Dancing for the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 3) (7 page)

Why do I still want him?

Because I’m powerless when it comes to Kirill
.

Because I will never stop loving him. Not ever.

“No,” I say.

I’m not convinced myself, so I don’t know how I’m going to convince him I don’t want him. Not when his hard cock is pressing against my center, and all I can think about is him being inside of me.

How good I know he’ll feel there.

How I know he’ll unravel me with just the touch of his fingers.

“You don’t really have much of a say, Tati,” he murmurs as his lips touch just below my ear. “I’m back now, and you and Kiska are mine. This game is
over
.”

“What game?” I ask as my head thumps against the wall behind me. His lips travel the length of my throat, sending goosebumps all over my flesh.

“You thinking you can do as you wish. The second my baby was planted inside of you, it was over. Actually, it was over before that, you just didn’t know it yet.”

I open my mouth to ask him what he means, but his lips wrap around my breast from the outside of my shirt and he sucks my nipple, through my shirt and my bra, into his mouth. It’s hot and hard and
so good
.

It has been so long since I’ve been with anyone.

I haven’t been celibate for all of these years; that’s ridiculous. I haven’t slept with Ryan Green or the bartender at the club, either. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t scratched an itch here and there.

Kirill’s hand leaves the other side of my waist and travels up my thigh and my skirt, all the way to the lace of my panties. He tugs the center to the side before he slams two fingers inside of me and presses his thumb against my throbbing clit.

“Kirill.” I gasp his name as my hands go straight into his shaggy hair. He lifts his head and his dark gray eyes focus completely on me.

It’s frightening. He looks terrifying.

Kirill doesn’t say a word. His hand leaves my breast and I hear his belt clink before the sound of his zipper, then a whoosh of fabric. His hand leaves my body and is replaced by one hard thrust of his dick. I gasp at the intrusion—the size of him. I had forgotten how big he is, how full he makes me feel. How utterly perfect he is.

“Mine,” he growls as he wraps his hands around my thighs and widens my legs.

His hips move, pumping in and out of me, his sheer strength pinning me up against the wall. I keep my hands tangled in his hair as my eyes stay completely open and trained on his. He’s expressionless, his eyes void of all emotion, and it makes me so damn sad. Kirill’s eyes always told of his feelings. He was so open with me all those years ago, even if his words didn’t express his emotions, his eyes always did.

I yelp when his arms slide under my knees and he widens my legs even more, his hands pressing against the wall behind me and his eyes still fully focused on mine, still cold and dead. I shiver when he grinds his pelvis against me, then he stops—fully seated inside of me, his whole body freezes.

“You belong to me, Tatyana. Your body belongs to me. Your life as you knew it is over,” he announces.

“You cannot own me, Kirill. I am not your wife. I am not your woman,” I say in almost a whimper.

I
want
him to move. I
need
him to move.

“I do own you, Tati. I always have. If you run again, I will find you and I will drag you back to me. You won’t like how I do it, either,” he threatens. Considering the cold, dead look in his eyes, he is not fucking with me.

Kirill begins fucking me with purpose, with strength, and with an abundance of power. I can do nothing but hold on and accept his brutal force. My mind is spinning and my body is climbing toward its release.

When I come, it is massive. I cry out, screwing my eyes tightly closed as my pussy contracts around his thrusting cock. He comes a few moments later, filling me with his release after he buries his face in my neck.

I cry.

I’m unable to control the tears as they fall from my eyes.

He thinks he owns me, and doesn’t he? I’m in his presence for less than an hour, and I’ve already let him fuck me. The guilt of keeping his daughter from him for nine years is so great that I fear I will let him treat me anyway he wishes. Ignoring my heart, my own feelings, and my own worth just so that he has her and they are happy.

I have only ever wanted Kiska to be happy. I know with her father in her life, she will be. She will feel whole. I understand the desire, as my father left when I was a small child and a piece of me has been missing since.

“Do not cry, Tatyana. I may own you, but have you ever known me to mistreat you?” he asks as he slides out of my body and gently places me on my feet. I smooth down my skirt and look up at him before I shake my head.

“I am angry with you. I will probably be angry with you for a long while. But I will not abuse you. It isn’t me,” he announces.

“There are different types of abuse, Kirill,” I say quietly. He nods before he pulls his pants up and puts himself back together.

“Games are not my thing. I don’t want to trick you. You’ll be mine to fuck when I want. Kiska will be under my roof, and we’ll be the family we need to appear to be,” he says. I blink in confusion.

“And what, exactly, are our roles to each other, Kirill?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“You fuck no other man. You do whatever you wish, other than that. There are women you can befriend in my circle.” He waves his hand as if he is dismissing me. I straighten my spine.

“I don’t think that works for me. What will
you
do?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Whatever I want,” he chuckles. Then he narrows his gaze on me “You took my daughter from me, Tati. You’re lucky I’m giving you this opportunity. You’re lucky I still want your cunt and you’re useful to me. Otherwise, you would be gone and Kiska would be with her papa.”

“You don’t mean that,” I gasp in surprise.

“You knew me as a boy, Tati. I’m no longer a boy. I am a man, and Green did not lie when he said I was
Bratva
. I am. These tattoos you see, they tell my story. I am not a kind, gentle man. I am the highest ranking member in my area. I am in charge of hundreds of men. I am a
Pakhan
.”

His words are full of anger and his tone is daring me to defy him. I won’t. I’ll suck it the fuck up because I did bring this on myself. He’s right. I took his child away from him when I shouldn’t have.

