dancing for the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 3) (6 page)

“What are you doing here today?” I ask as my eyes dart around, looking for any sign of Kirill.

I don’t want Agent Green to know that he’s found me. I haven’t figured either of them out yet. I do know that Agent Green has some kind of hard-on for Kirill, and I don’t trust him. Not in the slightest. He’s like a snake, a poisonous snake, lying in wait, ready to strike, and I have a feeling he’s waiting for Kirill.

“Give it up, Tatyana. You need my protection. You know Baryshev is in the wind. Nobody quite knows where he is; you are completely vulnerable right now. He could snatch that girl of yours up in a heartbeat, and then do you know what he would do to her?” he asks, leaning in and practically touching my ear with his lips. I curl my own lips in disgust at his close proximity. “He will whore her out. Either sell her as a sex slave, sell her for a high ranking man in his army, or simply put her in a brothel to make him money.”

“You are a liar,” I say, taking a step away from him, my back colliding with the wall of my building.

“One of his men was given a girl, an extremely wealthy businessman’s daughter. They killed him and her brother gave her to him as some form of payment. Another man directly under him was given an American girl as payment a few years ago. One other guy, his sister wasn’t so lucky; she was sold at twelve years old as a sex slave. Disgusting really. I’ve seen pictures of these girls. Collared and used, just little girls. Kiska is nine. She is probably old enough to sell.”

I look up at him in complete shock, too surprised to push him off of me. How horrible, and those poor little girls. My stomach aches for them and I feel sick. When Agent Green bends down, I don’t realize his intent until it’s too late. His lips are touching mine and his tongue dives deep into my mouth.

I plant my palms on his shoulders and push him away, or at least I try, but he’s stronger than I am. He moans in my mouth, and without thinking about the repercussions, I lift my knee right into his balls—smashing them with more force than I need. In all honestly, this douche does
not
need to reproduce.

“You stupid bitch,” he moans as he cups his balls.

I turn to run from him, but he grabs my arm and slams my back into the wall. My head bounces off of the brick, but I don’t have time to register the pain. I’m panicking.

“Let me go,” I demand.

“Like hell. I’ve been keeping tabs on you for too fucking long. You’re not getting out of my sight now, not when he’s disappeared and the only reason I can think of is that he’s found you,” he chuckles.

“It doesn’t matter
. I
don’t matter. It’s been years, Ryan,” I cry out. His eyes dart around, unable to focus. He looks manic and crazy.

“He’ll come for you. I know it. And I’ll be fucking waiting. I’m going to get him this time,” he growls.

“Kirill won’t. He doesn’t want us,” I try to plead. I want him gone. He’s such a freaking psycho.

“I’ll be watching, and waiting. He’ll come. And when he does, I’ll catch him. I’ll get him,” he warns. Then he turns and leaves.

I let out a shaky exhale, closing my eyes. When I re-open them, none other than Kirill is standing right in front of me. I open my mouth to scream, but his hand covers it.

“We are talking,” he murmurs.

I nod and pull his hand from my mouth before I turn from him and walk into my building. I don’t look back to make sure he’s following me. He is. I can hear his fancy shoes on the shitty flooring of the staircase. We climb the stairs in silence, and once I unlock the front door, I throw my purse down on the futon I didn’t sleep in and slump down into the cushions.

“You didn’t sleep last night,” he announces. I look up at him in confusion.

He’s wearing a pair of nice, straight legged, gray slacks, black leather shoes, and a black button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His tattooed forearms. My eyes scan his body and I notice he has some tattoos on his knuckles and his neck, too. When we met, he had a few on his chest and back, nothing major; but his body now appears to be covered in ink, and, Jesus, it’s hot as hell.

“I didn’t. How did you know?” I ask, trying not to look and lust after him.

“I rented the empty place across from yours. To keep an eye on you.” He shrugs and it sends a shiver up my spine.

“How long?” I ask.

“A few days. What was that asshole Green doing here? And why in the fuck did you kiss him?” he growls.

“First, I did not kiss him. He practically assaulted me. I kneed him in the nuts for it. I can’t stand that asshole. Second, he has a hard-on for you. He’s had a hard-on for you for a decade. He thinks he can get to you through me,” I offer with a shrug.

I’m not hiding anything from Kirill, not really. He said I would tell him what he wanted to know, and I will. There is no reason to hide anything from him. I figured out early on that Agent Ryan Green is certifiable, I was just too scared to try and find Kirill after I left.

“How do you know him then?” he asks. I sigh.

This conversation needs to happen. I wish it didn’t, but it does. He needs the truth. He deserves the absolute truth, and then I want my own answers from him. I want to know if Agent Green lied to me all of these years, or if what he’s been telling me is indeed true.

“I’ll tell you everything, but will you do the same? I have questions of my own. Will you answer them?” I ask.

