Distrust (Smirnov Bratva Book 1) (9 page)

She stood up from the steps. That night she wore a skirt, all I’d ever seen her in was a dress. Her shirt was cut off, her midriff was showing, her heels made her around the same height as me. I didn’t walk straight to her, I stood where I was at my car just watching her. I knew if I got too close, I wouldn’t be able to control myself with her.

“Why are you here?”

Her head dropped to the side, and she placed one leg behind the other, rubbing her calf.

“Better yet… how did you even know where I lived?”

Her eyes dropped to the ground, and she smirked. “I have my ways. Aren’t you happy to see me?” she toyed.

I took my first step toward her, she stood up straight. “Depends, why are you here?”

This time, she stepped closer to me, her hand reached up and touched my chest. “For you, of course.” Her head inched up, and her lips pecked mine before she turned and walked up the stairs to my door. I stood there shocked, unable to move.

“Who was your friend?” I said, finding my voice and ascending the stairs. She moved so I could unlock the door and then followed me in. I watched as her eyes scanned the house. It was nothing special, a pool table where a dining room should be, a flat screen television up on the wall, and shelves full of books. Her eyes lingered longer on that part. “Elina…” I said in warning. I’d asked her a question, I needed an answer.

“The one from the other night?” She played dumb. I nodded my head hoping to get something from her. She never came with any possessions that I could search, it was just her and her body. And what a weapon that was all by itself. I suspected she knew this, though. “I didn’t expect to see you that night, though, I was glad I did,” she said, running her hand along the pool table, hitting one of the balls into the pocket.

“Who was she?”

“Just a friend,” she answered. That was the most I’d gotten from her. I planned to get more. Anything to put the puzzle pieces together of whatever that was her.

“You didn’t want me to meet your friend?” I asked, grabbing her wrist, stopping her from hitting another ball and gaining her full attention.

“Why would I do that? I like having you all to myself,” she said leaning into me. “Now are you going to fuck me, because I have this itch that only you can scratch.”

“Am I the only man you fuck, Elina?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

“And it will stay that way, won’t it?” I grabbed her hips pulling her to me.

“Will it?” she joked with me, leaning in for my lips. She ran her hand down one of my tattoos, then bit my lip. “I’ll make you a deal… if you get my name tattooed on you, I will give you one question. And I will answer truthfully,” she said lifting her mouth away from mine.

I pushed back, weirded out by her answer. “You’re joking, right?”

She shook her head and ran her hand along my shirt, lifting it up then ran her hand under it over my abs.

“What’s one more?” she said seriously.

It was true, I could get her name blended in and no one would know. Except I would, and I couldn’t believe I was even contemplating it, just to get a truthful answer from her. Hell, any answer at all.

“I don’t even know you. Yet you think for one tiny answer, I would brand you on me?”

Her hands played with my skin, wrapping around to my back, then pulling me flush against her. “You know me, you know how to make me scream.” She bit my ear. “You know how to make me call you God.” Another bite. “And you also know every aspect of my body. Don’t say you don’t,” she said, and that was true, I’d watched her when she slept. I could tell you every spot on her like it was my own body.

I pushed away from her, her hands dropping to her side. I walked straight past her and into the kitchen, pulling out my dinner. I hadn’t eaten, and if I could just stand off, not give in for a bit, maybe I could pull something from her, anything.

“You’re cooking?” she asked walking up to me. She didn’t touch me, she watched only.

“I was…”

“You can always eat me,” she teased.

I eyed her up and down, wanting. “You will be my dessert,” I tell her.

She smiled as she watched me, then she did the strangest thing, she started to wash her hands and picked up the knife to start to chop an onion. I watched in fascination as she set to her task, her hands moved so fast it was like she was born to do it.