Regardless of how young and scared I was, it still was not right. I let my fear guide me. I let my impulses take over, something I often did as a young girl before I became a mother myself. I hurt him and I hurt Kiska. Not anymore. I’ll shovel the shit he’s throwing my way, and hopefully he’ll see just how sorry I am and forgive me—one day.

“Okay,” I concede with a nod.

“First, we need to get that prick to leave you alone,” he grinds out.

I snort as I make myself busy by walking into the kitchen to cook. I have to do something. I have to keep my hands busy, or I’ll do something stupid, like wrap myself around him again.

“He’s been popping up off and on for the past ten years. I never know when,” I shrug as I take out bread and sandwich fixings.

“What information did you give him?” he asks. I sigh as I grip the countertop.

I was hoping I never had to go through this, hoping he would drop it all.

“Nothing. I had nothing to give him, Kirill. He frightened me. He told me things about you and about your line of work. He manipulated me. He promised that the FBI would keep me safe. When he truly discovered that even if I knew anything I would never tell him, then he cut off all funds coming to me from the government. He left me penniless with an infant. He…” I almost finish telling him the rest of my story, but I don’t. I stop. He doesn’t need to know. He only wants me for one thing, to fuck. He doesn’t really
care
.

“Finish,” he urges. I only shake my head as I place his lunch on a plate and hand it to him.

“Doesn’t matter. Just that’s why I started stripping. I was working part time at this little boutique, but when he cut off my supplemental income, I needed cash, and fast. I moved us here, to this much cheaper apartment, and I started dancing. Kiska was eight months old.”

“You like it? Dancing?” he asks. I take a bite of my food, thinking as I chew a few times.

“I don’t hate it. I could do without some of it, but it’s good money and I don’t have an education, so my options are limited,” I shrug.

“You didn’t finish college?” he asks, furrowing his brow. I throw my head back laughing.

“No, Kirill, I did not finish college. When I left, I killed my chances for any semblance of a normal life.”

Kirill doesn’t say anything else. We finish our lunch in silence. I have so many questions,
so many
. I don’t ask them, though. We aren’t real—he and I. What we are is this undefined thing, this relationship that is for appearances. I am to be his lover carnally and in public, but as far as friends go, we are not. It’s so confusing, and it hurts to think about.

It hurts to know that he wants me only to use me, and nothing else, especially when I have such fond memories of him. But he’s right. He is not the boy I love. He’s a man now, and the man is so very different from the boy I once knew.

“What does Kiska know of me?” he asks after I clean up our lunch.

“That we were very much in love and that she was made in love. She knows that it was unsafe for us to be near you for a while. I have not lied to her, but I have not been brutally honest,” I admit. He nods.

“Thank you for not hiding me from her,” he says. I smile.

“Will you whore me out, Kirill? Will you whore her?” I blurt out, recalling the conversation I had with Agent Green from earlier.

“Who in the fuck told you I would do that?” he shouts. It startles me. I shake my head once. He doesn’t need to ask, not really.

“That guy is a prick, Tatyana, and if you believed him, then you are a stupid bitch,” he announces. My hackles rise.

I will take his shit, but I will not take him calling me a bitch for something like this.

“Well, he didn’t lie about you being part of the Russian Mafia, Kirill. He told me that two of your men were given their wives as some kind of paid debt. He told me that one of them, his sister was sold at the age of twelve as a sex slave. Was he wrong about all of it?” I yell.

“You tread on thin ice, Tati,” Kirill warns. He doesn’t answer me, and that omission tells me all I need to know.

“I have a nine-year-old daughter; do I need to worry about this?” I ask, lowering my voice.

“My daughter is a
Printsessa.
She will never be a whore,” he grinds out between clenched teeth.

“Will she be bartered in marriage?” I ask, quirking a brow.

“If she is, it will be a good match.”

Without thinking, without recalling his warning from the night before, I reach out in heated anger and I slap him.

The only thing I can think about is that he will take away my daughter’s right to choose her own husband, her own future. In so many words, he will indeed whore my baby out.

Quick as lightning, his hand comes out and the back of it slashes across my face, sending me to the ground. I close my eyes and I wait for more.

“Do not test me, Tatyana. I will be back when it is time to get Kiska from school. You no longer have rights to make decisions on your own. Your reign as the head of your household is now over. It would be in your best interest to comply and not fight me. I warned you if you struck me again you would not enjoy the consequences. You better learn how to control your Russian temper a bit better,” he chuckles before he steps over me and walks away, quietly closing the door behind him.

I stay in the middle of my floor, my hand covering the place where he backhanded me. It doesn’t hurt too badly. He wasn’t too ruthless; I have a feeling he could have hit me about a hundred times harder.

This was my warning
, his proof that he was not just giving me an idle threat before. He meant it. If I hit him again, I will not like the consequences of my actions. I feel like a child. I feel like I have lost a piece of myself as well.

My freedom is over
.

I used to dream of him finding us and taking us to wherever he was.

Now I dread it
.

Dreams turned into realities are not always how we envisioned them to be.

I have hurt her.
Hit
her. I hate myself a little more in this moment. I had to leave. I have no friends that I can call, since we are all keeping a low profile. Communication is minimum with the FBI on our asses.

Agent
fucking
Ryan
fucking
Green—
pain in my ass
.

I decide to call the only man I know that I can truly, one hundred percent trust. He needs to know what I have discovered, anyway. He
deserves
to know what I have discovered.

“Hello,” his voice is raspy, probably with sleep. I did not think of the time difference, but I do not care.

“I have found her,” I murmur.

It is close to midnight and the old man must have been dozing off.