Read Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5) Online
Authors: Suzanne Steele
Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5)
Kindle Edition
©Deadly
©Born Bratva Series
Copyright © 2013 Suzanne Steele
Published by Suzanne Steele
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of Fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales, are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademark status of various products and locales referenced in this fictional work, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover photo © Dollar Photo Club
Cover Copyright © Suzanne Steele
Edited by Eda Price Editing
Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations
Formatting by Suzanne Steele
Thank you for downloading this e-book.
Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.
All content herein is protected under copyright law.
This e-book is Rated 17+
To the Reader
The men I write about are Alpha males in every sense of the word. They are the men society warns us about. They are dominant males with controlling tendencies. They are the men you know you should stay away from, and yet
you are drawn like a moth to a flame.
If you are looking for a sweet romance, you won't find it here. What you will find is dark passion. Many times my heroes carry what would be considered an obsession for the women they love. Each and every character I create has demanded their voice be heard. I have been true to that calling and I have stayed true to their personalities, which at times the reader may not always agree with. They are dark, they are gritty, and many times their love is dysfunctional but, nonetheless, it is real.
Stalk Me…
Suzanne Steele’s Blog:
http://suzannesteelesblog.wordpress.com/
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https://twitter.com/Suzanne_Steele_
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https://www.amazon.com/author/suzannesteele
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Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I want to thank God; without him none of this would be possible.
I want to thank my family, who carry the weight of everything so I can write. I love you guys and I couldn’t do what I do without you.
I want to thank Eda Spivey Price, my editor, who came at a time when I needed her most. Eda, you are a Godsend and I will forever be grateful to you for believing in me at a time when I wanted to give up. You were just what I needed to keep writing and pursuing my dream.
Table of Contents
Roksana
I’ve always known I’m fucked up. I’m certain some professionals would consider me to be a psychopath. But I’m not. Psychopaths are manipulative, they feel no remorse, they experience pleasure from someone else’s pain.
Well…okay, maybe I have a few psychopathic tendencies, like my love for violence. But psychopaths are incapable of forming bonds with others, and that’s just not me. Just because I enjoy the darker side of my line of work doesn’t necessarily mean I’m unable to feel empathy; I’m just selective about it. For that reason, I prefer the term sociopath.
My Bratva family has my whole heart and my loyalty. But outsiders? They get nothing. I see no reason to exert emotional energy on people I may end up killing one day. I interact with people socially and I can fit right in behind the white picket fences of society’s expectations. But in reality, any white picket fence of mine would probably be covered in bloody handprints. I love the blood-stained jobs I carry out for my Pakhan; the man who also happens to be my father.
In a normal family my love of violence would be seen as a problem, something to cover up by whatever means necessary – because, after all, image is everything. In my family we just don’t give a fuck about image. What we
do
give a fuck about is instilling terror in the heart of our adversaries. Respect. Loyalty. That’s what we care about. That’s what’s important in our world.
My father is proud of his children and he’s a smart enough man to use each of his children’s unique traits to his advantage. I guess he knew I was different when he saw how enthralled I was when one of his soldiers almost beat a man to death in my presence. I can remember it like it was yesterday because, for me, it was the day I came to a crossroad. It was the day I decided I wanted to not only work for my father but to be his hand of justice. It was also the day I met the man I’m to marry. I can’t help but smile as my mind drifts back to the memory.
My heart thunders in my chest when I hear them enter the building. I managed to ditch my brothers tonight and snuck out of the house so I could be here at my father’s warehouse. There will be hell to pay when my little white lie is discovered, but for now I want to watch what’s about to happen. I’ve listened to my brothers talk about Father’s infamous warehouse where our enemies are tortured and now I want to see it for myself.
I could have asked him to let me watch but I just couldn’t take the chance of him saying I’m too young to witness such brutality. At sixteen years old, I’m far beyond my years but when you grow up in a family like mine…you don’t remain a child for long. My parents are the best parents in the world as far I’m concerned but when you’re born Bratva, innocence doesn’t fit into the equation.
From my position at the top of the rickety stairs, I have a perfect view. A stranger accompanies my father into the room. He’s tall—maybe 6’3 and solidly built with a lean but muscular frame. He wears his long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail the same way my father does. I can’t see what color his eyes are but I’d be willing to bet they’re blue because I have a feeling he’s Russian and that tends to be the case in many of our descendants. There’s no way I can know that, in a matter of moments, I’ll begin a journey with him that will last a lifetime.
My body begins to tremble with excitement as I settle in to watch what I know is the beginning of a torture session. The men’s voices pull me in and I strain to listen, not wanting to miss one word of what’s being said. My father is the first to speak to the man whose arms and legs are now bound tightly to a straight back wooden chair.
“You think you can attempt to force yourself on one of the women who works for me and there will be no repercussions? That I would allow such a thing?”
“The bitch is lying. I never fucking touched her.”