I removed my eyes to heat up the pan, fixing the chicken in the egg and flour ready for cooking. I felt her come up behind me, touching me. She moved one of my arms, placing herself in-between me and the bench. I could no longer see what I was doing, her hands held mine, and she took over the action. I lifted my arms up letting her, letting them roll down her body, I brought one hand up and touched her face, and she leaned into it. Then I knew I was not going to be eating dinner, I would be eating her instead. That I was sure of.

When I turned her around, flour was scattered across her cheek. My thumb reached up trying to brush it off. “I’ve decided dessert is always best first.”

Her lips moved to mine, and then in that exact moment, with flour on her face, the smell of the pan, the sting of onion, I fell for a ghost.

Chapter 15

Kazier

Present

I left Freya’s intending to go home and speak to my father. He can’t make me do this, he can’t force me to marry someone I don’t love. Before I even open the door, it’s being pulled open by Catara. Her evil smirk is back in place, and she’s looking at me like I’m her last meal. I push past her, and as soon as I do, I feel her hand come around and land on my ass with a crack. I take a deep breath before I turn around as she squeezes it hard, making me even angrier.

She sees my face when I turn and takes a quick step back, her heels clicking on the floor as she does so.

“Your father is here, be careful, Kazier,” she whispers to me.

I’ve come to a point where I’ve realized there’s no need for me to be scared of my father. Yes, he
was
the most ruthless man I’ve ever known. Yes, he
was
the king of my world. But I am that now, I have become who he once was, who he no longer is and what he is no longer capable of being. I grab the knife in my jeans, her eyes follow every movement. I step closer, as she takes another step back. Then I rush her, throwing her against the wall, the knife now on one of her fake breasts, digging in through her clothes.

“You think I’m scared of him? It would do me nothing but good to end you. My father would probably pat my back after your funeral. You are, after all, only a piece of ass. You have bred no kids for him. So what’s your worth exactly, hooker?”

Her eyes drop down to my knife, I inch it just under her rib cage, cutting her dress. She gasps but doesn’t move, knowing it will slice her. Then she spits at me, forcing me to go deeper into her skin. Her scream of agony rings through my ear, then I’m thrown backward, landing on my ass. Before I even realize who did it, I’m standing and charging that person. My fist lands hard, I feel the crack under my fingers. My father stumbles backward, his hands trying to stop the blood now coating his shirt.

“I’ll kill her…” I tell him.

He looks to her, then to me. “Get out,
now
.” His free hand points to the door.

I turn back to her, seeing her smirk, then take a step closer to her, the smirk instantly leaving her face.

“He can’t protect you, you bitch. I will slice and dice you the minute he turns his back.”

“
Out,
” my father demands.

She sees the anger on my face as I walk out. One day I will. One day I will fuck her up so badly, she won’t see it coming and no one will recognize her afterward.

****

Anton’s mother is just as loud as Anton. She starts speaking to me in Russian as soon as I enter the door. The words fly from her mouth, and before she even gives me a chance to respond, she starts talking again. She pulls me into the room where the boys are sitting down on the couch, a bottle of vodka between them and an Xbox controller at their fingertips. She disappears and returns with a bottle of vodka for me. Placing it in my lap she walks away. The boys don’t even notice me, too interested in their stupid game. Anton sits there screaming at the screen like it can hear him. It can’t. Stupid fucker.

“I’m going to the Bartalotti’s,” I announce.

They both stop playing and turn toward me, interest now registered on their faces. I pick up the vodka placing it to my lips and chugging it down. When I pull it away, both are standing and hoisting their holsters, loading them with their knives and guns. One thing I love about them, they never question, they’re just as happy as I am to kill someone.

“How we doing this? Storm the place?” Anton asks pulling his shirt down. “Just us, or we getting everyone?”

“Just us,” I reply shaking my head. Hopefully, we don’t die, I still have a list of people that need to be ten foot under before I join their asses.

