Seducing the Badman (Russian Bratva #2) Read online

  Seducing the Badman

  Copyright © 2016 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: RC Martin, Another Pair

  Cover: Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs

  Formatting: Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Quote

  Russion 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

  Epilogue

  Also by Hayley Faiman

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Rosalyn —

  Your favorite Badman.

  Thank you for being invaluable to me.

  Words could not express how much your friendship means to me.

  RUSSIAN BRATVA STRUCTURE

  Pakhan – The Boss: Controls everything.

  Sovietnik – Councilor: Advisor and most close 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 KNOW THAT MY father isn’t a good man. The locked down, forbidden sections of our house prove that secrets and danger lurk in every corner. The men that surround our home, the doors, and my father are just another clue.

  I didn’t know how dangerous he truly was until I saw it with my own eyes.

  I have the application in my hand. I want to go so badly, but he has already said no. He has already forbidden me to attend university. I am ahead in school. I have been privately tutored, and now I am ready to move on. I want to be normal, I want to find love, I want to get away from the strangling hold of my father’s grip.

  Knocking on his closed office door is forbidden. One rule among many. I decide this cannot wait. I must know his answer. Tomorrow is the deadline for the application, and I must talk him into it.

  The media has labeled me as a printsessa—a princess. From the outside, it looks as though I have everything my heart desires.

  I have money, clothes, and things.

  But I don’t have love, freedom, or happiness.

  “In,” my father’s deep voice calls out. I slowly step inside of his office.

  “Papa, I would like to talk to you. I… I want to go to university. I want to be like a regular person,” I murmur, looking down at my shoes.

  I learned when I was a young girl to never look at him in the eye, unless he asked me to.

  “Eyes up,” he orders. I obey.

  I always obey.

  “Nyet, Emiliya. You are not normal. Your job is to stay pure until I decide on your husband. You are to lie with him while he puts his seed inside of you, and then you birth his babies. You are to be a good wife and mother. You are to look perfect and act perfect at all times. You are not to think. Learning anything in University would do you no good. It will waste my time and money,” he grunts.

  I can’t help the tears that well in my eyes. I want to go. I want away from this monster that I am forced to call my Papa. My lip trembles as my father stands and walks around his desk to me.

  “You want to leave so badly? Fine. You can go to France; you can learn to cook. It is the only opportunity I will allow you,” he sneers.

  I open my mouth to plead with him. I hate cooking. I am horrible at it. But not one sound comes out as my father’s hand comes out and lands across my face in one, harsh slap. I whimper as my cheek pounds, but he doesn’t stop. He never does. I take his punishment silently. His abuse.

  “Never ask me for another thing, Emiliya. When you finish your cooking courses, you will come back and spread your thighs for whichever man I choose as your husband,” he growls before he spits on me. He then orders a man to drag me out of his sight.

  I would kill him in this moment if I could.

  I would love to watch the blood drain from his body, rendering him as helpless as he makes me feel.

  I hate him.

  I hate my life.

  I hate myself for being so weak.

  Twenty-One Years Old

  MOSCOW, RUSSIA

  THE PAPARAZZI FOLLOW ME through the GUM shopping center. I wish they wouldn’t. My life is not that interesting. I shop, I lunch with girls who are like me—owned by their families— and I primp at the salon. My days are dull and lifeless, much like I am on the inside. A slave to my father’s whims, not in control of my own life, not even what I eat. My father controls everything. My diet, my looks, my wardrobe, my non-existent social life.

  “Miss Chekova, give us a smile,” one of the men calls out as he points his camera toward me.

  Chekova, the name that makes me cringe. Because I am the daughter of Ivan Chekov, I am somebody. At least to the outside world I appear as somebody. Little do they know that I am actually nothing. Absolutely nothing. I breath, I eat, and I sleep, but my life is not my own. I am a puppet, owned and controlled by the puppeteer.

  I turn and give the paparazzi what they wish. It is not much that they have asked for, a smile. Much more has been taken from me in my life. I can give away a false smile freely. Once I am finished, I go home.

  The house is quiet but never empty.

  My father’s office is locked, which means he is occupied. I let out a sigh of relief and take myself straight to my room. Once I am safely inside, I am too tired to stay awake. I get ready for bed and tuck myself in, ready to forget the world for a few hours, or perhaps even until morning.

  A noise startles me from my sleep and I find that my bed is surrounded by four men, only one of which I recognize. Yakov, my brother. I open my mouth to scream, but Yakov covers it before leaning down, inches from my face.