Tatyana looks tired— still beautiful, but I know she did not sleep last night. I didn’t either. I couldn’t. I stayed in the empty shithole across from her apartment and I watched her.

I watched as she paced, as she cleaned and made Kiska breakfast.

I watched as she told our daughter about me, about meeting me.

I saw how happy Kiska was and how worried Tati looked.
I don’t blame her
. I would be worried, too; she
should
be worried.

Very worried.

I ponder her question as I walk over to her shitty futon and sit down.
Will I answer all of her questions?
Fuck no, I won’t.

So I lie.

“Yes, I’ll answer your questions,” I offer, indulging her.

I won’t answer them truthfully, but I’ll give her an answer if she so desires one.

“Are you in the Russian mafia?” she asks. I arch my brow.

“Is that what he told you?”

She pulls her full lips in, pressing them together, and then she flashes her green eyes at me. I see hesitation in them before she nods once.

“He scared me. He told me you were in the mafia and that you were dangerous,” she admits.

I can feel the rage bubbling to the surface.
I’m so fucking angry
. Not that he told her, but that she believed him and that it scared her. She knew me, the
real
me, the me that nobody else on earth has ever seen.

If anybody could trust me, it was Tati.

I have never loved like I loved her, and she shit on that.

“I am Russian
Bratva
. I was born into this life, Tatyana.” I say the words and watch as she nods once before her eyes look down at her twisted hands.

“I was only eighteen, Kirill. I was young and scared and I believed everything he said. He was the FBI. He knew things. He knew about me being pregnant. I was terrified,” she rambles. I can sympathize with her, but I still call bullshit on her decision.

“So you left and you pretended to kill yourself? That’s some major fucking strings you pulled, Tati,” I growl.

“
What
?” she breathes.

I don’t respond to her.

I wait.

Then I watch as her face scrunches up.

“You thought I constructed some elaborate suicide?” she asks. I must give her credit, she looks genuinely surprised. “Oh, my god.
Never
. Kirill, I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t,” she says, shaking her head as her eyes fill with tears.

Then, to my fucking astonishment, she launches herself into my lap. Her arms wrap around me and she buries her face in my neck. I feel the wetness slide onto my skin from her eyes.
Tears
. I remember this about her.
My Tati cried
. She felt deeply, and when she did, she cried.

It has been so long, I had forgotten.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around her and bury my fingers in her hair. Its soft, as it always was, and she feels good here in my arms. She shouldn’t. I should push her off, but having her here—it feels too good.

“There was a note,” I murmur. Her head snaps up and she looks at me with confusion.

“Never. I didn’t write a note when I left. Ryan told me I didn’t have time. I didn’t even pack a bag,” she informs me. For some reason, the only thing I can focus on is the informal way she used Agent Green’s name.

“Ryan?” I ask.

“Agent Green,” she confirms with a nod.

“When did he become
Ryan
?” I sneer.

“What?” she asks as she blinks.

“Did you fuck him?” I bark, pushing her from my lap as I stand.

“That is none of your business,” she says as she stands, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Her face is pink, but now it is not in sadness, but in anger.

“It is. You’re the mother of my daughter. It is one hundred percent my fucking business,” I growl, narrowing my eyes on her.

“So you haven’t had sex in ten years?” she asks, quirking a brow at me and smirking.

I want nothing more than to kiss that smirk off of her face, but I’m too angry right now.

“That’s irrelevant,” I grind out.

“So it’s irrelevant if you’ve fucked somebody else, but it’s relevant if I have? You’re such a fucking dick,” she mutters.

Her words spur me.

I charge toward her.

I watch as her eyes widen before she backs away from me and into the wall behind her. She’s in between the two windows that face the apartment I have rented. A look of sheer panic is written all over her face. I pick her up by her waist and bring her to my eye level, my nose practically touching hers.

“It is extremely relevant whose cock has been inside of my pussy. I thought you were dead.
You knew I wasn’t
. This pussy has been mine since you were eighteen. You didn’t have my permission to give it to another. So yes, it’s fucking relevant,” I growl before I take her lips in a hard, owning, bruising, fucking painful kiss. Her little hands hit my shoulders before they grip my shirt and pull me closer.

I shove my hips between her open legs as she wraps them around me. One of my hands leaves her waist and wraps around her breast. I squeeze the soft flesh roughly, bruising her, I’m sure; though I don’t give a flying fuck.

“Kirill,” she whispers breathlessly. My cock goes rock hard between my legs.

Fuck,
her breathy whisper is going to kill me.

She
is going to kill me.

“We fuck because you’re mine. It doesn’t mean I love you. It doesn’t mean we’re in a loving, caring relationship. It means I own your cunt,” I inform her.

“W
E FUCK BECAUSE YOU’RE
mine. It doesn’t mean I love you. It doesn’t mean we’re in a loving, caring relationship. It means I own your cunt.”

God, Kirill is such a prick.

A complete fucking asshole.