Distrust (Smirnov Bratva Book 1) (12 page)

“He’s on his way,” Anton says leaning over to me. Just as I look up Stephon is standing in front of us, a bodyguard on either side of him. He goes to speak when I notice someone in the distance, sitting at Stephon’s table, the same table he always sits at. He notices I see as well, and in an instant, he’s walking away. He reaches her before I do, her eyes bore into mine when she realizes I can see her, and I’m almost within reaching distance. She looks terrified. She’s never shown that side of her to me before, ever.

“Stop!” Stephon says placing a hand on my chest. I look down to his hand, he quickly removes it.

As I look back up, I see the back of her head as she makes her way to the rear of the club.

“Just leave her.”

I attempt to walk past him again, but his hand stops me. I reach for my gun, dropping it so it faces downward, and shoot his foot. He screams and falls backward getting out of my way, then I run.

I run until I’m out the back, through the door, then start again running up and down the street. There isn’t any sign of her what-so-ever. Just as I’m about to run the other way, a car pulls up next to me. It’s Anton. He flings open the passenger door and I get in, then he starts driving up the street. I spot her, a coat covering her body, her hair still down. She’s walking by herself. Anton comes to a stop right next to her. She notices it’s me too late, and she tries to step away, but before she has a chance to open her mouth my gun comes down hard on her head, knocking her out, and she falls straight into my arms.

****

“What do you plan to do with her?” Anton asks as I carry her up the stairs of my apartment. She’s still out cold, her body is flung over my shoulder. I manage to open the door while juggling her on my shoulder.

“I don’t know yet, though I do expect answers.”

He shakes his head as he follows me in. “I don’t think you could kill her, Kazier. Even if you had to, I don’t think that you could.”

“And you could?” I bark back at him.

He looks stunned for a second while I place her on my couch. “Hell no! I prefer my life. No need to provoke you to end it,” he says with his hands in the air in defense. “Freya is going to be pissed at you,” he says laughing, looking down at Elina on the couch.

“Go back and say I was sick or some shit.”

“Yeah right! You really didn’t think we all saw you running after her? You made one hell of a show to get to her you know. Especially with shooting Stephon and all.”

“He got in my way.”

“Exactly why I want nothing to do with whatever any of this is,” he says pointing to Elina then to me.

“You can always leave, like
now,
” I say putting more oomph into the word ‘now.’

He nods his head. “I want more vodka anyway, and to see if I can get that statue drunk. You reckon he’d be crazy drunk? Or more fucked up than he already is?” he asks mumbling these questions about Death as he walks to the door.

“Go and find out,” I say shaking my head and then walking to the door to lock it after he leaves. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and walk back to Elina. I notice she has a bag slung over her shoulder. She never usually carries anything with her when I see her. I reach for it pulling it free from around her and tipping the contents to the floor. Lipstick, perfume, a mobile and wallet drop out.

I reach for the wallet first. Looking straight at her identification and notice that all my suspicions are correct, her last name is Bartalotti. I throw it at the wall, hoping in some way I can make it disappear.

Her phone beeps, and when I pick it up the name says Pollie. The message asks where she is. All the messages from her are girlie shit. I wonder if this is the friend I saw that time in the street—her blind friend. Then I start to scroll through the rest.

Her brother’s number is in there. Also her father’s and grandfather’s, but what surprises me the most is Stephon’s.

Why would she have his number in her phone, and what’s their connection?

He isn’t Italian, he’s Russian—family enemies.

Chapter 20

Elina

My back is sore, my head even worse. I don’t want to open my eyes, I’m afraid if I do that what I think happened, actually did happen. I move my hands very slowly and as soon as I try to pull them, they don’t budge. I pull them again, wanting them by my side. Somewhere where they can protect me, except they aren’t moving. I now feel the handcuffs that are bound around both my wrists and they’re tied behind my head. I know I have to open my eyes, I know I have to see where I am and what’s happening. Even though, I wish I could go back to sleep, to make this nightmare end. I can’t, it’s been done, now I have to deal with the outcome even if that means death.

