Tempting the Badman (Russian Bratva #5) Read online

  Tempting 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, The Green Pen

  Cover: Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs

  Formatting: Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Russian Bratva Structure

  Epigraph

  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

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Also by Hayley Faiman

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  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.

  Twenty Years Ago

  I HEAR A NOISE. It isn’t anything I’ve heard before. It sounds like gurgling, choking, and some spitting too.

  I’m wearing my favorite Barbie pajamas. They match my Barbie doll. We are like twins, and I absolutely love it. These pajamas are my favorite, by far. My mommy washes them every other night so that I can wear them every day.

  I love my mommy. She’s soft and pretty, and she gives the best kisses ever.

  I follow the noises and find myself walking into my mommy and daddy’s room.

  Then I freeze.

  The noises are coming from their bed. The moon is shining into their room. It’s bright, but all I can see is blood. So much blood. And the gurgling noise comes from my daddy. I run over to him, wrapping my arms around him as I cry.

  “Nessa,” he chokes.

  “Papa,” I cry as tears run down my face.

  My father doesn’t say anything else. He dies in my arms. I turn to my mommy, but she’s like daddy, covered in blood and laying really still. I don’t know what to do, so I crawl between them and curl into a ball—a bloody ball.

  I don’t move for two whole days.

  I don’t care that they are dead. I don’t care about anything. I just want my mommy and daddy back. I cry. The tears come and they don’t stop, even as my body shakes and hurts from crying so hard and for so long.

  They are never coming back.

  “Inessa,” a voice whispers in a curse, causing me to sit up.

  “Uncle Pavlov?”

  “Come with me, girl,” he urges, holding his hand out for me.

  “Why?” I ask as I crawl over my papa’s cold body and into the arms of my uncle.

  “We cannot ask such questions. We only deal with the cards that life deals us. This is your hand, sweet girl.”

  Uncle Pavlov cleans me up and packs a bag for me. I watch as he roots through my mommy’s jewelry box, putting some pieces in a plastic baggie. Then he walks over to her body and pulls her rings off of her fingers.

  “You’ll want this one day, Inessa,” he whispers.

  He wraps his hand around mine and shuffles me into his clean, fancy car. I listen as he pulls out his phone and calls a clean-up crew. I don’t know what it means, but I don’t care. All I know is that my mommy and daddy are gone.

  “You’ll live with me now, Inessa,” he whispers as he drives away.

  “Yes, Uncle Pavlov,” I agree with a nod.

  “We will never speak of this again.”

  I nod my head once more and look out of the window. Everything seems gray, like mommy and daddy took all of the colors with them. I close my eyes and think about everything I left behind; all of my toys, and all of my Disney princess movies. Mommy promised we would go to Disneyland for my fifth birthday. I already had my party, but then we were going to fly all the way to California and see all of the real life princesses.

  I would throw all my toys and movies in the trash—I would never ask for another thing if that meant that I could have my mommy and daddy back.

  I sniffle and Uncle Pavlov pats my knee.

  “You will be okay, Inessa,” he murmurs.

  I love my uncle, but he’s not my daddy, and he’s not my mommy. I squeeze my eyes tight but no more tears fall.

  I have no more tears to cry.

  I have nothing left.

  My entire world is in that home, and it died with my mommy and daddy.

  My parents were never spoken of again.

  Ten Years Later

  I look at the man that, for all intents and purposes, is my father, and I snarl. I hate him. No, that’s not true. I love him, but I hate what he stands for. I hate who he works for. The Bratva. The Russian Bratva. The organization that killed my parents while they were sleeping in their bed.

  “Inessa, you must learn to let this go. This is part of the life,” my Uncle Pavlov urges.

  “I hate them. I hate all of them,” I scream out in frustration.

  “You can hate them all you want, but you will respect them or you’ll find yourself exactly where your parents ended up. The rules are clear. When you don’t follow them, then there are consequences.”

  “I’m not marrying one of them. I fucking refuse,” I shout.

  His hand comes out and slashes across my face. It’s not hard enough to leave anything other than a red mark that will quickly fade, but he’s made his point clear. He is not to be defied, and I am not to scream at him. His dark blue eyes glitter as he stares at me.

  “You’ll marry one of them, Inessa, or you’ll be a whore. Those are your choices.”

  I don’t get a chance to respond as he stands and walks away from me. At fifteen, I’m not thinking about the future and marriage; but
apparently, this was something I should have been thinking about. I stare at the contract and the attached photograph.

  I shiver.

