Seducing the Badman (Russian Bratva #2) (27 page)

“
Nyet
,” he barks. I almost roll my eyes. Instead, I press my berry painted lips together and try to reign in my bitch side.

“I am Mrs. Zaleskya. You will do as I say,” I say haughtily.

“You are not
my
boss,” he points out.

I move to the door, reaching for the handle, but he places his large hand over mine to stop me. The man may be big, but he is also
fast
.

“Remove your hand from my body,” I grind out. Lucky for me, he does as I command. I turn to face him with nothing but anger and fear crossing my face. He reads me just as I knew he would.

“Take me to my husband,
now
,” I whisper, unable to speak as the tears well in my eyes.

The man, whose name I still do not know, nods once and opens the door. I follow him down to the black SUV he drives. He has taken me on many shopping trips, as well as trips to the salon. I have no friends here, and the days are boring, so I fill them the only way I know how.

We do not speak as he drives on the freeway toward the signs that proclaim downtown Los Angeles is mere exits away. I take the drive to compose myself. Again, it seems as though I need to seduce my husband to get to the bottom of what is bothering him. He did not hide the fact that he finds himself in dark moods, stemming from his past. I, however, did not envision that he would hide from me
completely
, that he would shy away from me because of what happened. I thought, if anything, he would understand and it would bond us together. I was wrong.

“He did not exaggerate when he told me you were a handful,” my guard mumbles as we pull up to a very tall, old looking building. My head snaps to his and I find he is smiling.

“What is your name?” I ask before I step out of the car, my hand hovering on the handle.

“Anton,” he offers, providing nothing more.

“I am a handful, this is true, but that man is stubborn,” I grind out. He chuckles.

“Yes, he is,” he admits quietly. I feel a bit better that I am not the only person who sees this in Radimir. “I will be right here, waiting for you,” he offers with a nod. I give him a shy smile before stepping out into the sunshine.

I will never be used to this much sun. I will never be used to the warmth that the sun radiates.
I adore it
. I can feel myself being happier and healthier with each passing day, and I know that the constant sunshine has done nothing but add to my mental recovery.

A woman is sitting behind a reception desk, and as much as I want to ignore her, I do not know what floor Radimir’s office is on. The brick building is tall, too many floors to just guess at where Radimir might be hiding from me, so I walk over to her. I stand with my back straight, my shoulders squared, and pin my gaze on her. I am not above intimidation.

“May I help you?” she asks, her blonde hair pulled back tightly to the nape of her neck.

“Yes, I am here to see Radimir Zalesky. Can you tell me on which floor his office is?” I ask in my best English.

“Do you have an appointment with Mr. Zalesky?” She arches her brow at me, as if she knows something I do not, or perhaps she is challenging me?
Bring. It. On
.

“I do not need an appointment. I am his wife,” I state.

I then watch as her eyes widen in surprise before she opens and closes her mouth like an out of water fish. She quickly hands me a piece of paper with the floor and office number where my husband should be located.
He better be there
. I have had enough of his hiding.

I quickly walk to the elevator and am lucky when the doors open immediately. I press the number ten for Radimir’s floor and I wait,
impatiently
and nervously. The elevator stops on the fifth floor and a man I recognize steps in. He is tall and powerful in his suit. The last time I saw him, he was saving me. He saw me at my absolute worst, and now he is standing right next to me. I look over to him and am surprised to see his gaze on me—
fixed
.

“Does he know you are here?” Kirill Baryshev, my husband’s boss for all intents and purposes, asks.

“No,” I reply with a shrug. I am rewarded with a sneaky looking grin that appears on his lips.

“You
are
a handful,” he murmurs. I grind my teeth together. Why on earth does he keep telling people this about me?

“I wanted to thank you. I haven’t seen you since that night…” I let my words trail off, because they need no further explanation.

“No need to thank me,” he sighs, turning to face me. I turn as well, though I’m unsure why. My body just moves as he moves, mimicking him.

“I do. You didn’t have to help,” I whisper, tears shining in my eyes.

“I would do it for any other woman in your situation.” His hand slides up my neck and cups my cheek. “You are the wife of one of my men. You are a soft woman who did not deserve any of that. You are completely innocent, and I would have done it over and over again, Emiliya.”

My lips fall open slightly and I am caught in his gaze. It doesn’t feel sexual between us, but to anybody looking, it would appear to be so. Kirill feels like Yakov, like a brother, and he is being sincere in this moment.

“I – I—” The sound of the elevator door opening startles me, and I jump away from Kirill’s sweet embrace.

“This is your floor,” he murmurs. I step out, turning around to tell him thank you one more time.

“Do not thank me again,” he says, his tone sharp and harsh. This is how I imagine he must sound as he commands these men, because it is slightly terrifying.

I turn away from the elevator to find several eyes on me. I ignore them and search for the office labeled as Rad’s. A petite redhead in a too tight pencil skirt and too low cut top walks right up to me, her eyes narrowed and her hands on her hips.

“May I help you?” she practically barks. She reminds me of the little Chihuahua dogs I have seen in my neighborhood out on walks.

