Expose' (Born Bratva Book 3) (24 page)

Logan

I’m startled when I’m awakened by Roksana nudging me. She places a finger to her lips and I know she doesn’t want me waking up Kodiak. I ease from the bed and put on the clothing she’s holding out for me. I wonder if this has something to do with the guy they caught cheating. The thought crosses my mind that a man may die tonight because of me. I console myself that they’ll probably just break his legs or something. Six months ago, a thought like that would never have entered my mind. Things have changed, to say the least.

I wait to put my shoes on and we tip toe from the room. If it wasn’t for the pain meds Kodiak had taken, he’d be awake. He’s a light sleeper. I’m certain it’s due to his line of work that he’s adapted to sleeping with one eye open.

I’m surprised when we exit the house and it isn’t Lukyan standing beside the black SUV to drive us. The man is clearly a bodyguard/driver but I’ve never met him. Roksana explains as if she knows what I’m thinking. “His name is Oleg. He’s my bodyguard and he’s as ruthless as his name implies.”

“Aren’t they all?”

“Oleg takes it to a whole new level. He’s a sadist. He enjoys torturing people. My father said I needed a ruthless mother fucker for a bodyguard because I’m so mean. He’s the nephew of Yafon.”

“Your father’s bodyguard?”

“Yes, Yafon has worked for Novak as well. Neither Yafon nor Oleg are as big as our other bodyguards but they’re twice as deadly. Both are trained in the art of torture. They never cease to amaze me with the different ways they come up with to make people talk. No one has ever been able to withstand an interrogation with them. Most are begging to die by the time they finish. There comes a point of pain that’s so intense it lures a victim into desiring death.

“Some bodyguards do the job and move on—not Oleg; he draws the torture out, playing with his victims like a cat with a mouse. He’s in love with me.” Her tone is so matter of fact I wonder if I’ve heard her correctly. When she continues I know I have. “Yes, he’s in love with me and I’m in love with taunting him emotionally with that knowledge. I suppose that makes me an emotional sadist.” We’re close enough to Oleg now for her to whisper in his direction, “Isn’t that right, Oleg?” Her body leans into him in a posture that is threatening yet sinfully seductive.

The man doesn’t even flinch as he looks down at her. I see the slightest glimmer of light in his eyes and I know he must enjoy the attention he gets. Attention in the form of a game is better than none at all when love or obsession is involved. It’s obvious there’s a chemistry simmering between these two that borders on dangerous. I don’t know if they’ve ever acted on it, but they’re clearly enjoying it.

We slide into the back seat and I sneak a peek at the tall, lanky man standing there with blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, much the same way Glazov wears his. His eyes are blue, too, but they’re not hard and cold like Glazov’s. This man’s eyes are dead, except for when they rake over Roksana and I see a spark there that suggests respect or maybe even adoration. How odd. For some reason, I’ve never really thought about Roksana being in a relationship. I’ve always seen her as strictly a worker in the organization—never as a woman with needs. I tease her when he closes the door. “Looks like someone has a crush on you.”

“I guess that’s why he insists on being my bodyguard.”

“He’s cute.”

“Don’t let his cuteness fool you, he’s one of the most dangerous men my father has on payroll. I’m even scared of him and I’m not scared of anyone but my father.”

I look up into the mirror and meet Oleg’s eyes. I’m forced to look away from a set of eyes that hold dark secrets I don’t care to know anything about. I wonder what his story is. Did he grow up in the streets with no family? Was he forced to survive on his own? I make a mental note to ask Roksana about him when we’re alone.

Roksana whispers in my ear as she meets his eyes in the mirror. “Beautifully dead eyes, huh?”

“You aren’t kidding.”

“I’ve never seen anything else like it. I think they’re kind of sexy. And they only come to life for me,” she says coquettishly, casting a sultry look his way. I sneak one more look in the rearview mirror and I see the snarl on his face he’s directing toward Roksana. She chuckles loud enough for him to hear her.

My god, is she baiting him? I hope she knows what she’s doing and when to stop. If she keeps this up, I’m afraid they’ll fuck each other to death.

I know in that moment she enjoys antagonizing the man who seems to be captivated with her. To put it bluntly, Roksana likes playing with fire. It looks like my friend has a nasty little addiction to adrenaline. If nothing else, she’s in the right line of work.

Logan

While Roksana uses the rearview mirror to silently taunt Oleg, I look out the car window and take in my surroundings.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” she answers in the tone she uses when she’s being evasive about something. I look out the tinted window made of bulletproof glass and see a blur of houses on stilts along the river, a design that offers some degree of security from the potential of flooding that plagues the area. Those with a love for the water have learned to adapt and make the necessary adjustments to be able to call these shores home.

As we go farther down the winding road, the scenery isn’t the only thing that takes on an air of solitude; the atmosphere does too. The deeper into the warehouse district we go, the more ominous the atmosphere becomes. The screams of a victim would never be heard out here in recesses of abandoned buildings and river banks. I realize we’re headed to the place I’ve only heard rumors about—the warehouse. The place enemies are taken for interrogation.

I gulp and can’t help but ask the question that burns in my mind, “Roksana, what will Glazov think if we’re here--”

She cuts me off with one look from those cold eyes that are so unnerving, as she says softly, “Our world turns only with Glazov’s wisdom and blessing.”

The fact that Roksana is taking me to a place known only to Bratva says volumes about my standing in this family. Though the shooting of Kodiak was a heinous act, it was the catalyst that prompted his family to accept me as one of their own. The funny thing about it is, I would never have left him alone there. I stayed because I wanted to. There was no thought of being accepted, only protecting Kodiak while he was injured and vulnerable.

