You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2)
Read You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2) Online
Authors: Georgia Le Carre
Contents
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Editors: Caryl Milton, Elizabeth Burns & IS Creations
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You Don’t Own Me #2
Published by Georgia Le Carre
Copyright © 2016 by Georgia Le Carre
The right of Georgia Le Carre to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patent act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN:
978-1-910575-34-5
You can discover more information about Georgia Le Carre and future releases here.
https://www.facebook.com/georgia.lecarre
THANK YOU FOR DOWNLOADING THE CONCLUSION TO THE SERIES
You Don’t Own Me # 2
As an author I am always immensely grateful for your support.
For a limited time only this book will come with the following
BONUS
content:
Sexy Beast
Masquerade, 'One wild night'.
These two
FREE
books have been included with your purchase purely for your enjoyment. You Don’t Own Me 2 will finish at 35%, Sexy Beast at 73%, and Masquerade at 99% on your kindle.
There's also a sneak peek of my coming soon release:
THE BAD BOY WANT’S ME
.
I am giving you this information as many readers like to know how far they are into a book and don't like the ending to come as a surprise.
ALSO BY GEORGIA
The Billionaire Banker Series
Owned
42 Days
Besotted
Seduce Me
Love’s Sacrifice
Masquerade
Pretty Wicked
Disfigured Love
Crystal Jake
Sexy Beast
Wounded Beast
Beautiful Beast
Dirty Aristocrat
You Don’t Own Me #1
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Dedication
For my lovely muse, Snjezana Sute aka Snow.
I wish to extend my deepest and most profound gratitude to:
Caryl Milton
Elizabeth Burns
Nicola Rhead
Tracy Gray
Brittany Urbaniak
SueBe
e★
bring me an alpha
!
★
Russian terms of endearment are different from English ones. Here are the translations for the ones that are used in this series.
lyubov moya
” (my love), “
kotik
” (pussycat), “
kotyonok
” (kitten), “
zaika/zaichik
” (bunny), “
malysh
” (baby), “
lapochka
” (sweetie pie), “
zvezda moya
” (my star), “
zolotse
” (my gold). “
rybka
” (little fish), “
myshka
” (little mouse),
‘Yes, I fucking do”
- I’ll tell you just how much a dollar costs
it is the price of having a spot in Heaven -
Aleksandr Malenkov
(Training)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zLfCnGVeL4
I
let their names fall away a long time ago. They are still here in the graveyard of my soul, dragging their dismembered bodies, cursing and swearing at me, but I don’t hear them. I have mastered the art of pretending the blood dripping from my hair is my crown, my liquid crown. But she came, and like a spade slicing into the earth she is turning up forgotten thing, buried things. I have started to hear their voices. Faintly, but getting closer …
‘Aleksandr,’ my father calls from his tall leather armchair that is as big as a throne.
I leave my toy soldiers in their battle formations on the floor of my room and run to stand next to his knees.
‘Yes, papa.’
I am in awe of papa. He is tall and strong with forearms as meaty as ham shanks. He can lift mama with just one hand as if she weighs nothing more than a bottle of vodka. Not taking his shiny black eyes off me, he brings his large hairy wrist up to his right ear and listens to his watch.
‘Looks like my watch has stopped working again.’ He takes his hand away from his ear and puts on his thinking face. ‘Hmmm … I can hear mama making a cake in the kitchen, but it’s not my birthday, and I don’t think it’s hers either.’ He raises his bushy eyebrows. ‘Is it yours?’
‘Yes, papa. Yes,’ I cry excitedly.
‘Well then, how old are you today, my son?’ he asks.
‘Seven. I am seven today,’ I tell him, standing as straight and tall as I can.
There is a hint of a smile playing about his lips. There is something familiar about that smile. I don’t know why, but the apartment suddenly becomes strangely quiet. Even the noises of mama cooking in the kitchen stop. It is so quiet I can hear papa’s watch ticking. Tick. Tick. Tick. I start to remember something from long ago. Something horrible.
Mama is bleeding and I am hiding under the bed
. How could I have forgotten such a thing?
Frightened, I take a step back.
Then my papa grins at me, and it is the happy grin from before his accident. From when I was still a small boy and we used to huddle up together in his big chair and drink sweet black tea from the same mug. I realize it must have been just another bad dream. Mama was not bleeding and I was not hiding under the bed. I grin back at papa. I love my papa. I’d do anything for him. I wish we could drink tea from the same mug again.
Papa leans forward. ‘Shall we try on the gloves?’ he whispers.
I nod happily. When I was born papa bought me a pair of boxing gloves and every birthday since I can remember we try them on to see if they fit. Until now they have not.
‘Go fetch the boxing gloves.’
I run to papa and mama’s room and open the drawer where they are kept. The battered ones that are bigger than my face belong to papa, and the small, bright red ones, shiny with newness are mine. I run back to papa with them.
‘Take your T-shirt off,’ Papa says.
I quickly pull it over my head and the winter air makes me shiver.
