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

Nikita

I haven’t seen Natasha since this morning when I stood over her, telling her how it is: she’s mine now, and she will be mine until the day we take our last breath. Even after death, she’ll still be mine because I have no intention of living a single day without her.

What the fuck was she thinking anyway? She of all people should know it’s impossible to get away from a Glazov. Sometimes I think she’s fucking with my head just to bring out the beast in me. It’s a damn good thing she likes it so much.

Right now, the sight of her as she descends the staircase in a long, black satin gown is what’s fucking with my head. Specifically, the deep slit up the front of her right thigh. It points right to the silky smooth skin between her legs, which my mouth was happily exploring before she kicked me out an hour ago so she could get ready.

I can’t decide if I should wrap my jacket around her and usher her back upstairs to keep the world from seeing what’s mine, or throw her to the floor and fuck her until she doesn’t know her own name. How can one woman look so seductively feminine and yet think like a man? It’s a dangerous combination and she wears it well.

I push my way through the crowd and grab her elbow, pulling her through the sea of people, ignoring greetings along the way because I don’t give a shit about talking to guests. I push her around a corner and waste no time before I pin her to the wall.

“What the fuck is
this
?” My hand slides over the velvety skin of her thigh to the top of the slit. I slip my fingers under the fabric and snap the side of her G-String, coming dangerously close to ripping it off her. “Sometimes I think you just fuck with me because it amuses you. All I can think about is dragging your ass upstairs and fucking some sense into that maddeningly independent head of yours.”

“Spoken like a true Glazov,” she smirks. She’s deliberately trying to piss me off and, yeah, it’s working. She ducks and steps around me, grabbing a shot of vodka from a waiter and slamming it back. She lifts two more off a passing tray and hands me one. “Relax, baby, it’s a party. You can fuck some sense into me when it’s over. Maybe.”

“Maybe, my ass. When we’re able to get out of here and back upstairs, I’ll be the one ripping this little black dress off you.”

I toss the vodka back and direct my attention toward my father. He’s across the room, engrossed in a tense conversation with the governor. Something’s up. I don’t know what it is but I can feel it and it isn’t good.

As if sensing my scrutiny, my father abruptly turns his head, his steely eyes meeting mine with unerring precision. Whatever they’re discussing has something to do with me. My jaw stiffens and I exhale harshly as I wonder what the fuck it is.

As I pull Natasha into my arms for a slow dance, I clear this latest mystery from my mind and focus my attention on the feel of the supple curves under my hand as she moves to the music. Anything I need to know, the Pakhan will tell me when it’s time.

Cop Killer

I stretch out on the couch and turn on the 11 o’clock news. A sip of wine glides down my throat as the chaos unfolds before me. I knew it wouldn’t take long for the media to jump all over a cop killing—too good for ratings. I listen, wanting to know if the reporter will acknowledge the name I’ve given myself. Hell, I wrote it in blood, you couldn’t miss it.

The reporter’s voice is damn near gleeful as she gives her report:

“The city is in mourning this evening as word spreads that a Louisville police officer was brutally murdered tonight. Karen Conner, a ten-year veteran of the police force, bled to death in a downtown parking garage, the victim of an apparent stabbing. It is believed she was wrapping up her shift, doing routine paperwork in her vehicle when she was attacked.

“The killer is being referred to by local police as the Cop Killer. Why? Because those words were written in blood at the scene.”

The reporter drones on, speculating about the upcoming funeral and tentative plans for a memorial to be placed at a local park. But I’m not listening. I’m basking in the intoxicating rush of being in complete control. It’s a novel sensation and I’m finding it overwhelming. I’ve only felt it only once before -- earlier tonight when I watched Karen bleed out.

Before she lost consciousness, she had a look of such betrayal in her eyes. She even tried to speak to me. The nerve of her. What did she know about betrayal? I could tell her all about it, and, who knows, maybe I did. Because I put that look in her eyes. I did that.
Me.
Her final moments were a testament to my power, my control.

I rummage around in my pocket and retrieve her badge. My fingers slide across the smooth metal, warm from my body heat. Badge number 356. Her family will get a folded flag, of course. But I get her badge. Seems fair to me. Because what goes around, comes around.

Natasha

The crowd parts as if by magic when the Pakhan crosses the ballroom with the governor by his side. There are no genteel smiles and polite murmurs of “Pardon me, excuse me.” Just the Pakhan’s haughty bearing as he strides confidently in our direction. Drunken revelers and members of the Bratva elite instinctively move aside to make way for the superior beast among them.

