Owned by the Badman (Russian Bratva #1) (28 page)

“M
ARIYA, YOU WILL BE
safer here than back at home, you must trust this,” I plead.

My sister shakes her head. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Stubborn, foolish women—I am surrounded by them.

Thank fuck I had a boy.

“He will find me no matter what,” she insists.

“That old man who had you will not find you, Mariya,” I state. She pauses and then throws her head back in laughter.

I stare at her, unable to figure out what is so fucking funny about any of this. Haleigh, Maks, and I are due to leave in less than two hours and my sister is being difficult.

“That lazy bastard is too busy trying to get his cock hard to care about one of his girls leaving,” she states. It makes me ill to think about. He had more? How did I not know this?

“Just be clear, for once in this conversation can you just say what
the
fuck
you mean,” I bark impatiently. Mariya eyes me and then sighs.

“Ivan Chekhov, you fool,” Mariya hisses. I feel the blood drain from my face.

Ivan Chekov is practically royalty in Russia. He is one of the most powerful, legitimate businessmen in the country. He is all over the television and news, and his children—the boy treated like a prince and the girl treated like a princess.

Ivan Chekov is the owner of the largest oil, bank, and telecommunications companies in Russia.

“Why would Chekov give a flying fuck about you?” I demand, my voice raised and anger peppering my vision.

“You really have no clue, do you?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.

I don’t respond. I just wait because she is being an emotionally difficult woman at this point.

“Ivan Chekov is in charge of
everything
,” she whispers, her eyes wide. I notice fear in them, a fear I haven’t seen from her, even when I approached her in that shithole apartment.

“Not of me. My
Pakhan
is Sergei Burak,” I explain.

Not that she needs to really know that, but she isn’t talking and she knows more than most women as it is. It isn’t important to the conversation, but I think she may be going crazy.

“Yeah, Sergei is in charge of your world, but Ivan Chekov is in charge of the whole underworld, the political world, and the business world. He rules it all, Maxim. He won’t want me alive. He will find me, and he will kill me, simply because I know too much,” she says, her eyes darting around in fear. I nod and then narrow my eyes at her, wondering how on earth I am just now hearing this shit from her.

“How do you know these things, Mariya?”

“He bought my virginity, Maxim. He enjoys fucking virgins and keeps them until he gets bored or until they grow into women, whichever comes first,” she admits softly. I know she didn’t want to divulge this information to her own brother, but it needed to be said.

I swallow the bile down my throat, images of my too young sister being taken by a man three times her age makes me ill. It also makes me angry and irrational, but I try to control myself. I am of no use to anybody when I do not have full control over my body and mind.

“Which were you?” I ask. I have to know. Why, I don’t know; maybe better motivation to torture the fucker.

“I grew into a lovely woman, no? I stayed with him from the time I was eleven until the time I was sixteen. In those five years, he felt me incompetent. He held meetings and had phone conversations right in front of me, important ones. Make no mistake, Maxim, he will come for me. He checked on me regularly, and he will know I am missing.”

I take in everything my sister has said. I tell her to go and relax, to spend some time with Haleigh before we depart. With a confused look, she does as I ask and leaves me alone with my thoughts.

I call out to Dimitri and explain vaguely that my sister could be in danger and to keep the security tight around the estate. I don’t want to give up any names yet; I have some serious digging to do and the fewer people who know what I am investigating, the safer it will be—for
everybody
.

“I will take care of this, Mariya. He will not get away with what he is doing,” I offer to her before we leave for Moscow. She nods and throws her arms around me.

“Thank you, brother,” she cries into my neck.

I awkwardly pat her on the back. The only woman I have ever allowed to freely touch me is my Haleigh and this is …
strange
. Sonia has hugged me on rare occasions, but this is different. This is emotional, and it feels
good
.

Love has made me a pussy.

Two hours later, we are on the plane—my little family and me—but my mind is elsewhere. My mind is on Ivan
fucking
Chekov.

Does Sergei know what he is doing?

Is he in on it?

I have a feeling it is more than making barters with young parents and homeless children. It must be just the tip of the shit storm. Could Sergei and our army—the men who have been raised in this system, who have had lovers and children ripped from them—all overrule one of the most powerful people in Russia?

Who can I trust?

I know the answer to that question. That answer is unchangeable.
No one.

I can trust no one but myself.

“I can hear your brain working. You are thinking too hard, Maxim. Is everything all right?” My beautiful little wife strokes my cheek with the backs of her fingers while my perfect son nuzzles between her breasts. The boy has the right ideas.

“Just work,
golubushka
. Nothing for you to worry over,” I say softly, taking her hand and placing a kiss on her wedding ring. She nods but I can tell she is not convinced. My wife, she already knows me too well. I like that she can read my moods.

I can be a surly bastard, so it is better for her to know when to stay away.

Hours later, the plane lands and I see Alex— my
kryshas—
enforcer—is waiting for us. He looks pissed off, as usual, but I know he will be happy that I have calmed down and will be focusing solely on work from now on. He was getting annoyed with my bad moods.

I help Haleigh off the plane and walk toward Alex, who is already loading our luggage into the trunk of the Audi.

