Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5) (23 page)

Anastasia

The day I woke up and realized I would be taking on a new persona, I had assumed the worst, that my new life would be a living hell. I never counted on making friends, building relationships, or caring about the people who had taken it upon themselves to save my life by ending my old one.

These people are an odd bunch. They are ruthless and will stop at nothing to prevail against their rivals and stay on top. They are loyal; any one of them would take a bullet for me and I would do the same for them. And yet they wouldn’t hesitate to send me to a slow, painful death if they ever thought I had been less than loyal. Visions of that incinerator will be etched in my mind for years to come. It’s one thing to be able to kill someone and get away with it; quite another to reduce to ashes any trace that they ever existed.

Dmitriy and I are working surveillance together tonight, gathering Intel on the Venezuelan gang. We’re slouched down in his Hummer he nicknamed
Black Dragon
, as he looks through a pair of night vision binoculars.

“Hey, Dmitriy,” I say quietly. “Why’d you nickname this monstrosity ‘Black Dragon’?”

He never looks up; just remains focused on whatever it is he’s watching. “Because I’ve got the same thing tattooed on my back—you know, the whole martial arts thing. Any time you want to see it, baby, just let me know.”

“Are you hitting on me?” I ask as my heartbeat thunders in my chest.

He lowers the binoculars, giving me his full attention as he levels that seductive Latino heat right at me. “Damn straight,” he drawls.

“I have no intention of being one of your conquests.”

“So you just assume I’m a manwhore—yet if I made such assumptions about you, you’d think I was an asshole. Talk about double standards.” I’m shocked; the guy really does look offended. He has a point though.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just assumed a guy who looks like you…”

“Like what you see, do you?” he asked with a grin.

“You’re definitely easy on the eyes, yes.”

“Well, the feeling’s mutual. That whole bad-ass hit woman thing you’ve got going on is hot.”

“Yeah, Roksana had a blast making me over.” I’m glad it’s dark because I can feel myself blushing. That would be fine if it weren’t for the fact that I never blush, because I hardly ever get embarrassed. So the fact that I’m embarrassed in the first place is…well, embarrassing.

“Oh, I’m sure she did but that’s not what I’m talking about. Yeah, the new look is great, but I bet you’re sexy as hell first thing in the morning when you’re barefaced and your hair’s a mess.
That
, my friend, is
sexy
. But seriously, I’m impressed; you’ve managed to do something I’ve never seen anyone else do in all the years I’ve been here.”

“And what is that?”

“You’ve become Roksana’s friend.” He turns to me with a deep breath. “Listen, don’t fuck her over. She’ll make you suffer twice as bad if you make her feel foolish for trusting you.”

“Talk about double standards,” I grouse. “You’re just assuming I’m a backstabbing bitch who’s going to throw Roksana under the bus the first time I’m in a bad situation.”

“No…I’m stating facts. I don’t know you well enough to know what you’ll do in a jam.” He gives me a lingering look, then takes my hand and slowly strokes his thumb over my inner wrist. My pulse leaps against his skin, almost as if my heart recognizes his touch. His voice lowers seductively until it feels like we’re the only two people on the planet. “Like I said, I’d love to get to know you better. I’m pretty sure no one’s ever really known you before, have they?”

Unexpectedly, tears sting my eyes and I pull away, tugging my hand from his and blinking rapidly. He smiles softly as he shifts in his seat, giving me a little much-needed space before whispering, “Let me in, Anastasia. I’d like to get under your skin and look around. God knows you’ve gotten under mine.” With a wink, he raises the binoculars to his face once again.

“What do you see?” I ask him quickly, clearing my throat.

“Changing the subject, huh?” he chuckles. “That’s alright. I’ll know you better than you know yourself by the time I’m done. Intel…it’s what I do. Think of me as a student of human nature.”

“Well, as flattered as I am at the thought of being your next case study, right now I just want to know what’s going on in that house.”

“Just the usual gangbanger activity you’d expect to see at a flophouse: meth smoking, half-naked women, everybody drinking and talking shit, and let’s not forget the clichéd coffee table full of guns, drugs, and money.”

My inward groan escapes before I have an opportunity to filter it, recalling a number of drug busts my cop husband had told me about. “Meth heads are so unpredictable.”

“I hear you. Nobody likes an unstable, drugged-up psycho with an itchy trigger finger. So, when did you decide to get even with your scumbag husband?”

“Wow, talk about changing the subject. I guess it happened over a period of time. He was abusive, used to beat me over the littlest things.” I stumble over my words when I see his jaw clench and his lips press into a flat line. “Um, I tried to do things the right way and ask for help but all anyone ever did was cover up the abuse and blow me off. They just hoped I’d go away and leave them alone.

