Chosen by the Badman Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Russian Bratva Structure

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Bought by the Badman (Russsian Bratva #10)

  Also by Hayley Faiman

  About the Author

  Special Thanks

  Chosen by the Badman

  Copyright © 2018 by Hayley Faiman

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Editor: Ellie McLove, www.grayinkonline.com

  Cover: Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs

  Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Russian Bratva Structure

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Bought by the Badman (Russsian Bratva #10)

  Also by Hayley Faiman

  About the Author

  Special Thanks

  “Whatever course you have chosen for yourself, it will not be a chore but an adventure if you bring to it a sense of the glory of striving”

  —David Sarnoff

  Russian Bratva Structure

  Pakhan – The Boss: Controls everything.

  Sovietnik – Councilor: Advisor and closest trusted individuals to the Pakhan.

  Obshchak – The Bookmaker: Collects all money from Brigadiers and bribes from the government.

  Brigadier – Authority: Captain in charge of a small group of men.

  Boyevik – Warrior: Soldier, works for a Brigadier.

  Kryshas – Covers: Extremely violent enforcers.

  Torpedo – Contract Killers

  Byki – Bulls: Bodyguards

  Shestyorka – Associate: Errand boys. Lowest rank in the Russian Mafia.

  Sixteen Years Old

  I STARED AT MY father. This was the man who swore above all else that he would always protect me, protect my mother, and protect my siblings. He’s failed. I am seemingly safe, living in a nice house, having whatever I want at my fingertips, including ballet lessons every single day. I’m not safe though. The paperwork sitting in front of me cements that fact. I am far from safe.

  “I hate you,” I hiss.

  My mother lets out an audible gasp, but my father just stares at me, completely expressionless. He’s like that, all of the time. You don’t know what he’s thinking unless he wants you to. He is all kinds of badass, and I loved it at one time.

  Today, I hate it.

  “Kiska,” my mother scolds.

  I lift my chin and narrow my eyes at him. We are a lot alike, my dad and me, and not just because we look alike either. “You do this, knowing that I will never be happy. You sign this shit, and you know that you have signed me over to a lifetime of misery.”

  My father shrugs as if it is all the same to him. The asshole. “You’ll feel differently in a few years. You should be thanking me. He wanted to marry you at eighteen, I prolonged it until twenty-one to give you your freedoms,” he states.

  I snort. “Freedoms? Bullshit.”

  My father stands and looks intimidating. I can feel his anger fill the room, it fills it so full that I physically choke on it, finding it hard to breathe. “That’s twice you’ve cussed at me. Enough. It is done. He is a good Brigadier, and he is happy about this future union.”

  I roll my eyes. Pissing him off further. His hand slams down in front of me causing me to jump. “Get the fuck over yourself, Kiska. You are the daughter of a Pakhan. You are not awarded liberties like other girls. You don’t know how goddamn good you have it.”

  He turns and walks away from me. I watch him go but keep my eyes glued to his back. I fucking hate the bastard. I now understand why my mother fought their relationship, and then again, I understand why he won. Kirill Baryshev always fucking wins, at everything. He is a Pakhan, which makes him untouchable. The asshole.

  “Don’t be too angry with him, Kiska girl,” my mother sighs.

  Turning my glare to her. “Why not? He’s selling me like a prized cow. And what kind of mother are you, that you let him?”

  I watch my mother flinch. My blow, direct and landing exactly how I wanted it to. I feel bad for being a bitch to her, but we haven’t had an easy life, my mom and me. She worked as a stripper for years to support me, all the while I practically raised myself. We lived in shithole apartments on the bad side of town, and I was mercilessly bullied in school because my mom danced naked for money. You grow up fast when you live a life like that.

  “We don’t always get what we want in life, Kiska. He is being very generous by allowing you your dancing career. I wouldn’t act ungrateful.”

  I open my mouth to say something else, but she doesn’t let me. She stands and walks away, following my father’s path.

  I hate them.

  Both of them.

  Thirty Years Old

  “Have you thought any more about taking a wife?” Timofei asks from his place behind the desk.

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him. He knows how I feel about contracting a wife. I want a warm and willing body in my bed, and on my arm. What I don’t want is someone who feels obligated to be
there.

  I grunt which makes Timofei chuckle. “I don’t want contracts,” I state.

