Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5) (10 page)

Oleg

I wait until I pull out into traffic before I lock eyes with Roksana in the rearview mirror. It never gets old, the games she plays to taunt me.

“So Oleg, do you plan on putting one of those rocks you’re confiscating tonight on my finger?”

“How fitting…a stolen diamond for the woman who stole my heart. Yes, Roksana. I’m going to put the biggest one on that ring finger of yours. That way, the world will know I own you.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s not like I’m having you collared. Although, I can have a diamond collar made, if you’d prefer. I’d certainly enjoy seeing you collared as mine.”

“Like hell. You know how I feel about being a little Bratva wifey.”

“You’ll be
my
wife. We’ve discussed this; as my wife, you will have your choice of paths in life.”

“Well, it’s good to know I’ve got your attention.”

“You have had my attention ever since the first day I laid eyes on you in that warehouse.”

“You definitely had mine. I had never seen anything like you before. When you started working on that guy, it got me so wet.”

“Roksana...”

“It’s true, baby. Nobody else can break fingers with that kind of effortless finesse. It made me imagine all the things I wanted you to do to me someday with those hands.”

“I’m right here, you guys…” Anastasia groaned impatiently.

“I could see it in your eyes even then, but I couldn’t do anything about it,” I say, ignoring Anastasia’s discomfort with our verbal sparring. “But you were too young; it made me feel like a pervert. Finesse?” I ask with a grin. “I suppose you could call it that. The difference is that I’m specially trained in torture; most of the men who work for your father are just bodyguards. I know every nerve ending in the human body—I’ll be glad to show you sometime.”

“I’m pretty sure you already have,” she smirked. “You know, I’ve never thought about it but you went from being an interrogation specialist to a bodyguard, just for little ole’ me.”

“Well, if you’re insinuating I took a demotion, I have to disagree. Bodyguards put their lives on the line every day. By the time I get to someone they’ve usually been taken captive already. All I have to do is make them talk.”

“Bullshit. You’re being humble, baby. We both know you prefer to kidnap your targets yourself. Nobody does your legwork for you. Your training was far more intensive than what a bodyguard undergoes. You could easily have seen protecting me as a demotion.”

“Baby, the best thing that has ever happened to me was when your father tucked you under my wing. Watching over your crazy ass has pushed my limits like nothing else could. Your father nailed it when he said you’re a handful. You keep me on my toes, girl, and I have to admit, I love it.”

“Far be it from me to ever allow you to become bored with me.”

“Never going to happen. I don’t think
you
even know what you’ll do next. That’s why I’m here. I’m the only man who has the ability to
bodyguard
you effectively.”

“I know that’s right.”

The banter is all part of the game and I’m a willing participant. She’s perfect and she’s mine.

My mind switches gears to business and I direct my attention to Anastasia. “We’ll park out here in the woods. Anastasia, go up to that cabin and knock on the door like you’re having car trouble. Work your magic. Show some leg, let him sneak a peek down your shirt. If a guy thinks he’s going to get laid, he’ll let his guard down. Now, chances are the drugs will clear his memory of what goes down tonight, but sometimes there are fleeting memories and impressions afterwards that could cause problems, so we need you to set him up and distract him so his focus is on meeting you. Just in case. We only need you to stall for a few minutes so we can secure the perimeter, then we’ll join you inside.”

“No problem.”

She gets out of the car, tugging at her short skirt to straighten it over her ass. Men are predictable creatures. I know this, being one myself. If they think they’re going to get lucky they forget about anything else—even three million dollars’ worth of diamonds.

Roksana

I’m quickly becoming convinced that Anastasia has what it takes to become a hardcore Bratva assassin. For starters, she doesn’t shy away from doing what needs to be done, no matter how unpleasant or bloody it gets. And secondly, I did a damn good job on her makeover, if I do say so myself – which I do. She’s sexy as fuck, which makes her my secret weapon for situations like this one.

“Let’s get this party started.” Oleg winks at me in the rearview mirror. I can already feel my blood pumping the life-giving adrenaline I crave; it’s my drug of choice.

As we exit the car, I slide a bullet into the chamber of my gun.

“We’re not supposed to kill anyone,” Oleg comments.

“We’re not supposed to die either.”

He grins and says, “I don’t think we have anything to worry about, considering the way your friend is working that guy over.”

Anastasia is doing her job, ingratiating herself to the sweaty, overweight fuck who’s guarding the building. Her lips are close to his ear as she leans in, pressing her breasts into his side. No doubt she’s promising him a good time. Judging by the growing bulge in his pants, I’d say he believes her.

Anastasia

As I lean forward to whisper suggestively in his ear, I nearly gag at the overwhelming odor of garlic that clings to the security guard’s sweaty skin from whatever he had for dinner. I grit my teeth and step closer, trying not to breathe as I press my breasts into his side. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other tips me off balance just enough for me to stumble convincingly. He reaches out to grab my arms to steady me, obviously feeling like a big, strong man, and I rub up against him like a cat.
Just how far am I expected to go with this guy to buy some time and get inside the building?