It’s dark when I open my eyes, so many things are encased in the darkness. It’s almost fitting really, like a dream, or reality. I manage to turn my head, and when I do a sharp pain rips through me, then I remember the blunt end of the gun coming down hard on my head.

Kazier.

Just the thought of his name makes me close my eyes again. I squeeze them shut, trying to dull the pain. Then when I open them, I turn to my left and see him. He’s sitting in a chair, his head bent down, watching me. His head in his hand, a gun dangles free in his fingers from his other hand. He doesn’t speak as he watches me, he just stares. His dark eyes penetrate me, it’s the scariest thing I’ve seen. Usually, they’re full of lust, and I know all those looks, all those looks of sex and even love. Maybe I made that up in my head, maybe he isn’t capable of it. I close my eyes again, that can’t be true. I’ve seen him, I know him. Even if he thinks I don’t, I do.

“Kazier…” I whisper to him.

His eyes don’t change, they just continue to stare. He doesn’t even blink. His eyes look lost, he looks lost. I pull again, hoping to get free. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but it still looks dark, so I’m guessing I haven’t been here too long.

His eyes follow my struggle on my wrists, then they go back to my eyes. He watches me closely, like he knows soon if he doesn’t let me go, I will find a way to get loose, and then free myself.

“Untie me,” I ask him, stopping the struggle.

He sits up straight, then he smirks and sits back, lying backwards with those keen eyes still pinned on me.

“What do you hope to achieve by this, Kazier?” I ask him.

Does he plan to lock me up, to make me love him?

Or does he plan to keep me?

I know Kazier, I’ve also heard of Kazier. He’s ruthless, dangerous and downright scary. Most are too terrified to cross him, his father is even afraid of him.

I distrust him.

I chose to only give him so much because I knew if I gave more it would ruin me, and he wouldn’t think twice about using those skilled hands of his to end me.

“You distrust me, don’t you?” He stands, not moving. I watch as each muscle flexes, knowing each and every tattoo and muscle on his body. I’ve studied him, the same way he’s studied me when I pretend to sleep. We know each other’s tells. Very well.

He pulls a knife from his pocket, then he takes a step toward me. I can smell him, the same smell that I craved for two years. The one that I would snuggle into, and pretend we lived in a different universe. Now that’s about to be my undoing.

“Don’t,” I say.

He brings it close to my skin. I can’t do anything as he places the cool of the blade onto my thigh, then he drags it up straight into my dress. He starts to tear open my clothing, the edge of the blade slides upward all the way to my bra which he cuts too. He steps back when my front is bare, the fabric of my dress just hanging to my sides.

I don’t fear him.

Maybe that is my biggest mistake of all.

The first time I saw him, was the first time he saw me. I didn’t know who he was, I was kept away from those things. I remember dancing just to keep his eyes trained on me. He excited me, and the look of those eyes penetrated me. I remember moving my body for him, just to make him helpless, to make him want me—which he did. Then it all became a game, but somewhere in-between it all, this game of sin became a game of heart.

What a fucked up person I am to have ever let him get near my heart. This ruthless man, who shows me something different to what he shows the rest of the world.

“I want to play,” he says.

My head swings to him, my eyebrows scrunch together, unsure of what that means, and afraid of what that means. He walks over and pulls the band from my hair. I feel my hair drop to the back of the couch I’m lying on. I can’t see my hands, so I don’t know how he has them tied other than in the handcuffs.

“Why?” I ask him.

He looks down to my body, then back to my eyes. Those dark almost black eyes trained on me.

“Because you’ve played with me for two years. Now it’s my turn. I may not be as gentle though.” His voice is like ice, emotion has left the building, and in its place stands the devil.

His phone starts to ring, he ignores it as he steps closer to me. Then he drops to his knees, the knife still in hand.

“I didn’t play, Kazier.”

“No, you played the game of sin. And guess what poppet, I am the mother fucking devil.”