  Tim shakes his head. “You’ve been a good soldier, and you’re about to be a Brigadier. You’ve done so much for the organization. You are deserving of this. I have a stack of pictures in a file, all fathers who are practically begging to give you their daughters. Think on it, brother.”

  Lifting my chin, I stand and leave him. I have some shit to do today anyway. I try not to think about what he’s offering. Basically, the fact that I can have my pick of women. I don’t want them though. I want a woman who wants me, for me. Not because I can buy her whatever her heart desires, not because I hold power, and not because her father has signed her over to me.

  Is it so bad to want a woman who truly loves me?

  I know that some of the people who are joined this way, by contracts, find love but that’s not what I want. I don’t want to enter into a relationship, into a marriage, and hope for love. I want it to already be there. Maybe that makes me some kind of pussy, or not a real man? I’m not sure.

  I want what I couldn’t have growing up, for my own children. I want them to have parents who love each other. Parents who love so much that they brought a child into the world because they were overflowing with that love. What I don’t want is to have my wife hate me as much as mother hated my father. I don’t want to have women on the side, the way my father did. I want to be faithful.

  “Konstantin?” the sweet voice calls out.

  I didn’t even realize that I’d driven here. I look over to the woman who is standing at the side of my car. Paloma. She’s beautiful, a single mother, and she’s lived through hell. What she isn’t is a woman whom I love. She doesn’t love me either, which is the only reason this works between us.

  “Kids at school?” I ask.

  She jerks her head slightly before she nods. “Yeah, I was headed to the grocery store, but…”

  I open my car door and get out, slamming it closed before I lock it and alarm it. We don’t touch as I follow her to the side of her house and walk inside. We’ve been doing this dance for a couple of years. She was abused by one of the heads of the Cartel when she was only a girl. She bore his children and lived in fear. She offered us valuable information, and now she’s under our protection. Which is how I met her to begin with.

  “Is there anything you need to talk about?” she asks as soon as we walk into her kitchen.

  Letting out a sigh I reach behind my head and wrap my hand around the back of my neck. “We aren’t that, Paloma,” I murmur.

  She nods once. “I know…”

  It’s then that I see it. Maybe it’s always been there, and I never noticed it. I see it now though. She wants us to be that. Fuck. I reach for her and wrap my hand around her cheek. “Paloma…”

  “Don’t,” she says on a tremble. “I know, okay. Just. Let’s just be what we are, what you want us to be,” she whispers.

  “I can’t do that to you.”

  She reaches up and places her hand on my chest. “Konstantin, don’t leave me,” she whimpers.

  Shaking my head, I let my hand fall from her face and take a step back. This cannot go on. “Be well, Paloma. If you’re ever in trouble, you know how to contact me,” I state. Turning around, I walk away from her. She doesn’t try to stop me, but I know that I’ve hurt her.

  Fuck.

  Deciding that today is not going to get any better, I head home to my apartment. I need to sleep, and I have some serious thinking to do. I’m not getting any younger, at thirty, I need to settle down and start the family I desire. I’m just not sure how to go about that.

  My occupation, and my position, make it impossible to date outside of the Bratva structure. Yet, there is virtually no dating inside of it, because most of the women are contracted, or already married.

  Once I’m parked in my designated spot, I let my forehead fall against the steering wheel. “Fuck,” I hiss. I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, but I need to do something.

  I’m not sure if finding a woman to love before a contract is drawn up, is feasible. No matter how badly I want it to be. I’m also not going to make any rash decisions. This is for the rest of my life, this isn’t something that I can rush into. What I need is a bottle of vodka and a dark quiet room to think and process.

  Stepping out of my car, I lock the door and head toward the staircase to find just those things.

  Two Years Later

  MY BODY IS SORE, the adrenaline spike I had experienced has now completely dissipated. I gave it my all, every piece of me. Nobody in this room wants this as much as I do. This is my last bit of freedom and I’m going to grab it, hold onto it, and ride it with everything that I have.

  “You were ready,” Haleigh states.

  I consider her my aunt; her family is extremely close to mine. Haleigh is a Bratva wife, and she was a professional ballerina before she married her husband, Maxim. I don’t know the details of their union, but I do know that she’s not Russian. It’s not completely unheard of for a Bratva man to marry outside of the Russian nationality, but it is uncommon for a man of power in the structure to do so. I know that much.

