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

It doesn’t matter how much makeup I use or how much leg I show, I don’t think I’m going to fit in here and, at this point, I have no desire to ever come back. Looks like I might be finding a different topic for my article.

Kodiak

I’m lying on my bed smoking a cigarette and, I swear, it feels like I brought Logan Ludwick home with me. The impact she had on me tonight isn’t something I’m accustomed to and I don’t like it. Never have I been so intrigued by a woman. The smoke swirls and up and around lazily, much the same way my thoughts are meandering right now. I’ve got a couple of rules that have worked well for me up until now: I don’t date women who work for my father and, well…I don’t date, period. I fuck, I move on. Simple. It eliminates the drama that comes with having a steady woman.

There is too much drama in my life already for me to ever consider adding a woman to the mix. And why would I? In my line of work, the caliber of woman you choose can be a matter of life and death – her death, maybe even yours. There are the sluts that circle Bratva members like the gold digging whores they are. And then there are the good girls, Bratva princesses who might as well wear a chastity belt locked up by daddy himself – that is, until daddy chooses their husband, usually a strategic move to align families or claim territory. And then there are women like my mother.

As far as I’m concerned, my mother is a queen among women – loving and devoted to her family, unflinchingly loyal to my father and Bratva. She is also hard as steel and more than willing to spill the blood of anyone who crosses a member of our family or betrays the Bratva way of life…or makes the mistake of casting a hungry glance my father’s way. She has kept my father enthralled with her charms all these years, and that’s saying something. Their bond is deeper than anything I’ve ever seen. It’s an unconventional relationship with jagged edges that are their business and no one else’s, but rumor has it that she bewitched Glazov all those years ago and he’s not looked at another woman since. Sometimes I can almost believe it.

I chuckle to myself as I think back on my interaction with Logan tonight. I’m willing to bet she isn’t used to wearing much makeup, and she nearly tripped in those four-inch heels every time she tugged on the hem of that tiny little dress. She was so out of her element, her innocent nature shone like a fucking beacon and, yeah, it was sexy as hell. I deliberately put her in a cab and sent her home so I could follow her -- well, so Lukyan and I could follow her. He didn’t like it when we pulled up to the dorm and I wouldn’t let him go with me.

“I don’t like it, boss.”

“That would be my father.”

“Yes, boss.”

I just shook my head and got out, following her at a discreet distance. Stalking is in my nature, it goes with carrying the Glazov name. After all, I learned from the best—my father. I watched as she let herself into her dorm, and waited on the sidewalk until I saw her light come on. And I waited until she appeared at the window to close the curtains. Good girl. Wouldn’t want anyone loitering on the sidewalk to see anything they shouldn’t see. Just the thought of someone catching a glimpse of all that creamy skin sets my teeth on edge so I head back to the car, deliberately unclenching my fists and blowing out a deep breath. Lukyan wisely chooses not to question the scowl that remains on my face during the silent drive home.

I head over to my desk and boot up my laptop. I was going to do this tomorrow but my head’s swirling with too many questions to wait. I’ve got Lukyan doing a background check on our newest Black Jack dealer – she didn’t officially accept the job but I see that as a minor detail. In the meantime, I want to check out a few things on my own. Oh, I do love the internet. It’s a fucking stalker’s heaven to be one Google search away from finding out whatever I need to know— and right now I need to find out more about the lovely, elusive Logan.

I type in her name and the first thing that comes up is her track star fame.
That suits you. You strike me as a runner in more ways than one -- the way you kept getting out of that chair, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. You couldn’t get out of there fast enough tonight, baby. Maybe you bit off a little more than you could chew. We’ll see what we can do about that.

Next I click on the link to the Ballard High School website.
Blah, blah, blah, first and second place at the Louisville Science Fair. Not what I’m looking for.

