Caught by the Sinner (Russian Torpedo Book 3) Read online

  CAUGHT BY 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

  Caught by 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

  Beautiful Unwanted Wildflower

  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

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  Love is a friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weakness.

  ANN LANDERS

  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

  KAZIMIR

  Control.

  I pride myself on it, especially as a Pakhan for the Russian Bratva. But that doesn’t mean that I have a grip on it at all times. I’ve been known to lose a handle on it for short periods of time.

  Specifically, Natasha Morozova.

  That is one person that I have a feeling I will never have my control over, no matter how many times I’ve been with her or how many times I see her. She isn’t anywhere near like the other women I’ve been in relationships with.

  I remember being enamored by women in the past, obsessed with them even, but the way I felt about them doesn’t hold a candle to the way I feel about Natasha. It’s different with her… bigger. The intensity is beyond compare. I can understand why men do outrageous things for their women.

  Natasha and her long blonde hair, her longer legs, her fucking perfect goddamn body. Natasha with her attitude. Natasha with zero connections. We have no business being anything except fuck buddies. But somewhere along the way, that’s been muddied.

  I lose my control around her, and I certainly should not. She is no person I should lose anything around. By all intents and purposes, she is nothing and nobody. My employee. A woman who was born in Russia to a man who happened to be in the Bratva but not holding any rank at all, she is useless to me.

  Except, she’s come to mean everything to me.

  She is a liability now, and I need to ensure that she is one no longer. This needs to end, or at least shift. She has too much power over me, and I need to take that away.

  Walking into the club, I see her standing behind the main bar, her workstation.

  She’s wearing a skintight spaghetti-strapped top that is cut so low I can almost see her nipples. I know that her skirt is probably so short that I could almost see her ass too if she were standing out from behind the bar. Thankfully, she’s behind it, keeping my control in check for at least a minute or two longer.

  Natasha’s blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail and she has her face painted to perfection. She doesn’t even look like a real person. She looks like a Russian doll. A perfect one at that.

  This is her mask.

  When she’s not here, when she’s lying in bed or just hanging around her apartment, she doesn’t wear any makeup. In those moments, she’s even more beautiful than she is right now. Though it wouldn’t seem possible, but it’s the truth.

  As if she feels me staring at her, slowly, she lifts her gaze, and her eyes meet mine. We stare at one another for a moment, but it’s me who breaks contact first. Jerking my chin up, I turn and head toward my office.

  It’s late, the club is in full swing, and she won’t have time to follow me here, not that her pride would let her. I’ve made it clear to her that she is nothing but a fuck, that she’ll never be anything but a fuck
. Taking another woman to a Bratva wedding, one that both Tasha and I were invited to, was cruel but necessary.

  I am a Pakhan. She is nothing. She cannot be anything other than a kept whore. That is all that I can offer her. If that hurts her, then I cannot help it. That is the way of the organization, the way of my world. She knows this, too. Even if she does not want to admit it, she understands it better than anyone.

  She has been part of this world since she was a child, born into it like so many of us.

  Sinking down in my office chair, I turn on my monitor and look at all the angles of my club, of Vecherinka. Maybe I should allow someone else to take over the day-to-day operations of the club. I’m a Pakhan, I shouldn’t be worrying myself with a nightclub, but I built this from the ground up.

  This club has always been my constant. My life. This club is the front for some serious money laundering, some drug dealing, skin trade, and whatever else you could possibly think of, but that’s not why I love it. I love it because this club is me—it’s mine.

  Digging out some ledgers, I start working, the cameras playing in the background as I continue to focus on work and not Natasha. I’m pretty shit at it though, because I constantly flick my gaze to the camera behind the bar, the one that shows the back view of her.

  Yeah, her skirt barely covers her ass.

  Fucking gorgeous.

  But also something she should not be wearing in public, even at a nightclub. There are a few losers at the end of the bar, obviously watching her, leaning over the counter to try to get a look at her pussy when she bends down to get something from a low shelf.

  They’re laughing and no doubt belligerent. They are trouble.

  With a growl, I stare at them, waiting for them to cross the line. And as men like them always do, they cross it. When she walks over to check on them, one of the men reaches out, taking her forearm in his grip. The other one reaches his hand over the bar, and I slam my palm on the desk as I stand up and head toward her.

  I can’t even think straight enough to call one of my men working security to help her. To beat the shit out of them, to kick them out. I can’t think straight because they’re touching what is clearly not theirs to touch, but mine, only mine.