As if the forces of nature are on my side, I hear a clap of thunder. Dark clouds start rolling in that weren’t there just moments ago.

“So,” I say, my voice husky and low, “it looks like we need to get inside before it starts raining. There’s no tellin’ how long it’ll take for the tow truck to get here. You mind if I wait inside with you?” I roll my hips against him, breathing a sigh of relief that my current position at his side keeps me from having to deal directly with the erection I know is pressing against the front of his pants. “I mean, a girl could get mighty…wet…out here.” I cringe at my corny B-movie dialogue, but he eats it up.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas of things for you to do while you wait.” He turns to face me and grabs my ass roughly with both hands, yanking me hard toward him. He bunches the hem of my skirt up and slides his fingertips between my cheeks, humming deep in his throat as he grazes my asshole through my thong. My skin crawls with revulsion at his touch and it takes every ounce of discipline I can muster to force myself to melt against him and not knock his hand away and snap his skinny neck.

“Mm-mmm,” I purr as I pout and bite my lip like an overzealous porn star. “Feels sooo good. Oh, baby, I want whatever you want…” I press closer to him as convincingly as I can and roll my eyes when he grunts eagerly in response. I finger the syringe in my pocket as a reminder that I won’t have to put up with this sweaty slob’s groping hands on my ass much longer.

Finally, he reaches behind him and unlocks the front door of the warehouse, opening it and shuffling us inside until he has me against a concrete wall. He tilts his head and lowers his open mouth toward me but I avert my face at the last second and his pungent, sopping wet lips land on my jaw and slither down the side of my neck instead.
Fuck…How do you get garlic off your skin? Lemon, maybe?

He widens his stance and positions me between his legs. I had expected his big ol’ beer gut to keep me a safe distance from anything important, but he hikes up my skirt again and clutches my ass, pulling me up and inward until I’m on my tiptoes with my pubic bone pressed firmly against his crotch.

His white-knuckled, kneading grip on my ass tightens even more when he pulls my cheeks apart to slide his pudgy middle finger along my crack, probing and searching for his ultimate goal.
Great, I finally go undercover and my mark has an anal fetish. Lucky me…

When he attempts to penetrate my puckered hole through my thong, that’s it, I’m done. If Roksana and Oleg need me to stall for more time, too bad. I pull the syringe from my pocket and position it in my hand, moving cautiously so as not to drop it – I’ll only have one chance to get this right. As he frantically begins dry humping me, the revolting bulge in his pants lets me know I have him right where I want him. I don’t have to fake the throaty moan that rolls from my lips as I fight the urge to gag.

I aim the syringe at the side of his neck and shove it in, knowing the drug will take effect faster that way. He lifts his head and frowns down at me as I push the plunger in, releasing the drugs into his system.

“Get your disgusting, fucking hands off me,” I hiss as I slice my knee up between his legs, striking an incredibly satisfying direct hit in his crotch. One high-pitched shriek and two stumbling steps later, and he’s face planting on the floor.
Damn, I hope I didn’t give him too much. We can’t frame this shit on a dead guy.

I yank my skirt down and step out of the way as Roksana and Oleg burst into the room. Guns in hand, they secure the door to keep prying eyes away.

“Ana--” Roksana begins haltingly.

“We will never speak of it,” I say tersely. “Ever.”

She gives me a curt nod and we split up to search for the diamonds. The thunder that was rumbling in the distance only a few minutes ago has now turned into a full-blown storm. Eerie bursts of lightning that pierce the darkness illuminate the dirty warehouse windows and cast long shadows on the walls.

As I step around a corner, the last thing I expect to see is another guard. I’m momentarily nonplussed until I see Oleg coming around the opposite corner. I place my finger to my lips to alert him and point in the direction of the office. The guard is asleep with a basketball game playing on the small TV on his desk. It’s obvious this guy isn’t a professional. It’s almost too easy, really.

He never sees Oleg charge him from behind and wrap his forearm around his neck, pressing down on his carotid until he passes out. He’s out long enough for me to cuff his hands with his own handcuffs -- that’s got to be some kind of mark of shame for a security guard.

“Oleg? I know what you’re thinking—I can see it in your eyes,
lapochka
,” Roksana says as she approaches Oleg, sliding her hands up his chest only to drag her nails back down his pectorals, eliciting a growl from deep in his throat. His eyes do indeed look different now; they’re darker, even more malevolent. His pupils are dilated as he stares at the now handcuffed guard on the floor.

“You want to do bad, bad things to this one, don’t you, my delicious beast,” she coos, her hand disappearing and dipping low between their bodies. Her elbow moves in a barely discernable rhythm as she cups his groin. “Only if I can watch,” she purrs as he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, his chest heaving. I avert my eyes from what appears to be a massive, raging erection under her hand. With a squeeze and a giggle, she saunters away from him to kneel on the floor by the guard.

