Distrust (Smirnov Bratva Book 1) (3 page)

“This is your last warning. If you don’t have it by next week, you won’t have a life or a store.”

His head starts to shake rapidly. “I will, I will,” he says curled up in a ball and shaking.

I used to hate this part of the business, the shakedowns. My first shakedown was at the age of thirteen, I had to go along with my uncle to learn the ropes. He killed that man, with me standing there. That was my first taste of death, and it wouldn’t be my last.

Chapter 4

Kazier

Today is the day I’ll be meeting my fiancée, my soon to be bride. A part of me doesn’t care to meet her. I don’t plan on loving her, or possibly even caring for her. I only have to play a role, so a role is what I will play. I don’t fidget as I watch my father speak to his wife, he whispers in her ear and she smiles lovingly at him. Catara is a gold digging bitch, one I’ve never liked. All she cares about is money and power, the two things my father has. And he has a lot of both.

A knock on the door pulls my father’s attention away from his gold digger.

She walks over to me and her hands reach for my shirt, she straightens up my collar and smiles. “Behave,” she whispers turning back to the door.

The things I would love to stab that cunt with.

The door opens, and two men stand on the other side, both heavily built, both dressed in all black. I hear them speak, just don’t care to listen. Then all eyes turn to face me.

My father steps aside opening the door further and the two men walk in, their steps in sync. Once they’re inside they turn to let a small figure in. She’s tiny, her whole physique is small. She has dark blonde hair framing her face, her hands are clutched in front of her, and she doesn’t look up when they shut the door.

I wonder if this is her. She doesn’t look old enough, seems too small, fragile, to be married off this early. Though in my world it doesn’t matter what age, it only matters what title, and her family holds one just as powerful as ours.

Power, it’s a tricky bitch, and everyone wants it.

“Kazier, this is Freya.”

Her eyes are fanned by long lashes. She looks up to me, shyly, and I watch her hands still clenching each other. I take a step closer, and the two men facing her step in front of her again, blocking my path. A part of me doesn’t care, but then again, I also want to know why they treat her this way with her soon to be husband.

“It’s okay…” Even her voice is small like she couldn’t yell even if she tried. They take a step back to either side of her, and she takes a tiny step forward. With flat shoes on her feet, she’s wearing jeans and a black shirt. She smiles when she looks up at me.

Then I hear my father’s voice. “Let’s give them some room to speak.”

I watch as both men turn to look at her for an okay. She nods her head and they follow my father into the sitting room. I turn to see the gold digger staring hard at both of us, then my father calls her name and she looks one last time before clicking off in her high heels.

That leaves us by ourselves.

Her hair is wavy and looks like she hasn’t brushed it. It’s very unusual. The regular girls I’m used to always look their best. They don’t leave the house unless they have on a full face of makeup and ready to annihilate the day in a killer outfit. I don’t understand it, though it’s what I’m used to. So when I see someone, who’s meant to hold so much value, dress not so impeccably, it throws me.

“Your hair needs to be brushed.”

Her hand flies to her hair, then she scrunches her face. “My hair is wavy. It doesn’t sit right if I brush it every day. It becomes a ball of fuzz. Plus, that’s a very rude thing to say to a lady,” she fires back finding her voice.

Maybe she isn’t as timid and quiet as I first thought.

“Are you a lady? How old are you even?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Don’t let my height and weight fool you, Kazier. I could slice you open for breakfast if I wanted to. I am a lady, I am twenty-one. Perfect marriage age.” She pulls a face as she speaks the last line.

“You could slice me, could you?” I can’t help the laugh that forms from my throat.

She smirks at me, and I watch in fascination as she reaches into her jeans and pulls out a shiny knife. She spins it with her fingers, it slides in and out of each, then she throws it at my head. I’m almost a second too late as I manage to move just in time when it whips past me, knicking my ear as it flies by.

“What the fuck, girl, you could have fucking hurt me.” I wipe at my ear, feeling trickles of blood drop down.

“That was for insulting me! You do not insult a lady. Stop calling me girl, or next time I won’t miss.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” I bark at her.

She smirks. “Possibly, I am by marrying you. So that would have to be correct?”

The cheek from this girl. Holy shit! What an attitude she has. She’d get along great with Anton—two crazy fuckers.

“Don’t act so excited about our marriage, would ya,” I say jokingly.

“Are you excited? Because I sure as shit am not. I don’t want to marry someone to gain more power. But it is what I have to do, and what you have to do. So we might as well try to get along since we are getting married.”

She’s so small, it surprises me every time words leave her mouth.

“Do you know what happens on a wedding night?” I ask stepping closer. I decide to play with her because the men that protect her will be making sure as shit that she doesn’t interact with any other men. Making sure she stays a virgin, saving it for her wedding day. “You will be fucked, fucked hard.” Her cheeks start to blush. “It hurts you, not me. For me it’s the tightest pussy imaginable.” Her eyes are wide, her cheeks are red. She isn’t as tough as she makes out after all.

“I know what happens on a wedding night,” she counters back at me.

I smile at her, making her narrow her eyes at me. “I love to fuck! I love to take a woman from behind, front, on top, on the bench, the floor, the bed, the shower… are you really prepared for that?”

“Will you stop talking about sex? We aren’t engaged yet, I don’t have a ring. So stop discussing it before I put another knife in a place that will fix all our problems,” she says looking down at my cock.

Fuck that!

“Where’s your father?”

“Russia,” she snaps at me. Her accent is strong, but not as strong as if she had just left there.

“Why isn’t your accent strong?”