‘Brrrrr …’ I say, purposely making my teeth chatter and my body shiver.
Mama would have laughed and called me a clown, but papa doesn’t. I stop chattering my teeth and shivering and stand still while papa puts my gloves on my hands and binds them securely around my wrists.
‘Papa, they fit,’ I tell him with a whoop with joy. Finally papa is going to teach me to fight. He has been waiting patiently for this day to begin my training.
‘Yes, they do. You are a man now, Aleksandr,’ he says.
‘I’m a man now,’ I echo as I look at my gloved hands. Papa says if I train everyday I will become as big and strong as him.
‘And what do men do?’
‘They fight,’ I shout proudly.
‘That’s my boy,’ papa says with a big, happy smile.
I am so happy my heart feels as if it will burst in my chest.
‘I hope you ready to begin your training.’
‘Yes, papa,’
While papa puts on his gloves I hold my fists in front of my face and start dancing on the spot the way the boxers on TV do. Feeling powerful and happy-I’m a man now-I even throw a few jabs in the air with my right hand.
‘Are you ready?’ papa asks.
I stop moving my legs. ‘Yes.’
‘Hold your hands up over your head.’
Immediately I raise both hands.
‘The first lesson is learning how to take a punch like a man,’ he says and punches me in the ribs.
The blow hurts, but I am able to keep my hands up.
Papa looks me in the eye and nods with approval. I feel a flash of pride. I truly have become a man.
I take a deep breath and he punches me again. I breathe in sharply. That one was more painful.
‘Good,’ he encourages before hitting me again, harder still. Then, before I can recover properly he gets the fourth one in. It knocks the wind out of me and I double over, my hands automatically going around my belly to protect myself.
‘Hands up,’ he orders.
I stare up at him, shocked. I don’t recognize the man glaring at me angrily. This is not my papa.
‘Hands up,’ he says sternly. ‘I’m doing this is for your own good.’
Slowly I straighten my body and raise my hands up.
‘Let’s see if I have a son or a daughter,’ he says.
Then his arm shoots out. Wham. So hard hot tears fill my eyes. I don’t want to cry. I’m a man now.
‘If you can’t take this how are you going to be the greatest fighter in the world?’
Wham.
‘For God’s sake, stop sniveling like a little girl, I’m not even using half my strength.’
Wham.
He laughs. ‘You think it’s so easy to be the best fighter in the world, huh?’
Wham.
This time I fall to the ground, unable to breathe.
My father flies out of his chair. ‘Get up, you pathetic little sissy,’ he spits furiously.
He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls me up to my knees. I start crying. He brings his face so close to mine I see the little holes in his skin and the mad light in his shining eyes.
My mother appears at the doorway. Her face is white. ‘That’s enough now,’ she pleads. ‘Please Igor. That’s enough for today. He’s just a child.’
My father carries on staring at me, at the tears rolling down my stunned face, at the snot running from my nose, at my shivering body.
‘You disgust me,’ he says and lets go of my hair.
I fall back to the floor, but he is not finished.
‘Stand up,’ he orders.
‘Please Igor,’ my mother begs. Her voice is shaking with fear.
‘I said stand up,’ my father shouts.
I get on my hands and knees and stand unsteadily. My head feels dizzy, my knees are like jelly, and my stomach and ribs are so full of pain I am sure that I am dying.
‘Now fucking put your hands up.’
I am trying my best not to cry, but my entire body is shuddering with agony as I lift my hands up.
My father throws a punch. It is so vicious my body goes flying backwards, crashes into a chair, and both the chair and I slide along the floor and slam into the wall.
‘Get up and fight,’ papa screams.
Whimpering, and twisted into a heap, I stare bewildered at my mother. She is running towards me, but she never reaches me. My father grabs her by the hair and jerks her back. I see her mouth open, but no sound come out. He throws her and she goes hurtling backwards and slams into the wall with the most awful thud. Winded and shocked she lays propped up against the wall. Mama legs are open wide and I can see her underwear.
Papa hisses at mama like a snake and calls her a bad word. ‘Stay out of this you, witch. This is for his own good.’
Then he turns towards me. I can see mama beginning to crawl on the floor.
‘Don’t hurt him, Igor,’ she snarls.
Papa freezes, his face twisted and ugly. He turns around, goes back to her, picks her up as if she is a doll, and smashes her face against the floor. Blood gushes out of her nose. I can’t breathe. I can’t say single word. Gasping sounds come from my mouth.
‘Don’t interfere,’ Papa says as he kicks mama again and again in her poor belly. She curls up into a ball and doesn’t make a single sound.
‘Mama!’ I scream again and again, but nobody pays any attention to me.
I get up even though my whole body feels the way my finger felt when it was crushed under a rock, and rush screaming towards my mama. ‘Stop, papa. Stop. You killing mama.’
Papa grabs me as I lunge towards him.
‘Scream will you?’ he bellows, and kaboom, punches me in the side of head. My whole body sails backwards. Then there is no more pain. Just blackness…
