Glazov's Legacy (Born Bratva Book 2) (10 page)

Glazov

“What are you doing, Glazov? You never wear jeans and a t-shirt. Though, I’ll admit you look damn good dressed in tight clothing with that long ass hair of yours pulled back. I get the distinct impression you’re going out to do surveillance on someone. Who the fuck is it, Glazov?”

I chuckle at my wife and decide it will be fun to piss her off.

“Do I detect a note of jealousy?”

I watch my wife as she turns to glare at me, and I can’t resist the urge to rub it in a bit more.

“I’d take you with me, but I’d have to add your name to my hit list if I did.”

“If I follow you and find out you’re tailing some bitch, you’ll be on mine.”

“Well, as much as I would enjoy your company today, I don’t think you can stomach watching Antonio Wayne in action.”

At that point, my nosy wife interrupts.

“The Colombian thug?”

“That’s what his wife calls him, and I really am going to have to kill you if you ever attempt leaving me, Kathleen. You know too damn much.”

“I think I’ll pass on tagging along. It isn’t the fact that I can’t deal with a sadist; I just have my hands full with the one I have. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m nosy though, so fill me in later.”

“You are the furthest thing from the stereotypical Bratva wife. You are way too interested in the business I conduct. Do not follow me, Ptichka. Antonio is crazy, and I can assure you, you won’t be able to stomach his methods of torture. The guy is a full-blown sadist. You don’t want to see him in action, even if it is via live video streaming.”

“I have no desire to watch Antonio Wayne filet one of his enemies. Have fun, dear.”

She’s such a smart-ass. Only my wife can find humor in what I do. I grab my leather jacket and quickly descend the stairs two steps at a time. To Novak and me, this is almost like watching entertainment; the only thing missing for us is the popcorn. There aren’t many things I enjoy more than seeing the competition at work and getting a feel for how they operate. Hell, I might even get some new ideas from watching him work his magic. Mastering the art of torture is an ongoing learning process, and I would like to think I’m capable of more than just cutting off victim’s body parts to get the Intel I want. When I open the door, I see my cousin already waiting outside for me, standing by his sports car.

“I’m not sure how crazy I am about riding with the top down; I’m accustomed to bulletproof glass.”

“I’ll be able to drive fast because it’s an open road, cuz. It’s hard to hit a moving target.”

“I don’t want to be a fucking target at all, Novak!”

“It’s boys’ day out. Just roll with it.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“It’s in the DNA, baby. Our whole family is nuts.”

We speed down the driveway and out onto the open highway, heading toward River Road. That particular street is known for being used for drag racing, so I’m not surprised when Novak opens up the engine to see what his car can do. Thankfully, the road is clear of traffic, so the ride to the warehouse is over quickly.

The warehouse is close to the Dauntless MC’s compound, and they keep an eye on things when we aren’t around. I deal guns to them, and they have become close allies in the business.

Our Shestyorkas have already safely delivered the arms to the warehouse in New York and set up the hidden surveillance. Now, we only have the task of climbing up the stairs to the warehouse attic. We have set up quite the man cave here in Louisville. Normally, it serves as a great place for us to unwind, somewhere we can relax and, perhaps, play a few games of poker. The downstairs area is usually where we bring an enemy that needs a little extra incentive to talk. Many of my men like watching these interrogations, so we started adding on to the man cave. It now has a big screen TV to watch boxing matches, plenty of vodka on hand, and enough lounge space to just shoot the shit between torture sessions. It’s a system I use: torture, rest, and repeat.

Some sessions have been known to last for days. This enables me to implement other techniques that enhance the victim’s pain and suffering. Things like sleep depravation and hunger are very effective tools in breaking down a person’s will to remain silent. It can take days to achieve the perfect concoction, and it’s specific to each individual. Many of the prisoners I abduct for Intel are trained soldiers for my opposition. There is no sense in my boys not having the comforts of home while an enemy is being detained. I want my Bykis to have a nice place to stay when they have bodyguard duty at the warehouse, and the attic comes in handy for just that. It is a huge area, complete with sleeping quarters, a game room, and an office area with state of the art electronics, surveillance, and computers.

When Novak and I finally get to the top of the stairs, we are like two kids going to the movie theater. Maybe we will get that popcorn…

Glazov

Soon after Novak and I get situated for the live feed, the show starts on the big screen we have connected to the computer. I watch as a member of the IRA, one of our biggest competitors, enters and addresses Antonio Wayne. The moment I see Antonio’s face on the screen, it is evident to me that he enjoys a good mind fuck. Silence is a powerful tool when used to instill fear, and he has mastered it.

Aedan O’Hara panics when he realizes there will be no gun trade. I watch as another man comes into view, and I assume he is the one responsible for arranging this little setup.

We watch as Antonio has the man stripped down to his underwear and tied up, and then we wait for the torture to begin. I have to say, I am surprised when he doesn’t start with cutting off a limb as his reputation suggested he would. Instead, he slowly and methodically inflicts tiny paper cuts all over the man’s body. Mesmerized, we sit and listen as Antonio talks, and it feels like he is addressing us directly.

Many people think salt is an irritant to an open wound, and while this is true…

We watch as he makes a salt paste and painstakingly rubs it into each and every paper cut. He continues to speak as he works.