“I’ve been living here since high school.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew I was to be married off, and I knew it was to you. I’ve known since I was ten years old. So I needed to become familiar with the American ways. I was sent here with my two bodyguards, who also happen to be my cousins.” Just as she finishes speaking, Catara opens the door, breaking our privacy.

She smiles, and I wonder if Freya can see that it’s fake as much as I can.

“Time to come in now.” She stands there for a minute too long looking at both of us before she walks out again, leaving us both where we are.

“Wow, I have no words for her,” Freya says surprising the shit out of me.

It makes me laugh. I throw my hand around her shoulder, pulling her to me, surprising her again.

“You have no idea… wicked bitch of the west,” I explain as we walk into what feels like a dungeon.

Chapter 5

Kazier

Dinner was uneventful, it consisted only of talk of when, where, and how it will all happen. We don’t want it kept hidden, the whole point of uniting two powerful families is so people know. Catara is planning everything, with my father’s bank account.

Freya was looking at her the whole time like she had a third head. I like her, she sees the truth.

Today, though, I have to buy her a ring, then introduce her to the family. A ring is not tradition for us, we usually just tell the family we’re getting married. Except, my father wants to announce it to everyone, so a ring is involved. When I arrive at her doorstep, one of the men from last night opens her door, he nods his head in acknowledgment and closes it again. I wait on the steps for a few seconds before it opens again. Standing there is Freya, dressed very similarly to last night.

“Russian women take pride in their beauty, why don’t you?”

“I have a knife itching to slice you again,” she says tapping her pocket.

I hold up my hands in defense. “I was only asking. You should know, you lived there.”

“Maybe I want to be different.”

I nod my head like I understand when I don’t. She follows me down to my car, and I open the door for her. A car pulls up close behind us, and before I can grab anything, her hand touches mine.

“It’s my men, they don’t trust you,” she says then shuts the door almost catching my fingers as it slams shut.

We drive in silence to a shopping center. When we reach it, she walks straight into a jeweler. Her eyes scan the display while she walks up and down looking for a ring. I notice no one goes out of their way to offer her service. What a mistake they’re making. She’s richer than most of their clients combined.

“Found anything?” I ask from behind her.

She points to a very plain looking ring. It’s simple, just a gold band with a plain princess cut diamond.

“You sure?”

She nods her head, and I wave over one of the sales staff. They don’t smile when they ask what they can help us with. I want to walk out of the store, except this should be easy. It’s just a ring, and I’d rather get this over with.

Freya pulls out a black credit card, and as soon as the sales person sees the card, their demeanor instantly changes to nice and helpful. I almost let her pay, but then realize she shouldn’t be paying for her own ring. So I pull out the same card she did and pay for the goddamned ring. It’s the first
real
smile I’ve seen from her, and I even get a thank you.

“What do you plan to wear?” I ask, trying not to look her up and down to prove a point that she can’t wear
that.

“Jeans,” she replies.

I stop her with my hand. “You cannot wear jeans. Come on, you need a dress.” My hand stays on her arm while I pull her into a dress store.

“I don’t want to wear a dress,” she complains, trying to pull free from my grasp.

“Magazines, high profile people, and others will all be in attendance at the beginning of the night for photo opportunities. You need to dress appropriately.”

Her nose scrunches up in disgust, and I actually find it cute. “Fine! Just don’t expect me to be like Catara because that shit is
not
happening.”

I can’t help but laugh at her because she’s so far removed from Catara. She’s on her own level.

We end up in a high-end boutique, Freya is rushed into a dressing room which they fill quickly with dresses. She hasn’t stopped complaining since we walked in. I’m sitting outside the changing room hopeful she will show me the first dress, but it’s taking way too long to change.

“Freya, what are you doing?”

She doesn’t speak at first, so I get up and walk to the door. She finally speaks when my hand hits the handle. “I don’t want to be seen in public in this,” she cries out through the door.

“Open the door, let me see.”

“No.”

“Open the door, Freya, or I will break it down.”

“Whatever,” she spits, then the door opens. I’m inches away from her when she yanks it open, and when she tries to walk past me, I can’t move. She has on a long black dress, it’s strapless, and it showcases her neck and shoulders. Her body looks like a lady, and that dress makes her sexy. Perhaps she is sexy? I still haven’t determined that yet.

“We’ll take it,” I say staring.

Her hands move to her hips. “I haven’t even tried on the other dresses,” she complains.

“I’ll buy them all,” I yell to the sales lady.

“Don’t expect me to dress up like this often. I’ve already warned you,” she says walking back into the dressing room, shutting the door with a loud click.

I start to think, maybe, possibly, this marriage won’t be as bad as I think it will be. Then I remember Elina, and realize I’ll never be able to touch her again. I will be a married man. I’ll have to be committed to one person. I’m not my father, I don’t plan to cheat and deceive my wife. I plan to treasure her. I was hoping my wife would eventually be by my choosing, someone who would take the dark with the wicked. Not be forced upon it. Freya doesn’t even know me, let alone my darker side. I think it will scare her, having to live, and fuck someone like me. Could she really handle it? She may have some fire, but she’s been living sheltered for most of her life. So she won’t understand.

She gives me a strange look when she walks out, her lips are in a straight line, her eyebrows are raised. I realize I’m probably pulling a weird face as I stand here lost in thought.

“Marriage, huh?” I blurt because it’s the only thing on my brain right now. Her face softens while she stares at me.

“I guess so. Not like we have much of a choice to pick from those we love.”

“Have you ever loved someone?” I ask her because I do want to know.