  “Get dressed, we must leave, now,” he growls.

  My ey
es widen and I nod once.

  “Leave. My sister will dress and come quickly,” Yakov orders. I watch the men leave.

  “What is happening?” I whisper when he finally releases me.

  “Dress,” he grunts, ignoring my question.

  I hurry into my closet, afraid of what is to come. I quickly grab a soft black, scoop neck, three-quarter sleeve dress. It is stretchy and clings to my body, but it is also comfortable. I take my favorite soft pink high heels and slide them on my feet. I quickly run a brush through my hair, thankful that it is still straight and sleek. I open the closet door and run past my brother to the bathroom. I quickly brush my teeth and apply a light layer of makeup.

  It may seem silly to clothe myself in a dress with heels, applying makeup for an undisclosed middle of the night mission, but it is what I was taught. I am to be impeccable at all times, as you never know who is watching you, or who will see you.

  “We need to go,” Yakov barks from the other side of the bathroom door. I finish the last swipe of mascara on my eyelashes.

  I open the door and look into my brother’s black eyes. Cold, dead, black eyes. If I did not know he was a good man, I might think him to share the same evil soul of our father. But he doesn’t. He hides behind a mask, never to be penetrated, never to be vulnerable. These are lessons he has learned the hard way throughout this life of ours.

  “You will be safe, Emiliya,” he murmurs as he takes my hand and gently squeezes it.

  Minutes later, I am inside of a big, black SUV, on my way to an undisclosed location with three gigantic, dangerous men and my brother. The ride is silent. I hold my breath as we pull up to a beautiful apartment building.

  “Come,” my brother orders as he steps out of the SUV, holding his hand out to me. I slip my hand into his and follow him, holding onto him tightly.

  Once the apartment door opens, I gasp at the sight of my father standing in the middle of the room. A beautiful pregnant woman is lying on her side on the floor, propping herself up with her hands. Two men have guns trained on each other, and my father is standing off to the side, smiling like the madman he is.

  “Put your guns down,” one of the men who escorted me orders, his voice sounding bored sounding.

  “Radimir, how are you doing? You come in here thinking to order my man to do anything?” my father growls. I watch as his face turns bright red.

  Nobody orders my father to do a damn thing. My father is the man who rules. He makes this very clear, and will inforce his power if need be—and often.

  I watch as his eyes roam over the men in front of me. My brother and I are staying back; he can’t see us, but I can see him, and he looks livid.

  The room is full of big, handsome men in suits, my father, and the little pregnant blonde woman. I’m not listening to the words, it’s too hard to hear what is being said and by whom but there is obviously a power struggle happening. Nobody defies my father, ever, I wonder who exactly these men are to obviously question him.

  “Nothing will ruin me. I find Mariya and have this bitch and her. Then my secrets are safe. You won’t do shit,” my father rants loudly before he laughs. He looks demonic. I am looking into the true face of evil in this moment and I have never been more scared in my life.

  “I ruin you, Ivan. I will take over and have everything you have, politically and financially. I will own you and there will be nothing you can do about it from the grave, friend,” Sergei announces. His voice is soft, but meaning is laced in every word. I know who he is, I have met him once at an event. He is very powerful, though I don’t know exactly how. I can tell by his stature and by the way the men around him look at him and treat him.

  “You would not dare. Without my legitimate business in your pocket, you have nothing,” my father gloats.

  I watch as Sergei throws his head back and laughs like this is the funniest statement he has heard in all his years. One of the men who escorted me here turns and takes two steps toward Yakov and me. He wraps his hand around my lower back and pushes me forward and into the center of the room. I feel as though I am on display. Not that it is a new feeling, but every man in the room, and the pretty blonde, have their focus on me. There are mixtures of shock and knowing smiles as I take in the men.

  “I have your son—your heir—and your daughter,” Sergei boasts. I watch as the color drains from my father’s face.

  “My son will never side with you, and my daughter is nothing but a future whore to be sold when it is convenient to me,” he announces.

  I wince as his words. He has announced that I am a whore in front of a room full of men. Shame and embarrassment flood my body as my face turns red with his words.

  I clinch my fists tightly as Ivan tells the room that his daughter is nothing but a whore. She is gorgeous, the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. She is soft and sweet, not a whore by any means. Ivan is a cruel bastard of a man. Yakov has told me plenty of his cruelty throughout the years, and I wish I could take him down myself, right this instant.

  “You foolish tyrant. Your son has been a Torpedo—a contract killer—since he was sixteen years old, for me,” Sergei, my Pakhan, announces.