  Cold, dead eyes stare back at me. Eyes of a man, not a boy my age. His name is Gregori. Though he is handsome in the face, he scares me—no, he terrifies me. I have no choice, though. Be a whore to hundreds of men, or to just one.

  I close my eyes before I sign the document.

  In three short years, I will become Mrs. Gregori Zima.

  Present Day

  I GASP AS HIS hand slides up my chest and wraps around the front of my neck while I grind down on him. He feels so good, so damn good inside of me—I swear, I see stars. His hand tightens around my throat, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I’m on the brink of my orgasm, and I don’t think even a detonated bomb could stop me at this point.

  “Inessa,” he snaps.

  “Please,” I whimper the way I know that he likes.

  He grunts beneath me and surges his hips up as I come down. Perfect. I throw my head back as my entire body tenses and my pussy clenches around him.

  “Christ,” he groans just as I feel him climax.

  His hand leaves my throat, wrapping around the back of my head, and he pulls me down so that our chests are smashed together, his lips at my ear.

  “I should spank your ass for that,” he whispers against me. I shiver. “You’d like it too much, though,” he chuckles.

  I would like it. Too much. He knows me so well; and yet, he doesn’t know me at all. Not really.

  He knows my body, he knows how to play it, but he doesn’t know me. I don’t think he wants to know me. Then again, I don’t offer myself, either. Arm’s length. I have to keep him at arm’s length. He’s everything I’ve never wanted in a man. From the top of his messy, light brown hair, to the bottom of his extremely expensive, European leather shoes.

  “You like what I do to you, even if you complain,” I murmur against the underside of his jaw before I kiss him.

  “You know I do,” he sighs. I try to move off of him, but his arms clench tighter around me. “Stay,” he grunts as his hands start to play with the bottom of my hair.

  “I can’t,” I lie.

  I have nowhere to be. I could stay if I wanted to, but I can’t. Staying would mean that we’re more than we are. We’re bedmates and nothing more. If I stay, then I wouldn’t be able to control my heart. It would want more from him, and I already know that. Just his kiss sends butterflies straight to my belly while making my heart skip a beat. Anything more would undo me.

  “Give me one full night, Inessa, and one morning,” he all but begs.

  “No, I can’t,” I say, trying to sit up, struggling against his firm hold.

  One of his hands slides to my cheek and he holds my head up and still, forcing me to look into his face. God, he’s beautiful. His hair is wild and messy, a little too long—longer than the men I usually find attractive—yet, on him, it fits perfectly. He’s strong, but without being packed heavy with bulky muscle. His lips, they’re so full, and coupled with his constant light stubble, he’s absolutely gorgeous.

  I hate looking at him, mostly because I love looking at him so much.

  “One day, yagodka, I will discover the demons that hide behind those beautiful eyes of yours,” he whispers before his hold on me loosens and he allows my release.

  I don’t respond to his words, or to the fact that he’s used a pet name with me. He’s never used one before, and it feels too good for me to think about. Thinking about it will only give me false illusions, it will only make my mind try to dissect what we have, or what we don’t have. I don’t even know what it means. I shake my head of the thoughts as I make my way to the bathroom to clean up before I start to dress.

  “What’s it mean, yagodka?” I ask while I zip up the back of my pencil skirt before I slide into my high heel shoes.

  “Berry,” he shrugs, still lounging in bed. He’s completely naked with nothing covering him. My eyes drift to his cock, and I notice that he divested himself of his condom while I was dressing.

  “Berry?” I ask in surprise.

  “You taste sweet. Your pussy tastes like fuckin’ berries,” he rumbles.

  “Dominik,” I sigh as I slide my blazer over my arms.

  “Come here,” he murmurs, rolling to his side and propping himself up on his elbow, resting his head in his hand.

  I close my eyes for a second, then I walk over to him, pressing my knee into the mattress as his hands reach out and wrap around my hips.

  “Why do you fight me so, Inessa?” he asks as his fingers massage my hips over my skirt.

  “Why do you want me to surrender so badly?” I ask, arching a brow.

  “I like having you here in my bed, yagodka.”

  “You like having women in your bed, Dominik. I know I’m not the only one, so don’t pretend that I am. You just want what you can’t have. You enjoy the chase.” I sigh before I try to stand from the bed. His fingers tighten on my hips, holding me still, and his eyes glitter as they look up at me.

  “I’ve caught you, Inessa. Don’t lie to yourself and pretend that I haven’t. My cock’s been inside of every part of your body,” he laughs.