“Alex, you have met Mrs. Lasovska, yes?” He nods and tips his head at her, his steely eyes not hiding his hardened past.

Alex spent his youth in prison in Moscow. He has been a soldier since before his balls dropped, and he has done and seen things no person ever should. He is a good man, though, and as trustworthy as a man can be in this dark world. He gives no shit and takes none. I like him a great deal.

“You are right, Mrs. Lasovska. The boy does look like Maxim,” he says softly, surprising me.

His grasp of the English language surprises me a great deal, as well. Without an education, I wonder where he has mastered the language. I usher Haleigh and Maksimilyan into the car and clap Alex on the back.

“Where did you learn English?” I question him. His face turns red before he answers.

“My lover. He is from London,” he admits. I throw back my head with laughter.

“Does he live here in Moscow?” I ask. Alex jerks his head in what resembles a nod.

“When Haleigh is settled, she makes dinner for you two. We have a quiet evening in and I meet your man,” I offer. Alex gapes at me in surprise and then he grins slightly and nods.

Maybe I will change Alex’s duty to be my wife’s
Byki—bodyguard.
I know her fantastic tits will not distract him, and he will do his job perfectly.

My little dove deserves the best, but I won’t have some idiot ogling her at the same time.

The penthouse is gorgeous. It is nothing like the last one, thank goodness, or even like Maxim’s home in the states. Soft grays, creams, and splashes of light turquoise decorate the space—a dream come true.

Maxim ushers us in but then tells me that he must meet with Alex to go over what he has missed with work since he has been gone. I don’t mind at all, and I decide to discover what other surprises await me in the apartment.

Walking down the hall, I see a door and open it. I gasp, which startles Maksimilyan, and he giggles. The room is breathtaking and so very perfect.

There is a crib against one wall and a changing table with a dresser on the opposite side. The walls are painted a soft bluish, gray, and it is serene. The crib bumper is made of a gray and white chevron print and a soft, mink fabric that feels luxurious against my fingertips. The sheet is a navy blue and the crib skirt is a solid gray. There is a basket on the floor full of stuffed animals, and I check the closet and gasp again. There are clothes in every size from nine months to five toddler, everything he could ever need or want.

“Do you like it,
golubushka
?” Maxim asks, astonishing me. I twirl around to look at him.

“How?” I ask, my eyes darting around the room.

“I called one of my men’s wives. She helped me out while we were in America.” He shrugs. I cover my gaping mouth with my hand as my eyes fill with tears.

“I love it, Maxim,” I whisper as the tears flow from my eyes.

Maxim takes two long strides toward me and presses against Maksimilyan in my arms; one of his hands around my waist, the other cradling Maksimilyan’s soft head.

“I will do anything for you,
angel moy.
Whatever you need, you have. Whatever you want, it is yours. I live to make you happy,” he says huskily. I press my forehead against his neck, inhaling his spicy masculine scent—my husband, my lover, and now, my friend.

“Thank you, baby,” I whisper, knowing my words of gratitude will never be enough.

“I had her leave the walls blank so you could decorate as you wish,” he says softly against my hair. I nod looking up at him, my throat thick with emotion.

“You are too good to me, Maxim,” I whisper, my eyes searching him. He snorts.

“I have been deplorable to you,
golubushka,
but I swore to you that things would change, that I would change, that I
had
changed. I love you and whatever is mine is yours. Whatever you need or want, I will provide it for you. This life, beginning right here and right now, is
ours.
It is new, and it is a start to something wonderful.”

“Our new life is so beautiful, Maxim. It is beautiful because we are not only starting with Maksimilyan, but we are starting with honesty, love, and support,” I softly murmur. He nods as his fingers tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Now, Maxim, that being said. Something has been weighing heavily on my mind this past years and I think it is time to tell me exactly what happened to my parents,” I demand.

Maxim’s face turns white, and for the first time, my Maxim is nervous and perhaps
scared
. I have not asked about my parents before now, because in all honesty I never wanted to see them again after my mother’s attack. Maybe I am selfish, or crazy, or I was just in denial but I was glad not to have to deal with them on top of everything else—my abduction, Maxim leaving, and Maksimilyan’s birth.

If we are beginning with truth, with honesty, then I have to know. I never heard from them again after the night my mother assaulted me, and it has bothered me, how they just vanished, I honestly expected much more drama thrown my way. I haven’t missed them,
not really
, but I have been curious. Surely, Torrent would have come to me if something happened to them?

Maxim slowly and nervously explains the night my own mother attacked me. Luckily, he doesn’t go into great detail, but he does freely admit that he
killed
my parents. I want to feel remorse for their loss of life, but I am finding it extremely hard.

Maxim also divulges the truth on how I became his bride. My father owed him money, he owed him life, and he paid Maxim back with mine. I should be angry that I was sold like a prized animal at the fair, but I can’t be. That one split-second, selfish decision my father made has brought me so much more joy than I ever thought possible.

“What happened with all of their belongings?” I ask, stroking his chest. Maksimilyan is asleep in his new crib, and we are lying on our king-size bed, wrapped in sheets, going over the dirty rotten details later that evening.