I watch as the knife comes down, my eyes trained on it, he cuts me, not deep, just enough so that it draws blood. It stings, then he kisses me, his touch is that of someone I love, someone I crave. His mouth touches the spot just above my pussy, his tongue sweeps down touching me there, in that place that he knows I crave. He kisses me until my backside arches up, then he lifts up removing his mouth.

Then he cuts me again on the other leg, drawing more blood, making me bleed. My legs are stinging now and I can feel the blood dripping down my thighs. He repeats the process, his mouth coming back down, straight to that magical spot.

He pulls away from me, stands tall, and then looks down. My legs are open, and I’m wet. Because of him, always because of him. Fucking hell, why can’t I be normal? Why couldn’t I fall in love with a typical Italian man, instead of him? He stands for a moment before he climbs onto the couch, his legs either side of me, trapping mine together. His knife is still in hand, but his eyes are now full of lust, deadly lust.

He sits on me, but doesn’t apply pressure, it just keeps me in the same spot. He doesn’t reach my eyes when his eyes roam over me, stopping when he reaches my neck, then he looks back down. I watch in both horror and fascination as he brings his mouth down, the knife still in hand onto my chest. He bites my nipples hard, then I feel the sting, another cut, this one deeper. I scream, I can’t help it when it leaves my mouth, the pleasure, then the pain. But the pain is out ruling the pleasure right now. Not for him, I can feel his erection digging into me, he’s loving every second of it. He pulls my nipple free, lifting the knife from my skin, then crawls downward, back to where he started. I can’t handle it anymore, so I try to kick him, except I can’t because his legs are over mine. He’s entrapped me.

“Fucking get off me,” I scream at him.

He smirks, then his mouth lowers, his tongue dives straight between my legs, making me arch even though I don’t want to, even though I want him off me. His phone starts ringing again, he ignores it, but it rings again. His tongue stops, he lifts from me and looks at the blood. I notice it’s all over his left hand, the one he was cutting me with. He stares too long in fascination at it. Before he lifts completely to get off me, he frees my legs and I start kicking. I manage to get in two shots before he turns around and captures my legs.

“You brought it upon yourself, Elina. And don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.” His hand rubs up my legs. I kick him again but don’t manage to get anywhere as he has me trapped.

“Fuck you, you sick prick.” I feel the tears coming, except I won’t let them. I won’t show him that it’s him hurting me. Not his actions. Fuck! He could torture me all day, it’s the way he’s closed off and so distant. That hurts me. His eyes always found mine, his hands always roamed me, like I was his most prized possession. Now it’s gone. Now I am nothing but a play thing. Even if I did bring it upon myself.

“You like to play games? Don’t you, Elina?” He ignores his ringing phone. Facing me, he sits back in that chair where he was so silent before.

“You loved my games,” I snap at him.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t. I wanted what you would give me. It wasn’t much, but I wanted it.” He sits back, the knife starts threading through his fingers, twirling and turning.

Just as I’m about to speak, a loud knock raps on his door. His eyes don’t even move, they stay pinned on me. Then another knock. I attempt to turn my head when I hear the rustle of the door knob being twisted, but I can’t see shit.

“You think that’s hope?” He laughs. “Only a very few people know this address. You were one of them.” He laughs again, standing and walking to the door. I try to wiggle my hands free, to slip them through the cuffs somehow and just as I attempt it a voice stops me.

Chapter 21

Kazier

She may think’s it’s torture, and I wish it was. But it isn’t, it’s me, craving her for not having her for months. I warned her, she knew I’d find her, and I’d keep her. She must have thought she could outwit me, but you can’t outwit the puppet master, it’s impossible. Her long dark hair is scattered all over her face and it cascades down the couch. Her hands are tied down through the handcuffs that are attached to the base of the lounge. I watch as she starts wriggling before I go to the door. She’s trying to escape. Does she think she can out run me? That would be a laugh, she tried that and ended up here. The wolf always catches its prey. And she will always be my prey.