The Cleaner (Born Bratva Book 4) (21 page)

Natasha

Lately we’re sneaking into the mansion every time we come home and I don’t like it. The thing you have to understand about Alexander Glazov is that you never know just how much he knows, so you’re always wondering if he’s just giving you enough rope to hang yourself. He has the uncanny ability to read people – their plans, their motivations. One minute you think he wouldn’t cross certain lines and the next you realize that, to him, everyone is expendable—including, in rare instances, family. The man can smell fear and right now I’m terrified. Enough is enough, we’ve got to find this woman.

All of this anxiety is compelling me to find her and execute her before Nikita’s fascination with her causes irreparable damage within the cell—not to mention irreparable damage to our close-knit family. If we lose the Pakhan’s trust, it may be impossible to get it back. I’m not willing to risk that even if she’s a victim of circumstances caused by an asshole husband or corrupt cops.

Glazov is right, matters of the heart and business must be kept separate. I wouldn’t be struggling with this if it weren’t for the fact that my fiancé is feeling conflicted. I, on the other hand, have never let emotions get in the way of business—until now. Part of me hates her for potentially causing a rift in my relationships with Glazov and Nikita, but I also feel the need to support Nikita and his convictions.

“What’s going on over there, deep thinker?”

I reply without missing a beat, “If this woman doesn’t get the fuck out of my head, I’m going to put a bullet in hers.”

I’m not in the habit of keeping things from my best friend. The best way to deal with this woman is to stop giving her power. Keeping no secrets from each other will strip her of her ability to come between Nikita and me.

“I figured as much. And before I let her get between my father and me, I’ll let you.” I’m kind of surprised at his answer. He must be getting tired of this shit too.

“You’re struggling with this too, huh?”

“Yes, but ultimately the bottom line is loyalty. I know that. But I also have to be able to get up every day and look at myself in the mirror.”

“That’s where you and I differ, my conscience doesn’t bother me when it comes to killing. However…I would never forgive myself if something bad happened to this family because I let my emotions get in my way.”

“Are you sure you and Roksana weren’t sisters in another life?” he asks with a laugh.

I sit down and slide the box of journals from underneath the bed and lock eyes with Nikita.

“No…but we sure as hell are in
this
one.”

Cop Killer

Finding out that the man who looks like he walked off the cover of GQ magazine is the son of Alexander Glazov just took shit to a whole new level. Now…I’m questioning my death wish. Going out in a bullet-riddled blaze of glory is totally different than the prospect of enduring a torture session with the Russian mob first.

I have no idea why these people would take an interest in what I’ve been doing. I’m beginning to wonder if the people I’ve killed had more connections than I thought. Maybe I underestimated them. Not that my husband ever confided in me, but I never thought the braindead jerk carried any clout beyond his cop connections.

I open my desk drawer and grab a burner phone. One good thing about professionals is they always have a phone number on their website. Lucky me, he also lists a ‘private, confidential’ number that only he monitors. I toss around the idea of whether I should send a text or leave a voicemail. I go with the latter since what I have to say is probably too long for a text. I use a voice changing app to disguise my voice. As I expected, the call goes straight to voicemail, so I wait for the beep. 

Mr. Glazov…

I have to admit I’m intrigued that you and your fiancé are working my case. You know how it goes -- there are two sides to every story and then the truth. Well, I think it only fair that you hear my side of the story. Also, I’m fascinated by your, shall we say, family history.

Now, obviously, I need to know you won’t repeat what I tell you. Seems to me the only way to do that is to establish attorney-client privilege. It looks like I might be needing an attorney in the near future, so I’d like to hire you. Better safe than sorry, right? It may be enough that you and I have an understanding that you’ve taken my case; however, I think you would agree that money is the great equalizer. And I’m nobody’s charity case, either. So I’m going to provide you with a retainer fee, just to make things nice and official. I know it won’t be nearly as much as you would typically receive, but it’s the best I can do, given my current circumstances.