  “Hmm. Yes, it has, but you’re still chasing me, Dominik, because I won’t surrender to your whims. I won’t give you all of me, and it’s pissing you off,” I challenge.

  “Just go,” he grunts, releasing me from his grasp.

  I turn around without another word, gathering my purse from its place next to his bedroom door. I reach for the handle and I pause, turning around to look at him. His legs are tangled with the sheets, his arms behind his head, and his body and eyes facing the ceiling.

  “I’ll never surrender to you, Nik,” I whisper. He turns his head slowly, his eyes looking at me, but no longer glittering with mischief.

  “I’ll never ask you to, Nessa. If you did, I’d never be able to keep you,” he whispers.

  I close my eyes with a nod and I walk away from him. My body and my damn heart want me to stay—want me to peel my clothes off and curl into his side. But I can’t. He’s dangerous. He’s everything I never wanted in a man, and he’s a whore on top of that. He holds secrets I’m not sure I ever wish to discover. Yet, I’m also sure that there’s more than that to him.

  I have a feeling that once I got down to the core of him, once I truly found him out, I would fall in love, and I would end up with a broken heart. I’ve had my heart broken and shattered too many times in my twenty-five years. I don’t want it to happen again—I don’t think I could survive it.

  I quickly walk to my bright red corvette and cringe, like I do every time I look at it. I hate this car. I despise it, actually. It was a gift from my Uncle Pavlov for my twenty-fourth birthday.

  My uncle is a kind and loving man—well, as loving as he can be for a doctor who works for the Russian Bratva. He’s one of them; and while I hate the organization, I cannot find it in my heart to hate him. I love him too much for that.

  I didn’t even find out until two years ago that he isn’t my real uncle, just a very close friend of my papa’s. Their relationship led him to take me in when my parents died. Nevertheless, I’ve always known him as Uncle Pavlov, and so he will always be that to me, even though he buys me the most ostentatious cars. They’re always so bright and flashy and not me.

  I pull away from Dominik’s apartment building and make my way toward home. I only live a few city blocks away from him, something I’m sure he knows but hasn’t said anything about. Dominik is one of them, too—Russian Bratva—and I hate myself for being with him—for having zero self-control when it comes to him.

  “Ms. Kozlova,” my doorman greets as I walk through the lobby of my building.

  I smile and give him a small wave as I walk by, not interested in getting into a conversation with him this evening. I’m too lost in my own head, too consumed with my thoughts of Dominik, wondering about who he is, and why on earth my body betrays my mind every tim
e he calls me, visits me, or enters me.

  I wanted to stay with him. I wanted to strip my clothes off and curl into him, to take him inside of me again, and watch his face as he came—again.

  Instead of doing those things, I followed my head and I left. Each time I see him, it’s becoming harder and harder to walk away from him. I find myself lingering just a little bit longer every time, hoping that something between us will shift and he’ll be what I desire him to be; that he’ll tell me what I desire to hear.

  That he’s only mine, and I’m his, and there’s nobody else.

  That he wants only me.

  I watch her perfect ass sway as she walks away from me—again. Fuck. I’ve never had a woman burn so goddamn hot for me and yet be so resistant to me all at the same time.

  I reach over into my nightstand drawer and pull out my cigarettes. I need a smoke and to think. I stand, grabbing my boxers as I light my cigarette while walking out to my balcony.

  I’m Dominik Markov, Brigadier to Yakov Chekov. I’m somebody in the Russian Bratva. I hold a rank that most men never see, and Inessa Kozlova should get down on her knees and suck my cock, thankful that I want her to service me in my bed. What she shouldn’t be doing is fucking me and sprinting away from me as fast as she can.

  I look at the city around me. New York, the city that never sleeps—just as I never sleep. My work keeps me busy, but that is not the only reason I don’t sleep. I don’t sleep because when I do, the demons come out to play, and I’m awoken by my own nightmares. Inessa calms those demons inside of me. Just her being with me brings a bit of peace to my mind.

  It’s not fair of me to continue on with her. I’m contracted to another woman, a woman who has been waiting fourteen years for me to officially claim her. Larisa Ivanova is a pretty enough girl. I’ve kept an eye on her over the years. She’s five years my junior, petite with white blonde hair and big blue eyes.

  Unfortunately, through keeping an eye on Larisa, I’ve also discovered she’s a screaming cunt. She’s rude, bossy, manipulative, and entitled. She hasn’t lifted a finger to do a damn thing her entire life, her only concerns being shopping, the gym, the spa, and the men who fuck her regularly. She has quite a goddamn stable.