I click over to the Track and Field archives page and find her listed under the 300m hurdles. I sit back and watch a video of her, a long, brown braid flying behind her as she takes the hurdles one by one, smooth as silk. It’s easy to see why she won the scholarship that has her attending University of Louisville. The girl can run like the wind and jump like a gazelle. I stare at her as she bends at the waist to catch her breath at the finish line. Her body is a combination of sleek, lean muscle and an almost feline grace -- the opposite of what I usually go for.

My past is full of one-night stands with women who don’t expect any more than that. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I felt up a natural breast. In my world, women generally think more is more, and they’re willing to pay for it – or find a man who will. But just the thought of getting up close and personal with those succulent little perky tits of hers has me shifting in my chair as I adjust my cock. Yeah, I want this one—badly.

By the time Lukyan and I finish gathering Intel on her, I’ll know the brand of make-up she uses and how she likes her eggs. Nothing will be hidden from me. She’s up to something and she’s so far out of her league. Problem is, I don’t think she realizes it. The fact that she has no idea what she’s getting herself into is a complete turn-on for me, but it’s a potentially deadly tightrope she’s walking. If I don’t look out for her she could very well end up dead. That bothers me more than I really care to admit, but, hell, there it is. So I’ll be watching and waiting. Once she gets caught in my web, I’ll waste no time taking what I and every Bratva boy want…complete control.

Logan

I let my mind wander as I brush the hairspray out of my hair. It feels good to have a clean face sans the overdone make-up. I look like me again, ready to chill in a comfortable pair of yoga pants and a spaghetti strap top. For the first time tonight, I feel comfortable in my own skin and it isn’t only because of the way I’m dressed. I left the gambling house earlier tonight in a cab with no intention of going back, no matter what Kodiak said about being able to put my skills to use there. I can’t remember ever being in a place so intense. It had an electric energy all its own, an undercurrent of danger, as if something could happen at any given moment. I’m not in the habit of putting myself in dangerous situations. I like stability. After growing up in a house where you never knew when a vase or dinner plate might come flying across the room, I’m perfectly content with my boring little life.

If I learned anything tonight, it’s that reading Kodiak Glazov is damn near impossible. It was maddening to not be able to get a read on him, and I have no intention of wasting that kind of energy to write the winning article. The only thing that came easily tonight was my ability to stare at him. His hair is glossy and has just enough body to keep it out of his face, only enhancing the intense eyebrows that sweep over those coal black eyes. The whole five-o-clock shadow thing he has going on is downright sexy. Even the way he smells makes me want to lean in for a nice, deep breath. It’s a mixture of leather and tobacco, with a hint of raspberry that becomes smoother and tempers down after being in his presence for a moment, only to pull you in once again for just one more whiff of decadence. I make a mental note to try to find out what brand of cologne it is.

It’s not so much the way he looks as his demeanor that makes him intriguing. There’s a storm brewing beneath his calm, controlled facade and he has a natural charisma that reaches out to you, inviting you to try and figure out what it is that makes him tick. He’s hard as nails but I can sense pain in him that he keeps hidden from the world. I want to know more about it and, if I’m honest, my interest has nothing to do with writing the expose’.

The writing contest is a big question mark now as far as I’m concerned. I’ll figure something out tomorrow. For now, I know I need to seriously consider finding something different to write about. But it would be a slam dunk, really, if I did go through with it. And I could use the prize money. I just didn’t consider meeting someone like Glazov’s son in the equation of writing the article.

I toss the brush back down on my make-up table. I opted for a dorm room that isn’t much bigger than a closet so I could be alone. My furnishings are beyond simple, mostly milk crates that I’ve stacked together for tables and few other odds and ends from the thrift store. But it’s all mine so it’s beautiful to me. With a yawn, I shuffle the few steps it takes to reach my bed, pull back the bedspread and slide between the cool sheets.

“Shit, I forgot to turn my fan on,” I mutter to myself as I get out of bed. I have to sleep with a fan on and one leg out from under the covers. I’m a creature of habit and that’s the only way I can get a good night’s sleep. I want to be rested when I get up in the morning to face my nice, boring life.