  I would love to see the look of shock on Ivan’s face at the deceit of his own son, his heir, the man he has been grooming since birth to take over his place on his self-appointed throne. But I can’t. My eyes are fixed on the black haired beauty before me. She is tall and curvy, the dark to Kavdia’s light.

  Klavdia—my ex, the ice cunt of a bitch.

  I want to wrap Emiliya in my arms and shield her from all of this, to protect her from Ivan and from this life. She should know nothing of the Bratva, or of the men like me who control it, who are in charge of it.

  “How do you fit into all of this, Gregori?” Sergei asks. I watch the man, the weasel of a man. Sergei knows the answer; he’s just waiting for the traitorous bastard to lie. Sergei likes to play with his prey.

  “I am trying to save these women,” he says pleadingly. His voice is shaky and I can see the sweat forming on his brow. He is a shit liar.

  “Kill him,” Sergei murmurs toward Yakov.

  Before the words even leave his lips, Gregori is in a pile of dead flesh on the floor. Emiliya screams before covering her mouth. It makes my heart ache that she has seen this part of the life. The ugly part. My eyes travel to hers, assuming that she is staring at Gregori’s lifeless body with fear, but she isn’t. She’s staring at her brother, shock in her gaze at what he’s done.

  I walk over to her and place my hand around the back of her neck to comfort her. She has just been informed that her brother is a contract killer, and she has watched him unceremoniously kill a man, all while her father has spewed his fucked up bullshit.

  “Emiliya will not go back to you, tyrant. She stays with us, where her brother can protect her, where her pussy will not be sold for you to gain power,” I announce.

  “Emiliya will come home. Her marriage contract is in process,” Ivan growls. I feel the printsessa shiver beneath my loose grip.

  I glance down at her before pulling her closer to my side, trying to shield her from the words her father is shouting. I feel her body grow rigidly tight, so I massage her neck, trying to relax and calm her. She must be terribly frightened.

  “I grow tired of this,” Sergei announces, looking over at Yakov. Silently, he signals him to end the relentless conversation.

  We all watch as Yakov pulls the trigger, aimed at his father’s forehead. Ivan falls to the ground in death.

  It is the end of the dictator’s reign.

  “You did good, son. Now you are the richest man in Russia.” Sergei announces with a chuckle.

  I look down at Emiliya and notice she is staring at her father’s lifeless body with no emotion on her face. No, I take that back; I watch as relief floods her features. I would be relieved too if I were out of that man’s controlling clutches.

  My eyes scan the room as Yakov speaks to his sister softly, from the other side of h
er, I look away to give them a sense of privacy. I watch as Maxim’s hands wrap around Haleigh’s large belly. The couple will no doubt have much to talk over after we leave, but she is safe now. Sergei is arranging cleanup crews with the men, to come in and wipe the bloody scene from Maxim and Haleigh’s living space.

  “You do as I wish, Emiliya. I want you safe, and I know no other way to achieve that than to have this man at your back and at your side. I will be in the middle of a heated war that you cannot be involved in. I trust Radimir. I have known him many years,” I overhear Yakov tell her. It is true; I have known Yakov since the day he came into our family at just sixteen years old.

  “Come, beautiful girl, you need rest,” I whisper into her ear. I keep my hand at the back of her neck, not only to comfort her, but because I need to touch her.

  Wordlessly, Emiliya follows alongside me as I guide her to the SUV. I am relieved when I see that the cleanup crew has arrived. They will take Sergei home. My focus right now is on Emiliya and getting her safely into my home, where she will reside. I have already made arrangements for her arrival. I knew she was coming home with me tonight. A plan that has been in place for some time.

  Yakov will be leaving in a few short hours for America. Gregori has a residence there, and after years of observation, we have discovered there is a girl living there. We’re not sure of her welfare, as Gregori was not known for being gentle. He was, in fact, a sadist. He enjoyed hurting women, both mentally and physically.

  Maxim’s wife, Haleigh, he toyed with mentally. This girl he has hidden in America—I have a feeling he has done far worse things to her. Yakov will need to tie up his affairs and prepare his father’s businesses for sale.

  After all, he is an employee of the Bratva. Our organization does not allow a man to create his own income. On the surface, yes. In reality, no. When you join the Bratva, you sign your life to them, but you are rewarded handsomely if you work hard and climb the ranks.

  Yakov will be selling his father’s businesses to Sergei and no other man. It will imbed him even more into the Bratva than he already is. It will intertwine him and in turn Emiliya as well.