“Wake up, motherfucker!” Her slap across his face is enough to rouse him into a semi-conscious state. “I want those fucking diamonds.” That’s Roksana, never one to mince words.

“Wha--?” he shakes his head as he struggles to clear his head and speak. Another cracking slap from Roksana alerts him to his dire circumstances.

“They’re in the safe and I don’t have the combination. We were hired to protect the warehouse. We’re not part of this outfit. As far as they’re concerned, the less we know, the better.”

“Better for them, maybe – not for you. You’re going to be sorry you didn’t give me those numbers because now,” she says with a nod in Oleg’s direction, “you have
real
problems.”

Oleg’s face radiates pure evil. I’m not at all repulsed by it—I am, however, curious to know how he thinks he’s going to get the combination from the unwilling security guard. I don’t have to wait long to find out.

He takes what looks like a small torch from the inside pocket of his jacket. He lights the torch and waves it in the air, seemingly entranced by the blue flame’s dance of seduction. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Oleg has a fire fetish. He brings the flame close enough to the man’s skin to singe the thick tufts of dark hair that cover his forearm. As Oleg holds the torch in place, the smell of burnt hair is joined by the unmistakable stench of burning flesh.

“I swear, I don’t know the combination!” the guard shrieks repeatedly as he struggles against his restraints, trying in vain to escape the flame.

“If you aren’t going to tell me what I want to know, I see no need for you to continue talking,” Oleg says smoothly as he extinguishes the flame and saunters over to stand in front of Roksana. Her luminous eyes gaze up at him hungrily and her breathing is shallow.
Wow, foreplay much?

Although Oleg’s voice is barely above a whisper, I can still hear what he’s saying to his partner in crime. “We will stow the safe in the SUV and open it back at the house. I know we said we weren’t killing anybody but I’ll take the blame for doing it. I think Glazov will see things my way when I explain why I chose to go with a Colombian necktie.”

“Are you trying to start a war with the Colombians?” she hisses with a scowl.

“The Colombians aren’t the only ones known for that.”

“No, but it’s their signature.”

“Let’s get the safe, drug the guard, and get the fuck out of here,” he whispers insistently. His next words are louder and I know he wants the man to hear him. “I’ll make a deal with you. If this guy gives me the combination, then I won’t give him a Colombian necktie. Although I am out of practice and had been hoping to have a go at it tonight.”

Before Oleg can ask him for the combination again, the guy blurts it out.

“Twenty-six, seven, thirty-eight! That’s the combination, twenty-six, seven, thirty-eight!” From that point on, he makes no sense, just blubbering and talking incoherently, clearly overcome with fear and the desire to survive. As it happens, this is his lucky night – at least, until his crew finds him in the morning.

“Now, see…that wasn’t so hard,” I say as I approach him from behind. I take another syringe from my pocket and raise my eyebrows at Roksana, offering her the opportunity to do the deed. She smiles serenely and gestures with her outstretched hands, as if to say, “By all means, please proceed.” I inject the Special K into his neck. Both men remain unconscious as we get to work emptying the safe of its contents.

“Get the documents too,” Roksana calls out.

“They’re probably fake but I’ll grab them anyway. Might as well,” Oleg mutters as he grabs the folder full of paperwork and the black felt bags containing the diamonds. We’re gone before anyone realizes they’ve been robbed – and, hey, nobody died.

I wait until we’re back in the car to ask Roksana, “What’s a Colombian necktie?”

She laughs as she replies, “The Colombians are some hardcore, brutal motherfuckers but, I have to say, they do approach their work with a certain flair for the dramatic. They slice somebody’s throat and then reach in and pull the tongue out through the slit. Oh, you’d be amazed how long a tongue really is. It’s usually done to a snitch or someone who has been running their mouth too much. Sometimes it’s just a way to tell their enemies ‘The Colombians were here’.”

“And you two didn’t want them getting the blame for it because you have a peace treaty with them.”

“Right. There are very few people I avoid having as enemies -- Ricardo and his little brother, Antonio Wayne, are at the top of the list.”

“Why?”

“Because they take crazy to a whole new level.” She sends a heated gaze Oleg’s way as she says, “Antonio Wayne and Oleg have much in common.”

From the way Oleg’s jaw tightens and his nostrils flare, I don’t think he appreciates the comparison or the implication that she would find anything about this Antonio Wayne guy remotely attractive.

“Why do you say that?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me despite the low growl emanating from the Russian in the driver’s seat.

“He’s trained in the art of torture and he’s a sadist. Every organization has that one person who
enjoys
their interrogation sessions more than the rest. You can’t train someone to be sadistic—they’re either born that way or they’re not. A good leader capitalizes on his people’s innate gifts. My father is the best at assessing someone’s personality and their abilities and putting them in jobs they can excel at.”

“What do you excel at?”

“I’m a chameleon—I’m whatever my father needs me to be.”