Anton drives like a dickhead straight to the Bartalotti’s house. It takes us fifteen minutes with his stupid ass driving skills. He brakes, and we all look in, seeing if we can notice anyone. Just as we’re about to come up with a plan, a car pulls out of the driveway. You can’t see who’s in it because the windows are completely tinted black.

“Follow it,” I order Anton. He stays just enough off their tail that when they pull up to a house, they don’t even notice us. We watch as two men climb out, one looks familiar, but neither are the three men I planned on killing tonight.

“We going to go in?” Anton asks.

They both go to the back of the car, and we all watch as they pull out two heavy duffle bags. When they walk to the door, a man is standing there holding it open.

“We are,” I reply pulling my door open and getting out.

As the men close the door behind them, we go around to the side of the house to try and look inside, but all the windows are blacked out, and we can’t see a thing.

Viktor walks off, Anton and I watch him disappear behind the building, then we hear a bang. We both run back around to the front, to find Viktor kicking the door in. He kicks it again and again until it finally opens, breaking the locks. As soon as I look up, guns are pointed at our heads. I body slam Viktor to the ground, just missing a bullet as it flies past us. Anton starts shooting from the other side of the door that’s hanging by its hinges. The gun shots slowly die down and when we stand back up Anton enters.

As soon as we hurry to the door, Anton has already shot and killed one man, two are badly injured and lying on the floor. They both go wide-eyed when they see us.

“What do we have here?” I ask, recognizing one of the men. A family member of the Bartalotti’s. He tries to scoot away from me, but it’s no use. My foot slams hard onto his, stopping and busting his foot. His screams fill the night air.

“What’s in the bags?” Anton asks pointing at the bags on the table. The Bartalotti family member starts shaking his head. Anton walks over and unzips it, then starts pulling out bags of cocaine. He throws a baggie to me which I recognize instantly as one of mine. He watches with a wide-eyed stare which pierces me, his breathing becomes heavy and labored. Looking down I see his shaking hands as a small trickle of sweat beads on his forehead. He’s obviously freaking out.

“How did you get this?” He doesn’t answer. “Since I’m being taken for granted, and my money seems to be disappearing, I only have one way that can make up for the losses I’m incurring.” I hold my hand out, and Viktor places what I need directly in my palm. “See this here, it’s called a surgical knife. It’s what they use when doctors need to open you up. So, can you guess what I plan to do with it?”

He begins to back away. The man next to him tries to not make a peep, knowing his life is in danger, and hoping he doesn’t get the same treatment I’m about to give this man. I click my fingers and in an instant, both men are being picked up and carried to the table. Lucky it’s a big table. Their hands are tied down, and the boys hold their legs.

They start to scream, and I haven’t even touched them yet.

“This may hurt… just a bit,” I say to the first guy. The one that’s related. The other could be too, it’s just I’ve never seen him before, so I don’t care much for him. The knife cuts straight through like it’s a piece of paper, then I run the blunt end along his stomach making him scream for no reason other than my self-satisfaction.

“I’ll give you anything. I’ll tell you anything,” he starts to plead with me.

I tune him out and begin on the right side, cutting deep, just below his kidney. The blood starts to ooze out fast, touching my hand that holds his down. The warmth of it makes me relax, the smell puts me at ease. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to me, maybe it is.

As soon as the incision is made, my hand goes in, and the man passes out. No more moving. I initiate cutting away the vessels that are connected to the kidney as well as the connections to the bladder.

I’m no surgeon, and the first time I did this I just tried pulling the kidney out without removing its connections. Let’s just say that didn’t end up well. Now, I have a fair idea of what to cut, except today I really don’t care to be exact. Just as I have the kidney in my hand, the man wakes up screaming bloody murder. My hand comes free, his kidney fits inside it perfectly. His screams stop, then he looks at my hand before he passes out again. I throw it into the ice bucket that Viktor places next to me. Handing the knife to Anton—this is his favorite part—I wonder how long he’ll live until the blood loss affects his brain and he dies.