“Ahh, I see…so you’re saying Oleg is a liar.”
That must be the tall stranger’s name, Oleg. I resist the urge to say it and see how it feels rolling off my tongue. I watch the man to see how he reacts to what my father says and he’s completely unreadable. Even though their victim who’s tied to the chair is vigorously shaking his head no at my father’s accusation, Oleg simply stands there with his hands clasped at his waist as if he’s awaiting my father’s instructions. Most of the men who work for my father would show some kind of response, but not this guy—he’s completely un-fucking-readable.
“Oleg… Are you a liar?” my father asks, sounding appalled that this was a possibility he should have thought of earlier. He has a way of turning shit around on people and my chest feels warm with pride as he turns his prowess on the man they’re interrogating.
“Never when it comes to you, my Pakhan.”
Their victim suddenly changes his story. It’s the first hint of just how dangerous this Oleg guy is. The man is clearly scared to call him a liar.
“Okay, okay, I probably was a little pushy. But I didn’t mean no harm.”
My father’s response is so fast that I never see it coming. The blood spurting from the deep cut on the man’s lip gives evidence to the fact he’s been back-handed by the Pakhan. My heart races as the violence escalates.
“You stupid motherfucker! If you enjoy being rough with a woman, there is no shortage of women who like that shit. But…to have the audacity to try and force yourself on one of my employees, in my establishment, is just plain stupid. You’ve not only disrespected her, you’ve disrespected me.”
“She’s no saint, boss. That woman gets around.”
“You know, if I’ve learned anything in my line of work it’s that you can’t reason with a man who can’t see the error of his ways.”
My father barely nods at Oleg, who proceeds to remove his suit coat and his cufflinks, placing the latter in his trouser pocket. He takes his time rolling his shirtsleeves up, never giving heed to the man’s tears or his pleas for mercy.
I’m half expecting him to begin brutally beating the man, as is common practice among the other men who work for my father, when he turns them loose on someone. Oleg is different. He’s taking his time, like he wants to savor the kill.
Oleg squats in front of the man and takes one of his fingers, gently holding it almost as if it were a child’s. He slowly runs his long fingers over the digit, studying the anatomy of the man’s hand. The victim’s screams resonate off the warehouse walls when Oleg effortlessly breaks the finger at the first joint, then the second, then at the knuckle where it connects to his hand. I squeeze my legs together as I attempt to ward off the unfamiliar feelings this sadistic man brings out in me.
I’m so engrossed in the scene playing out before me that I’m not paying attention when my father leans in and whispers something in Oleg's ear. It isn’t until they both turn toward me and look up that I realize they’ve seen me. Son of a bitch…
My father’s eyes sparkle with cold amusement, but Oleg’s eyes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen before —they’re dead, vacant. It’s as if the man is nothing more than an object, like a filing cabinet or an office chair.
“My daughter, Roksana…she is intrigued with violence, or perhaps just with you.”
I look for some sort of reaction on Oleg’s face but there’s nothing to give me a hint of what’s going on in his mind.
“Get down here, girl!”
“Shit!” I mutter under my breath as I bend down and slide my four-inch heels back on; no need to worry about making noise now. My father scares the shit out of me. I never know how he’s going to react and we both know I’m not supposed to be here.
I trudge down the steps and cross the cement floor, my footfalls echoing in the cavernous space. Standing in front of my father, I mentally ready myself as he scans my face thoughtfully. My father has a way of reading people’s body language – hell, I think he can read people’s minds. And when it comes to his kids, he misses nothing.
“I’m glad you’re intrigued with Oleg’s sadistic nature.” His eyes mock me as he continues. “I’ve assigned him to a new job – he’ll be watching over you. He will be my eyes where you are concerned. You know I am always watching, little one.”
“Father…I don’t need a bodyguard,” I huff indignantly as I slam my hands onto my hips and scowl. I briefly glance over at Oleg, suddenly aware of my desire to maintain my dignity in front of this stranger. I clear my throat and straighten my posture, resting my arms loosely at my sides. I’m going for ‘impassive’ but I have no idea if I succeed.
My father raises a sardonic brow as if he’s just waiting for me to challenge him on this decision. I immediately lower my gaze.
“I thought so.”
That’s how it is with my father; it’s his way, or no way. I look up at him through long lashes – after all, I am still very much his little girl -- and see that he’s now focusing his attention on Oleg.
“Oleg, meet my daughter, Roksana. As her personal bodyguard, your life’s mission from this day forward is to take care of her.” My father chuckles as he continues. “I don’t envy you—Roksana can be quite a handful.”
I take stock of my new bodyguard -- his direct yet respectful eye contact, and reverent but firm voice as he speaks to my father.
“You have my word, my Pakhan—I will guard her with my life.”
Then he turns that dead stare on me, and for the first time in my life I’m afraid of someone other than my father. My life just got a hell of a lot more complicated.