The tires crunching over gravel pull me from my thoughts as we arrive at our destination. The road winding back toward the warehouse is lined with trees and only the headlights give any indication of our destination. I recognize the three SUVs, the standard black vehicles used by those who work for Glazov and I assume they’re the cars of bodyguards. The question remains: Who did they bring here to interrogate?

We exit the vehicle and follow behind Oleg, who makes his way to the door and punches in his security code to enter. We proceed down a long hallway that leads us into a large open room. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. By the time we’ve made our way to the center of the room they’ve adjusted enough for me to identify the two people trussed up to wooden chairs. Though Becky is unable to speak because she’s been gagged, I can see it in her eyes that she’s scared shitless. And the interrogation hasn’t even begun.

Roksana makes her way over to Becky and pulls the gag from her mouth. “You fucked up when you shot my brother.” She says it calmly, as if discussing the weather or some other trivial detail of everyday life. This is anything but, because I know today will mark a change in me, my life will never be the same.

Nothing binds two souls as one like the shedding of blood. I’ll carry the secrets of what I witness today to my grave. It’s odd how taking a life can cause two people to be linked together for a lifetime, neither wanting to reveal information because both parties have blood-stained hands.

Oddly enough, self-preservation overrides any mercy I feel for the woman seated in front of me. If given the chance, she’ll do anything to get rid of me. It’s either her or me, and everyone in this room right now knows it. Though I doubt they would be taking such drastic measures had the bullet veered and hit its intended target, they won’t be taking any chances on Kodiak being killed due to Becky’s delusional jealousy.

Roksana snaps her fingers in the direction of the bodyguards. One of them makes his way over to her, opening a wooden box from which she withdraws a 357 magnum. She pops the chamber open with the expertise of a woman who knows how to handle the large weapon. She reaches back in the box and retrieves one silver bullet. There’s a message in that one silver bullet and even though the body will be disposed of, the memory will remain with everyone in this room.

I find my mind wandering to literature of vampires and how they are killed with silver bullets and I wonder if that’s why she chose that form of torture—maybe as some odd message of the Glazov sixth sense that inhabits this cell of Bratva. Hell, this is all new to me. Maybe they’re known to their enemies by a silver bullet—a calling card of sorts.

“I only think it fitting that we play a game of Russian roulette—you know… with my heritage being Russian and all,” Roksana taunts Becky.

“Please, Roksana, don’t do this. The bullet was meant for that bitch, not your brother.” She tosses her head in my direction to signify me.

I gasp when the butt of the gun hits her in the mouth and splits it open like a piece of paper being torn. I’m shocked she isn’t spitting teeth out. The wound is laid open garishly, revealing fat cells and the wound promises to leave a lifetime scar -- if she manages to survive tonight.

“That
bitch
…may very well be my sister-in-law one day soon. You would do well to respect her.”

“Is this sorry son of a bitch the one who did the shooting?” This is the first time the man has been addressed and he’s quick to respond.

“She said he beat her up, that she was scared for her life!” the man shouts, not giving Becky time to lay the blame on him. These two are wasting no time throwing each other under the bus.

“And you believed her? Who helped you?” She gives him no time to answer and I hear a disruption in the back of the room. When I turn to see what it is, a young man is ushered in by two bodyguards. He’s clearly angry with the man being interrogated. “You mother fucker! You didn’t tell me I was gunning for Glazov’s son.”

Roksana gives the slightest nod and Oleg sits the man in a chair and walks behind him. Before the guy even knows what’s happening, Oleg grabs the top of his head with one hand and his chin with the other and, with masterful precision, snaps the man’s neck. Though he isn’t bulked up like the rest of the men who work for Glazov, he more than makes up for it with his…expertise and efficiency.

Oleg’s eyes stay fixed on the lifeless form for a moment until he slowly looks up at Roksana. His eyes go soft and I swear I hear her purr. These two are clearly in the business of killing together and they feed off of each other’s darkness.

Roksana abruptly focuses her attention on a darkened corner of the room where a massive shadow looms next to a door I hadn’t noticed until now. Her eyes narrow and she seems to be waiting for something.
A sign from above, maybe?
In the next instant she must get the signal she’s waiting for because a small smile touches her lips and she nods almost imperceptibly, then returns her attention to the matter at hand.

“Back to you.” With no warning Roksana pushes the gun in Becky’s mouth before she has the opportunity to clench her teeth, and pulls the trigger. Brain matter explodes from the back of her head. How in the hell did the chamber fall in line with that one bullet? She points the gun at the man who was caught cheating and shoots him between the eyes. “I lied. There was more than one bullet in the chamber.”

She directs her attention toward Natasha and smiles at her friend. Natasha, who entered the room unnoticed, now waits for instructions, much like a maid who would like to know if you want the bed linens turned down. “You know what to do, Tasha. We’ll see you back at the house.”

Natasha looks more like a sexy soccer mom than a cleaner. Her demeanor is nonchalant as she nods at Roksana and gets to work. To think she went through years of forensic training to master the ability to clean up Glazov’s messes is just another small detail that intrigues me about this family. They work together like a well-oiled machine, with a rhythm all their own. A dance of danger choreographed by the Pakhan and orchestrated perfectly by those who work for him. The streets will know—their enemies will know—even local law enforcement may know, but Natasha will ensure that there will be no proof linking Bratva to the deaths of three people inside these walls. There will only be whispers in darkened alleys, warnings to never cross Alexander Glazov.

The ride home is spent in silence. I saw things tonight I never would have imagined I’d ever be part of. The first hints of sunrise suggest the promise of a new day, with new secrets to keep. I hope Kodiak isn’t awake when I get home or I’m going to be the one answering a lot of questions.