“I am looking for Radimir Zalesky’s office,” I explain as I ignore her stare and continue to scan the closed office doors.

“Do you have an appointment?”

I almost roll my eyes, as this is the second time I have been asked this question.

“No,” I state, unwilling to give her anything else.

“Well, as his secretary, I am sorry to inform you that he is very busy today. You will have to make an appointment and, honestly, whatever it is a woman
like you
wants, I highly doubt he will be willing to receive it,” she says. My head whips around to face her, my eyes locking in on hers.

“Why would a woman
like me
be unable to see him?” I question, arching a brow.

“It is obvious you are here as possibly,
what?
Jilted one-night stand? He doesn’t want you, honey. Never did and never will. He’s got me, and I’m not going anywhere,” she offers.

I bite back the anger and fury in order to find out more information about this relationship she’s trying so hard to convince me she has with my husband.

“You are with him then? The two of you?” I ask.

I am trying to play the part of the confused female in search of a man she thought she could have, instead of the crazy, angry, Russian princess I want to become—pulling her hair and scratching her eyes out.

“Well, not yet; but any moment I will wear him down, and he doesn’t need some desperate whore trying to weasel her hooks into him,” she announces. I notice more than one head turns our way.

“Take me to him and let us see who he chooses,” I suggest. She actually rolls her eyes at me.

It is true, I am not in Russia anymore. These people do not know who I am. Nobody has ever treated me the way these women have, in all of my life.

The petite redhead does as I suggest and turns to walk toward an office at the end of the long hall. The door is closed, but apparently, she feels comfortable enough to walk right into the room. This is uncalled for. Never was a person allowed to waltz into an office of my father’s, home or business, while the door was closed.
This woman needs to go.
I’m not saying that because she’s trying to fuck my husband, either – well, for the most part, anyway.

“Joslyn, what is it? I am busy,” my husband’s rich voice floats through the room. I stand far enough behind the woman,
Joslyn,
apparently, that he can’t see me in the shadows.

“Someone is here to see you, Radimir. I tried to tell her to leave, to explain
our
situation to her, but she is adamant about seeing you,” she purrs—
actually
purrs.

“Joslyn, I have told you, we cannot…” He doesn’t say he doesn’t want her, but that they cannot. The kick to my gut that his words bring is more pain than I anticipated.

“Please, Radimir,” she shamelessly begs, seeming to have forgotten about my existence.

I quietly walk into the middle of the room. He is focused on her, so he doesn’t notice me until I open my mouth to speak.

“Yes, Radimir, why is it that you cannot fuck her? She wants it so very badly, she is begging you,” I say.

My shoulders are square, my hand on my hip, and my eyes boring into his.

“Y
ES,
R
ADIMIR, WHY IS
it that you cannot fuck her? She wants it so very badly, she is begging you,” my wife’s voice floats through the air and straight to my fucking cock.

I stand immediately.

Joslyn is leaning over my desk, giving me an extremely perfect view of her petite, perky breasts. I will not lie and say that I haven’t been enjoying the views that she has offered the past few weeks.
I have enjoyed, but I have not indulged.

Emiliya is forever on the forefront of my mind, but I have not been able to fuck her since bringing her back from the house in South Africa. I
want
to fuck her. I
want
her pussy squeezing my cock. I
want
her tits in my hands, but I cannot bring myself to even attempt to touch her. She was violated, she was hurt, and it was all of
my
fault.

I do not deserve her if I cannot protect her.

The guilt has been eating away at me. Her eyes.
Her fucking eyes
still haunt me every time they look my way.

Except for this exact moment.

My wife’s eyes are filled with fire and ice. The combination frightening and, in this moment, I have no doubt that she is indeed the daughter of Ivan Chekov. She is terrifying, sexy, and appears to be completely heartless.

“Emiliya,” I murmur.

“
Radimir
,” she huffs, crossing her arms under her delicious tits.

Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have those in my mouth right now
.

“What are you doing here? How did you get here?” I take my eyes away from her distracting tits and start peppering her with questions. She is not famous here, she is just a girl, and she isn’t safe here.

“Anton drove me,” she says, her eyes still narrowed. She’s obviously still pissed off.
I like it—too much.

“Excuse me, is this some whore one-night stand? What is happening here?” Joslyn asks, pursing her lips together as her eyes bounce between us, reminding me that she is still in the room. Everything disappears when my Emiliya is present.

“Yes, Radimir? Am I your whore one-night stand?” she asks. It goes straight to my cock, again.

Whore
.

Blyad
.

My wife.

My whore.

Mine
.

“Joslyn, you may leave,” I say, never taking my eyes off of my sweet Emiliya.

I want to get my fill of her before this comes crashing down between us. I don’t want that haunted look to float back, I like this fire she has, this anger toward me. I can forget how breakable she has looked these past weeks when she looks as if she’s about to rip my cock off with her bare hands.

“We
have
something, Radimir,” Joslyn whines.

I finally look at her. She has been something to look at, and she does her job well, but after only a month, I am annoyed with her. She thinks she is getting me as her man. I would ruin her and make her cry in about a minute if she saw anything other than my professional mask.

The real me would terrify her.