While this is true, when it is mixed with lemon juice, it’s just about fucking unbearable, even for the strongest of men. I enjoy control, Aedan, and right now, you are a man being subjected to my sadistic dominance. You really shouldn’t have kidnapped Damon’s woman…

“Let’s get out of here, man. It looks like that motherfucker could be torturing that guy for hours, and I need to get some work done today.”

“Hey, this
is
work. We just learned some new ways to torture people,” Novak argues but still follows me out.

We make our way back out to the car and start heading down River Road. When we hit the underpass at Jefferson Street, I see one of the gamblers who’s been avoiding my men just sitting at a gas station. He owes me quite a bit of money, and I’ve had my Boyeviks looking for him to collect for a while.

“Hey, pull over. There’s that little shit who owes me money.”

We wait until he goes in the store and then discreetly follow behind him. Novak and I grew up working together, and we anticipate one another’s moves naturally. Novak takes one aisle, and I immediately start making my way down another.

I stalk my way up to the son of a bitch, and when I jerk him around, the little shit actually pops a cap off with the .22 he’s carrying. It barely misses me, and when he realizes it, the idiot actually uses his gun to hit me in the face instead of shooting again.

I crash my fist down on his temple and throw his ass into the large refrigerator full of milk. He’s out cold, and I can’t help but stare at him with the gun in his hand, thinking about what a close call that was. Distracted, I never notice the owner of the store, nor do I see the baseball bat he has raised over his head in preparation to nail me.

Novak grabs the bat from the owner and slams it into the guy’s kneecaps. Snacks and knickknacks go flying as he collapses in the middle of the aisle. I flip the man I knocked out over and take his wallet out of his pocket, retrieving what money he has to apply it toward his debt.

“Get that security tape,” I yell out to Novak, purposely avoiding using his name. Novak jumps over the counter and grabs the tape before we quickly make our exit. I’m not done with that little shit for trying to shoot me, but now isn’t the time to deal with it.

We are both laughing hysterically after we get in the car. It’s good to have Novak back where he belongs—with family.

Kathleen

I eye my husband from where I’m sitting on the bed, working on my laptop. When he enters the bedroom, it’s obvious he has been in a fight. His hair, that had been tied back when he left, is now hanging loose and tangled around his face. Add that to the fat lip that’s already beginning to swell, and I’d say it’s a given.

“I don’t even want to know.”

“I don’t believe you,” he states as he stalks over to my side of the bed.

“I’m shocked your cock isn’t hard with as much violence as it looks like you’ve experienced today.”

His only response is to grab a fistful of my hair with one hand and smear my lipstick with the other. My husband is bad about using my long hair to subdue me. For as long as we’ve been together, he’s always been a hair puller. He uses the tactic so much that I wonder if he was the proverbial little boy at the playground, pulling the pigtails of little girls as they ran past him. I can see by the look in his eyes that I need to resist cleaning off my face. He knows I hate it when he smears my make-up, and I’m sure that’s exactly why he does it.

“I guess I spoke too soon.”

When I look again, I note the outline of his cock bulging in his jeans. He pulls my head so my lips brush against the denim, leaving a red stain in the fabric from my smeared lipstick. He glares down at me in a silent command, and I know exactly what he wants. My fingers tremble while I undo his belt and unzip his jeans to pull his cock out. I clamp my hand around his length, pumping it a few times before I cover the head with my lips and suck. The hissing sound he makes through his teeth lets me know I’m affecting him and spurs me on.

“Touch yourself for me, Ptichka,” he growls.

My fingers slide under the hem of my dress and over the wet spot in my panties. This man I have been married to for twenty years never fails to arouse me. Each and every time is different; it’s like we are still learning each other’s bodies and responses. Glazov is the only man who has ever solidified my belief in chemistry. I used to think it was bullshit for people to be drawn to one another like positive and negative charges, attracting each other by the laws of science. We have it all—fire and ice, gasoline and matches, and the electricity that is forever drawing on the other’s current.

I can feel his cock jump in my mouth as I gently massage his balls with my free hand. I am so close to going over the edge myself because he is watching me so intently, feeding the exhibitionist in me. My body lurches at the same time I feel the warm spray of my husband’s seed at the back of my throat.

I watch as he takes a moment to gather his wits and shed his clothing, stained with blood and make-up. I know some of the blood has to be his, but I’m betting that most of it belongs to whomever he got into a fistfight with. I’ve seen my husband in the ring, and he is brutal. I know, from experience, if my husband has a busted lip, the other man walked away with much more damage. That is, if he walked away at all.

I know our life is dysfunctional, but it’s our version of normal. We have love, and we have devotion, and that’s despite all the chaos and mayhem we’ve endured throughout the days, weeks, and then years we’ve been together.

I know the other side of dysfunction all too well. There are those who portray perfection outside their home’s walls, and then they fight and hate those closest to them when securely behind closed doors, away from the curious eyes of the public. I would rather live my brand of ‘fucked-upness’ than live a lie. I may live in the raw, brutal world of organized crime, but we are the embodiment of
keeping it real
. Our love for each other runs as deeply as the blood in our veins, and it extends to every family member. I know Glazov is happy to have Novak back home. There is strength in numbers, and we are strong in the force we present to the outside world. No matter what we go through together, in the end, we are always there for the family, and we always present a united front.