After I get the money to you, I’ll contact you about a meeting place. You can bring your girlfriend since she’s at all the crime scenes anyway. Maybe having her along will help. I don’t want to do anything to undermine attorney-client privilege here, but I need all the help I can get and I figure if you can trust her, then so can I.

You’ve probably already figured out who I am. I used to be Mrs. Bob Finley. But not anymore. Emily Finley is dead and gone, as far as I’m concerned. She was a spineless victim who didn’t know how to take care of herself. No more. For our purposes here, I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Jasmine. I’ll be in touch.”

I end the call, knowing that what I’m doing is a double-edged sword—I’m just hoping to cut off the head of my enemies with the sharpest edge. No matter how well I play my hand other issues will factor in: timing, luck, fate. But I’m hoping that bitch karma shows up too, because if and when she does I’ll be the one coming out victorious.

I just hope these Bratva boys aren’t the kind to shoot first and ask questions later. Even so, I’d prefer that over a torture session with one of their goons. I’ve managed to anticipate a lot in this crazy journey I’ve been on, but nothing could have prepared me for this turn of events.

I turn my attention back to the computer screen to continue researching these two strangers who may be my only hope of redemption.

Nikita

I’m glad Natasha is being honest with me about how she feels, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about my potential conflict with my father. I’ve barely been in contact with anyone at my office in recent days, so I lean against the window sill as I check for any messages on my secure line. At this point, I’d welcome any form of distraction while Natasha continues going through journals.

I don’t move a muscle as I replay a phone message that will likely blow this case wide open. I save it to the message archive and sit down in a nearby wing chair.
Jesus. Be careful what you wish for, I guess.

I end the call, slack-jawed as I consider the implications of what I just heard. The breath I’ve been holding escapes in a long, slow exhale and I scrub my face with my hands. Tilting my head back, I squeeze the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

“Baby, you’re not going to believe this,” I utter in disbelief as I straighten in the chair and meet her curious gaze.

“I don’t think there’s a whole lot that would surprise me right now, but what the hell, go for it.”

“Our killer just left me a fucking phone message.”

My declaration is met with silence. I start to wonder if Natasha heard me until she lays her head back and laughs her ass off.

“Natasha, I’m serious.”

“I know, I know,” she gasps as she wraps her arms around her middle, gathering her composure briefly before dissolving into gales of laughter once again. One look at my face, though, and she clears her throat, dabbing at the tears that have gathered in her eyes. “Wow. Just when you think this case can’t get any more bizarre, she leaves you…a fucking phone message?!”

She’s obviously still struggling to maintain her composure, and I can’t really blame her. Hell, this has taken me by surprise too. Then, just as fast, she’s all business and ready to kick shit.

“How the hell did she even know you were involved unless she saw you at the crime scenes? I know it’s not uncommon for criminals to visit the scene of the crime, to witness the aftermath for themselves. Jesus, this means she’s been watching us.”

Her features go so cold that it causes even my hackles to rise. She jumps up from where she was seated on the floor and charges over to me to stand directly in front of me, hands planted firmly on her hips. “Nikita Glazov, you listen to me and you listen to me good. That crazy bitch crossed a line with me by basically
stalking
you. You know that shit doesn’t fly with me.”

My woman is a spitfire and, even though I’m amused at her display of protectiveness, part of me fears for the killer. Pissing off a woman who cleans up torture scenes for a living isn’t a smart thing to do. But I see no reason why I shouldn’t take full advantage of the situation – maybe mix a little business with pleasure after all.

“Where is this coming from, baby? Are you jealous?” I ask silkily.

“This is about a whole lot more than just jealousy. What’s to say she doesn’t have it somewhere in that crazy head of hers to kill you?”

“Don’t you want to know what the message said, before you go all Terminator on her ass?” I ask.

I scowl as it hits me just how selfish I’ve been.
Fuck me, I’m such a bastard sometimes.
This case has taken over our lives, our private time together. Hell, it’s even getting in the way of Natasha planning our wedding with my mother and Roksana.
Shit.

