Bound to the Sinner (Russian Torpedo Book 2) Read online

  Bound to the Sinner

  A Russian Torpedo Novel

  Hayley Faiman

  Hayley Faiman Books, LLC

  Contents

  Also by Hayley Faiman

  Stay Connected

  RUSSIAN BRATVA STRUCTURE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Hayley Faiman

  Bound to the Sinner

  Copyright © 2022 by Hayley Faiman

  All rights reserved.

  Editor: My Brother’s Editor. Ellie McLove. http://www.mybrotherseditor.net

  Proofreading: My Brothers Editor. Rosa Sharon. http://www.mybrotherseditor.net

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Visit my website at: http://hayleyfaiman.com

  Created with Vellum

  Also by Hayley Faiman

  Men of Baseball Series—

  Pitching for Amalie

  Catching Maggie

  Forced Play for Libby

  Sweet Spot for Victoria

  Russian Bratva Series —

  Owned by the Badman

  Seducing the Badman

  Dancing for the Badman

  Living for the Badman

  Tempting the Badman

  Protected by the Badman

  Forever my Badman

  Betrothed to the Badman

  Chosen by the Badman

  Bought by the Badman

  Collared by the Badman

  Notorious Devils MC —

  Rough & Rowdy

  Rough & Raw

  Rough & Rugged

  Rough & Ruthless

  Rough & Ready

  Rough & Rich

  Rough & Real

  Cash Bar Series —

  Laced with Fear

  Chased with Strength

  Flamed with Courage

  Blended with Pain

  Twisted with Chaos

  Mixed with trouble

  SAVAGE BEAST MC —

  UnScrew Me

  UnBreak Me

  UnChain Me

  UnLeash Me

  UnTouch Me

  UnHinge Me

  UnWreck Me

  UnCage Me

  Unfit Hero Series —

  CONVICT

  HERO

  FRAUD

  KILLER

  COWBOY

  Zanetti Famiglia Series —

  Becoming the Boss

  Becoming his Mistress

  Becoming his Possession

  Becoming the Street Boss

  Becoming the Hitman

  Becoming his Wife

  Becoming her Salvation

  Prophecy Sisters Series —

  Bride of the Traitor

  Bride of the Sea

  Bride of the Frontier

  Bride of the Emperor

  Astor Family Series —

  Hypocritically Yours

  Egotistically Yours

  Matrimonially Yours

  Occasionally Yours

  Nasty Bastards MC —

  Ruin My Life

  Tame My Life

  Start My Life

  Dance into My Life

  Shake Up My Life

  Repair My Life

  Sweeten My Life

  Russian Torpedo—

  Stolen by the Sinner

  Bound to the Sinner

  Caught by the Sinner

  F*cked by the Sinner

  Stripped by the Sinner

  Rejecting the Sinner

  Loved by the Sinner

  Offspring Legends—

  Between Flaming Stars

  Esquire Black Duet Series –

  DISCOVERY

  APPEAL

  Forbidden Love Series —

  Personal Foul

  Kinetic Energy

  Standalone Titles

  Royally Relinquished: A Modern Day Fairy Tale

  Stay Connected

  Website: http://hayleyfaiman.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorhayleyfaiman

  Facebook Reader Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/433234647091715/

  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/10735805.Hayley_Faiman

  Signup for my Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/b5a_1v

  TikTok: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMRDTmtcY/

  Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/hayleyfaiman/

  BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/hayley-faiman

  If you need to be bound to someone, then it’s important to be married. If you’re independent, then it’s important not to be married

  Goldie Hawn

  RUSSIAN BRATVA STRUCTURE

  Pakhan – The Boss: Controls everything.

  Sovietnik – Councilor: Adviser 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.

  Chapter 1

  KSENIA

  A cool chill runs over my skin, even though it is in the high eighties out here on the sand. No matter what, I cannot stay away from the beach, from the ocean, no matter how hard I try. The West Coast beaches just have something that others don’t. They also have someone nearby that the others don’t, which means that I should not be here.

  I should be long gone, but I can’t… I’ve tried.