I barely suppress a smile at the power play unfolding before me. Glazov catches my amused eye and arches a brow as his lips curl in a subtle but arrogant smirk. With a slow shake of his head, his message is clear:
This shit never gets old.

“Natasha, my dear, you look lovely,” he greets me with a nod before turning to Nikita. “We need to speak privately, son.”

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Nikita murmurs to me, pressing a kiss to my temple as he turns to go.

“No, she comes too.” The seriousness in Glazov’s eyes leaves no room for discussion.

I nearly choke on my champagne, the bubbles catching in the back of my throat and setting off a coughing fit that draws the attention of a number of nearby revelers. I quickly assure Nikita I’m fine and accept a handkerchief in order to tidy up and give myself a few seconds of much-needed recovery time. A replay of today’s clean-up runs through my mind. I have a system, a check list of sorts and I don‘t miss details—ever. I’m meticulous and this job was no exception. So that can’t be it.

It isn’t uncommon for Glazov to include women in business discussions. It is, however, unusual for him to include the governor. His presence at tonight’s fundraiser was positioned by his press office as a brief, informal appearance to show support for the expansion of the local library. However, Glazov’s inner circle knows that the Pakhan is cultivating goodwill for his new slate of legitimate businesses. This event offers the two men the perfect smokescreen to talk business without attracting attention. But that doesn’t explain why he wants to include Nikita and me.

I’m not surprised to see Novak waiting for us in Glazov’s office. He barely looks up as he twirls a coin between two fingers. His demeanor is as it always is—cocky. He couldn’t give a fuck about being in same room with the governor of the great state of Kentucky.

Glazov unbuttons his suit jacket and lowers himself smoothly into his seat behind his desk. He adjusts his cufflinks as he glances at the governor before turning his attention to Nikita and me.

“No doubt you’re wondering why I’ve included you two in this discussion,” he says grimly. “The governor tells me that a police officer was killed earlier this evening in a particularly vicious attack.”

Novak is the first to respond, his eyes narrowing on the coin as it comes to rest in the palm of his hand. He closes his fingers around the coin and exhales harshly. “No offense, Governor, but what the fuck does that have to do with the Glazov family? What exactly are you implying here? I hope you don’t think you can enjoy our hospitality, drink our wine, eat our food -- and toss out accusations,” he says silkily, finally looking up to blast the governor with a look of warning.

The governor meets his gaze head on.

“When I authorized the release of the man you all call
Ivan the Terrible
, I had no idea I would need your help so soon. This is a delicate matter, to say the least. The officer’s throat was slit so deep she bled out. No cop is going to let a stranger get that up close and personal. She knew the killer. She was comfortable enough to roll the window down for a chat, leaving her totally exposed and vulnerable. She knew the killer well enough to trust him.”

“So where do we fit into all of this?” I ask.

The Glazovs don’t make a habit of getting involved with the local police, unless it’s to buy someone off or maybe indulge in a little well-placed blackmail. This is so far out of the norm for the Glazov family that my curiosity is piqued.

“The possibility that the officer knew her killer concerns me because it raises the possibility that this was an inside job. That complicates the investigation so objectivity is critical. I want to bring in an outside forensics consultant. Someone with no ties to anyone on the force. A sort of consultant, if you will.”

Nikita’s body stiffens next to me. I look to Glazov for direction and he nods almost imperceptibly.

“How soon would you need me?” I ask.

“Tonight,” the governor says decisively. “Our forensics staff expedited the autopsy. It’s being done now and they will file the initial report within the hour. I’d like to have your input as well, and you’ll let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary.

“I can get you into the morgue tonight but we need to move quickly. With all the pressure for a funeral with full honors, we’re releasing the body to the funeral director first thing in the morning.”

“So you’re going to sneak me into the morgue in the middle of the night so I can go back over a body that’s already been processed?”

“Essentially, yes. At the very least, I’d like you to review the autopsy notes. The hands-on work is wrapping up now, but you’ll have access to the body tonight if you need to follow up on any of the initial findings.”

“Well, I’ll need a little time before we leave.”

“What on earth for?” he asks impatiently.

“I need to change into my work clothes,” I say serenely, crossing my legs and deliberately ignoring Nikita’s scowl as the silky fabric parts to reveal more than a little leg. “Gentlemen, if I’m going to be up to my ass in dead cop tonight, these Louboutins are staying home.”