  “I want it,” I whisper to her.

  She’s my best friend. I know that she’s my mom’s age, but I can talk to her about things that I can’t talk to my parents about. Plus, I spend more time with her than I do anybody else. She’s my instructor, she’s been training me for this very moment.

  She smiles as she takes my hand in hers and gives it a squeeze, “I know you do, and you’ll get it,” she winks.

  I hold my breath when I watch one of the judges walk out and post a piece of paper. He hurries away, and a swarm of girls run to that paper. I watch as one by one they either walk away smiling or crying. Haleigh doesn’t push me or say anything. She stands there and waits right next to me, her hand in mine.

  When the room has cleared out, I suck in a breath and slowly walk up to the paper. I close my eyes for a moment before I reopen them and scan the paper. My eyes water when I look at the third name on the list.

  I’m officially an apprentice for the New York Ballet Company.

  “Congratulations,” Haleigh says softly from behind me.

  I turn around and throw myself into her arms. She accepts me, and we hug. It’s happened. It’s finally happened. My dream has come true.

  “Let’s go tell your family,” she suggests.

  I take a step back and shake my head once “I haven’t been a very good daughter,” I admit in a whisper.

  Haleigh smiles, and it’s too kind for the likes of me. “They understand, sweetie. If anybody understands what you’re going through, they do. Both of them love you very much, and they will always love you, no matter what.”

  “I don’t want to marry that man. I don’t want any part of it,” I state.

  She gives me a sad smile and nods. “I know, sweetie. I know,” she sighs. “Unfortunately, we’re in a life where we don’t always get to choose what we want. I do want to advise though, that this life, although we don’t get to make all of our own decisions, we do, however, get to decide on how we behave and react. Life is what you make of it, Kiska. You’re taking control, and you’ll have it for the next three years. Do what you desire to do, then make the life you’re forced into what you want it to be. Don’t be angry, bitter and miserable, because then you’re only hurting yourself.”

  I listen to her words. I let them soak in, and then I nod. She’s right. Life is what you make of it. Do I want to marry, Akim? No way in hell. It doesn’t matter, I’m marrying him anyway, and it’s up to me to make it a positive union. Maybe in three years, I’ll feel differently, but for now, I’m going to live life to the fullest and enjoy every minute of my freedom.

  “Okay, Haleigh,” I whisper. She gives me a wink, and together we walk out of the building.

  There is a car waiting to take us to my parents. I plaster on a smile as soon as The Oleandr comes into view. It’s my fam
ily’s favorite restaurant to visit when we’re in New York. I know that there is an entire room full of people waiting for us, to hear if I made the company or not.

  I smile as I tip my head to Haleigh. “Let’s tell everyone the news.”

  “Yes, let’s,” she grins.

  Together we walk into the restaurant and bypass the hostess station to the back room. I wrap my hand around the handle of the door but don’t open it immediately. I turn to look at Haleigh. “Thank you, Haleigh. Thank you for everything. You’re right. Life is what we make of it, and I plan on making it fantastic,” I whisper.

  Her eyes water and she nods. “Good girl,” she replies in a whisper.

  I slam back my shot glass and stare out into nothingness. The city lights twinkle, but I don’t see them. I don’t see anything. I fucked up. Again. I keep doing it and yet, I can’t stop myself. I’ve just broken things off with the third girl that was a potential match. I don’t like any of them.

  They were all pretty enough, but one was overly spoiled, the other so meek I think her own shadow frightened her, and the latest… a slut. I caught her fucking someone else tonight. I should have put up a fight, beat the shit out of the Shestyorka, who was balls deep inside of her. To be honest, I didn’t give a fuck. She wasn’t my type anyway, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

  So here I am, still alone, no contract and two years later. The offers have been slowly dropping away too. Most of the fathers are looking for or have already found different men for their daughters. I should be more concerned with that, but I’m not. I’m also not getting any younger, especially since I desire a family.

  My phone rings and I curse when I see who is on the other end, my Pakhan, Timofei.

  “Yeah,” I grunt.

  He chuckles. “I have a mission for you,” he states.

  “As if I don’t have enough to do? You’re giving me more?” I ask.

  He hums before he speaks, “Are you planning a wedding anytime soon?”