  This place is comfortable. It’s home. It’s all I’ve known over the past decade.

  Inhaling through my nose, I let the breath out slowly, then look around the beach. There are people milling around, families, and young adults, teenagers, too. Then there’s me. I’m alone, all alone. I tend to stay that way knowing that being alone is a lot safer than being with anyone else, friends, lovers, whatever the case.

  It’s safer being alone.

  Being alone means there is nobody to get hurt and nobody to hurt me at the same time. I’ve been through both scenarios. So, even though I am thirty years old, I’ll forever be alone and alive. But I also feel like I’m saving other people’s lives as well, ones who may want to be in my life in one way or another.

  My life is not made up of fairy tales and butterfly kisses. It’s dark and ugly, it’s painful. Alone is better. The hairs on the back of my neck stand and I look behind my shoulder, trying to figure out who is watching me.

  Someone is definitely watching me.

  I can feel it, down to the deepest part of me. I can feel it in my bones, to the marrow. I know that I can’t go to the police though, if I do, then they’ll label me as crazy. I know that they will, I’ve been there before.

  The sun beats down on me, but I feel cold even as sweat gathers along my lower back and between my breasts.

  Looking out to the crashing waves, I think about making my way into the extremely cold water for a quick dip, wondering if it would wash off the feeling that has suddenly consumed me, but I decide against it. My body may be hot on the outside, but inside I’m freezing cold.

  I don’t want to shimmy my jean shorts down and expose myself even more than I already am in just my shorts and bikini top. Whoever is watching me, he or she is going to see that, and it’s too vulnerable.

  I’ll react in some way if I do that too, so I force myself to ignore the sensation and lie back down on my towel. I forgo the walk that I was getting ready to take down the length of the beach. Something just niggles in the back of my mind, telling me that I should not leave my stuff alone.

  Once I’m settled, I reach for my book and lie back in my chair. My umbrella covers every part of my body and I take a few cleansing breaths in hopes that it will help my mind calm down.

  It doesn’t work.

  I end up rereading the page I’m on five times before I close it and decide to pack up my things. This is the only day this week that I have off of work. I don’t know who is watching me, but they really fucking ruined it.

  I’m
pissed.

  Beach day.

  Ruined.

  Once my things are gathered, I pick up the umbrella and drag it down the beach to the rental place. The guy behind the counter gives me a smile and thanks me for renting it. I return his smile, but inside I’m about ready to scream in frustration and anger.

  I don’t allow myself to think about the fear though. Because if I do that, then I really won’t be able to function. It’s been at least a decade since I’ve felt this way and I don’t know what’s happening now, but nothing good can come from this.

  It doesn’t take me long to make my way toward my car. Standing at my trunk, I let out a heavy sigh. My car. I loved it when I bought it ten years ago. But she’s sure showing her age. My car was the first thing I bought… after.

  After everything.

  After my world came crashing down.

  After everything fell apart.

  After I ran and for the first time, I was let go.

  Once everything is neatly packed away in the trunk, I open the driver’s door and sink down. I’m still wearing my jean shorts and bikini top as I drive home. It’s nothing weird or rare to see someone in their swimsuit driving around town. I’m comfortable enough with myself that I don’t even realize it half of the time.

  That’s just part of living in a coastal California town.

  My apartment building comes into view, and I let out another heavy sigh at the sight of it. That is another thing that is old and run down, my apartment building. I should not bitch. The owner really likes me and allows me to pay cash. She doesn’t ask any questions and I don’t have to explain anything.

  I think she realizes my situation, maybe not my exact situation, but she knows that I’m a woman on the run. She doesn’t ask questions, she doesn’t make me sign things, and she takes cash. She’s the best landlord I’ve ever had, another reason I don’t want to leave this area.

  Opening the car door, I head toward my apartment door. It’s only a few feet away, and honestly, I really don’t like that it’s on the ground floor either, but beggars can’t be choosers, so I just once again—let it go.

  Stepping inside, I immediately know that something is wrong. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel without a doubt that something is definitely off.

  My apartment is small.