I pull her onto my lap. With my arms wrapped around her, I stroke her back in slow circles and confess. “I’ve been remiss, baby. I can see that now. I owe you an apology.”

“What on earth for?”

“For being a selfish, thoughtless beast of a man and an insensitive fiancé. This is supposed to be one of the happiest times of your life, planning our wedding. And yet I’ve let some stranger who means nothing to us overshadow that joy. I’m sorry—I’m truly sorry. Do you forgive me?”

I close my eyes as she cups my face in her hands—soft, strong hands I love, hands that have moved mountains to protect my world and the people in it.

“Nikita, you know I would do anything in the world for you—but that doesn’t, nor will it
ever
, involve allowing you to be put in danger. This woman is
unstable
.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “It’s time to go to your father with the information we have.”

“She wants to hire me as her lawyer,” I say absently, speaking more to myself than her.

“Shit…I’m telling you, Nik. The. Woman. Isn’t. Stable.”

I know she’s right. This stranger who has invaded our lives has pushed us into a corner. I wonder if the woman has any idea she signed her death warrant when she decided to pull Alexander Glazov’s son into her death spiral. She has unwittingly signed her death warrant and I must resign myself to not being able to stop the sequence of lethal events that she has unwittingly put into motion.

She has no way of knowing, but her timing couldn’t have been worse. My father has always been overprotective of his three children, but after Kodiak’s shooting he became even more so. After enduring the agony of nearly losing the son he pulled from the flames so many years ago, Glazov will not risk losing his firstborn son.

“Natasha, stop, just…stop. I love you. You know this.” I cradle her face in my hands, pulling her to me with an urgency I can’t remember ever feeling before. My lips cover hers and my tongue slips inside. I explore her mouth with slow, lush licks as if searching for a way out of the madness that seems to be seeping into every corner of my life.

I pull back and meet her heavy-lidded gaze, my eyes solemn and unblinking. The energy in the room abruptly shifts as the predator in me slowly comes to attention, attuned to every detail; the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way she bites her lip, how her nipples are pebbled against the fabric of her top. I close my eyes for a long moment and can’t help the growl that rumbles from deep in my chest as I press her curves even closer against me.
Mine…

She moves to sit astride me. Her hands tear frantically at my belt and zipper and I know she needs reassurance that the craziness won’t come between us. Her dress makes it easy for her to pull her panties to the side and seat herself to the hilt on my erection in one slow, slick slide.

She groans, and it’s a throaty sound born of pleasure and pain. My hair comes loose from my usual ponytail as she rakes her fingers through the strands and buries her face in my neck. Her breath is hot against my skin.

I break the kiss to wrap my fingers around her neck. I pull back slightly, just enough to establish the eye contact I need as her hips begin to dance on my cock. One slow roll leads smoothly into another as she undulates and finds the angle she needs.

“I can’t get enough of you, you know,” she murmurs drunkenly, already well on her way to achieving the spine-tingling release that will sheathe her pussy around my cock like a fist and send me reeling over the edge with her. She gasps her next words brokenly, reminding me that our connection goes so much deeper than this visceral, all-consuming physical attraction.

“I love you so much, Nikita. It would kill me if something ever happened to you.”

I place a finger over her lips and grit my teeth as I struggle to form coherent words. My brain isn’t cooperating, though; it’s too busy trying to make sense of the rush of sensations rolling through me as her drenched core ravages my cock from root to tip. “Shhh,” I gasp. “Stop talking and fuck me. I need this. Need you.”

Her hips grind against me, pushing the base of my cock against her clit. I revel in the sight of my lover tossing her head back and keening wildly as she climaxes. I follow her over, shuddering with pleasure as I release my cream deep inside her.

We hold on to each other for a long time afterwards, letting lazy kisses, soft smiles, and slow touches restore our senses as we come down from the mountaintop together.