“After a particularly bad beating, I called the cops. They came to the house and told me I needed to let it go. They didn’t come right out and say it like that. They’d say things like: ‘
There’s no sense in leaving a bad report on his record. You really don’t want to tarnish your husband’s record. You’re only hurting yourself in the end if Internal Affairs gets involved—they’ll just start a witch hunt over a little argument you all had. He can’t support you if he has no job, he’d lose his pension, yadda yadda.
’ They convinced me it was in
my
best interest to stay.”

“So what did you do?”

“When I finally accepted that no one would help me, I knew I had to help myself. I decided it was better for them to believe they’d gotten through to me. I led them to believe I’d drunk the Kool-Aid. Then…I started fantasizing about killing the cops who wouldn’t help me. I’m not quite sure when it went from fantasy to reality but the transition was so easy that it seemed like it had been my reality all along. The urge to kill had been inside me all my life; I just needed to tap into it.”

“The way you executed it was sheer genius. And you’re right about being a natural born serial killer. If you’re going to do it and get away with it, might as well take credit for it. Coming up with writing
Cop Killer
in the victim’s blood at every crime scene was brilliant.”

“Thanks, I think. Should I be concerned about you? Using words like genius and brilliant when you’re referring to a serial killer could be seen as a little odd.”

“I already told you, I’m intrigued with the criminal mind. The criminal mind can be a thing of beauty, especially when it has noble origins. Righteousness, pure and simple. If you ask me, you’re the one who needs to come to terms with the fact that you enjoy the hell out of killing.”

His words cut to the quick and it isn’t because I wear my heart on my sleeve—I don’t. It’s because he’s right. I don’t feel remorse about any of the people I’ve killed. I’m glad they’re dead. They deserved it. I’m already looking forward to finding out who else will die by my hand.

Roksana

We cut the headlights as we pull up to Anastasia and Dmitriy’s hiding place by an abandoned house. They’ve managed to find cover on an overgrown grassy hill that will allow us to see straight into the gang’s house.

The Latino neighborhood is a mixture of those who journeyed to America to make an honest living and create a better life for their families, and those who pursue their version of the American Dream by peddling illegal drugs.

For some people, money is the answer to everything. For my family, money, power, connections, and respect—those are the things that keep us at the top of the food chain. It’s a constant battle to stay there because the scent of a single drop of blood will get the sharks circling, ready to take everything we’ve worked generations to build. It’s the reason we’ll die for what we believe in.

This gang fucked up when they stole those diamonds that had ties to Russia. As far as my father is concerned, it was a slap in the face—the ultimate show of disrespect. In our world, if you don’t deal with an enemy, you’re weak.

There are always rivals in the background observing how the competition responds to even a minor offense. Even though we have a peace treaty with Antonio Wayne, he wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of a perceived weakness to acquire Bratva territory or business interests. That works both ways; if you fuck with Russia, the Glazovs are going to take it personally.

We ease our way up beside Anastasia and Dmitriy.

“What’s up guys?”

Dmitriy answers without interrupting his surveillance—he’s glued to whatever it is he’s observing through those high dollar binoculars. He’s the best audio/visual technician my father’s got. “Oh, you know, the usual: drugs, twerking, shit talking, and guns.”

“Do we want to blow them up at once or have some fun picking them off one by one?” I ask. “The sooner we get rid of these parasites the quicker Father can get serious about the Russian diamonds being mined.”

I’ve never told anyone, but I worry that my father is tempting fate the longer he remains focused on his illegal businesses. I’m not naïve enough to believe he’ll ever go completely straight but distancing himself from the shadier stuff could mean a longer life for him. I try not to think too much about his mortality, but more and more, it’s hard not to.

Oleg’s hushed, malevolent voice sends a jolt of anticipation through me. “I say we have some fun. Let’s fuck with their heads.”

“How do we know what will work on them? How do we find out what they’re afraid of?” This time it’s Anastasia asking one of her perpetual questions.

Dmitriy seems intrigued with the direction the conversation is taking – and, interestingly enough, he seems more than a little interested in Anastasia.
Hmmm…

“I know for a fact that they’re quite superstitious,” Dmitriy begins. “You wouldn’t expect it because they’re so young, but this shit’s passed down from generation to generation, so even if they claim to not believe, trust me -- deep down, they do. Superstitions like belief in an underworld run incredibly deep in their culture, so messing with their heads shouldn’t be too difficult. What do you have in mind?”

“Keep it simple—use their imagination against them. I can show you better than I can tell you.”

Now he’s got me thinking. “Man, oh, man, are you ever giving me some ideas.”

Oleg continues, “By the time we’re through, they’ll be so paranoid that they’ll turn on each other. I want them looking over their shoulder, thinking everyone they encounter could be the enemy. I love a good mind fuck.”

We’re going to have some fun with this shit.