  A living room and kitchen that are all open to where I’m standing, then one bedroom that I can see from said living room, the door being open, because I always leave it that way.

  Nothing appears out of place at initial glance. But I feel it. Deep in my bones, just like I know that something was off at the beach. But how could whoever is possibly watching me have done something inside of my apartment so quickly?

  It’s crazy, right? I’m just being paranoid, right?

  Unless they’ve been watching me for a while and know exactly where I live. But then, wouldn’t I have felt the sensation before? It’s not like this is the first time I’ve ever felt it.

  I know when I’m being watched.

  I’m keenly aware, something that I, unfortunately, learned early on in life—far too early.

  Closing my eyes slowly, I shake my head once, inhaling a breath and holding it before I open my eyes again. Slowly, I let my breath out, my gaze flicking around the room again. I try to drown out everything. Every single noise or distraction and I just listen.

  Nothing.

  Complete silence.

  I know that it must be him.

  He is the only person that I can feel and yet leaves behind zero evidence of his presence. I don’t know how he does it, I don’t really want to know, either. Instantly, I’m filled with conflicting feelings.

  I thought that I would never see him again. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to or not. I halfway hoped that I wouldn’t. But now that I know he’s here, I’m not sure that I can go on without physically seeing his face at least one more time.

  “Grisha? I know you’re there,” I call out.

  GRISHA

  I watch her from a distance. Her spine is straight as she looks around the beach. I should have known that this is where I would find her. This is where I could always find her. She would get angry with me and run away, always to the beach.

  This is where her soul is at peace. Maybe it is the freedom of the ocean, something that she has never truly experienced. Maybe it is the warmth of the sun. I don’t know, but this is where she belongs.

  It took me a little time to find her this go around. I’ve always kept tabs on her, but the last few years I’d let it slip. I don’t know why. Maybe I was just being lazy. Maybe I was thinking of letting her go completely.

  She deserves to be happy, she doesn’t deserve to be scared, to be miserable. But maybe I just really wanted to forget she existed, for my own selfish reasons.

  That’s a lie.

  Never could I forget Ksenia’s existence. She was the only woman I ever felt anything for. The only woman who could look at me and see the man that I am underneath it all. The only woman who has known me. There have been others, dozens of others, but none could make me erase her from my memories.

  Once she packs her things and drags her umbrella back to the rental stand, I watch as she makes her way to her car. When she’s safely inside the piece of shit automobile, I drive toward her apartment, leaving her behind… for now.

  It wasn’t hard to find out where she lives, where she works, or anything else about her. She attempts to hide in plain sight, but she could never do that, she’s too goddamn bright. She’s too scheduled, too routine, too fucking beautiful.

  I know that she goes grocery shopping on Fridays after work and to the beach on Sundays. The other days of the week, she works and then goes home. There are no men in her life, no friends, nobody anymore.

  I have to admit, although she hasn’t covered her tracks much, she has at least done well in the area of relationships—recently. Maybe she figured me out, discovered what I’d been doing. Maybe she just decided to stay single. Whatever the case, I’m really fucking glad that she is unattached.

  Slipping into her apartment, I am unseen because this place is shady as shit with about a million other people being sneaky and trying not to be caught doing whatever it is they’re doing.

  Locking the door behind me, I make my way into the bedroom and wait for her. I make sure that I’m out of sight of the front door. I don’t want to scare her per se, but I don’t want to be seen immediately either.

  When the front door opens, I hold my breath. She doesn’t move any farther into the apartment and I know that she senses me. There is a long moment of silence. Both of us are quiet. I stay still, where I am, waiting for her to do something. I’m on edge in case she decides to run.

  Then she calls out my name and it’s the sweetest fucking sound I’ve heard in a decade.

  “Grisha? I know you’re there.”

  I could let her wonder, let her feel that faux sense of safety, then appear. I don’t do that though. I don’t want to be too much of a dick, not immediately anyway. Instead, I lick my lips, inhaling a deep breath, then let it out, before I step out from the side of the room and show myself.

  “Ksenia,” I say, murmuring her name aloud for the first time in almost ten years.