  NATASHA

  It should not bother me every single time my boss walks by me and pretends I don’t exist, but it does. I know that wounds take time to heal, and this is the biggest wound I’ve ever had in my life.

  This is the man that I fell in love with, who obviously does not feel the same about me.

  This is the man who told me that I could be his whore and nothing else. The offer was tempting, a free place to live, all the clothes, handbags, and jewelry that I wanted. And even, if he decides, children.

  Hell, I would be a liar if I wasn’t tempted by it every single time that my gaze lands anywhere on his body. I couldn’t do it though. I could not do that. And at the end of the day, the reason wasn’t because of how I felt for him, because I’ve completely fallen head over heels in love with him, it was because I refuse to be that. It has to do with me and only me.

  Being a Pakhan’s kept whore is actually above my station. He was offering me so much more than I could ever be on my own, or that I should be. I’m nobody. My father was nobody in the Bratva, therefore I’m nothing.

  I’ve been lucky that I became friends with Danill and Grisha when I was a child. That I was allowed to come with them to the United States, to Los Angeles with Ksenia and them. They’ve protected me my entire life and I’m grateful for that.

  If it wasn’t for Danill and Grisha, I don’t know where I would be. Still in Russia, without a doubt, probably the one thing I do not want to be—a whore. Though I wouldn’t be a Pakhan’s whore, I would probably just be one of dozens making money for the Bratva and trying to get some food in my belly, nothing more, nothing less.

  Perhaps being taken care of by Danill and Grisha is the reason I feel as if I deserve more than being a whore. They’ve never treated me like that. They’ve always treated me as if I were a little sister to them. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter, because it’s just how I feel.

  I want more. I deserve more. I am more.

  There is something in the air tonight. It’s almost vibrating. Something makes me look over my shoulder, an air of danger fills the room.

  It does that sometimes, being a Bratva-owned club with lots of members in and out at all times, things can get dicey. But this feels different, I can’t put my finger on it, but something is brewing.

  Shaking off the feeling and seeing Kazimir, I work. I focus on my bar, on my orders, and on the customers. I especially pay close attention to these two assholes who have parked their asses at the end of the bar.

  It’s clear they’re trying to get a look up my very short skirt. They keep leaning over every time I get something from one of the lower shelves. I don’t know how they even got in here. Their suits are cheap, and they order the lowest shelf, then they nurse it.

  Hoping to get them out of here, I walk over to check on them. I’m all business, nothing but professionalism. Well, as professional as I can be in a skirt that’s beyond decently short and a top that is beyond decently low cut.

  “Can I get you guys anything else to drink?” I ask with an easy smile, leaning across the bar slightly.

  One of them reaches for my arm, wrapping his fingers around me tightly, while the other leans over and his arm moves between me and the bar, going for my skirt, no doubt to touch between my legs.

  Fuck that.

  And fuck him.

  I move the lower half of my body out of the way. I’m struggling, but the hand on my forearm tightens and then the other man grabs the outside of my thigh with one hand while the other one starts to move between my legs.

  “Please, don’t,” I whisper.

  Flashbacks come back to me. Ones that I thought I had hidden in a deep dark place, never to come forward again. They do. They’re here and tears start to stream down my cheeks. I don’t see anything in front of me. It’s as if everything else has completely faded away.

  My vision turns bright white, and I stop struggling.

  My entire body jerks when a hand slaps across my face. Closing my eyes, I blink hard once, then again, then again. Shaking my head, I open my eyes, finally seeing the dark club around me, and look straight ahead. I’m met with Kazimir’s angry glare.

  “Go the fuck to my office,” he growls.

  “I’m okay,” I exhale.

  He leans forward, his face just centimeters from mine. “Go the fuck to my office, now,” he barks.

  His tone is so sharp that my entire body jerks backward. I take a step back, stumbling on my high heels. Kazimir turns his head, jerks his chin, and I watch as Eriks wraps his hand around my elbow, the other he places in the middle of my back and guides me toward Kazimir’s office.

  My legs are shaky as we walk to the back of the club, down the hidden hallways toward the office door. There is a moment of silence as he opens the door. Then I walk into the room. Eriks doesn’t say anything as he guides me over to the sofa.

  He lets my arm go as soon as I’m sitting. Then he walks over to the door and locks it, but he stays in the room, which surprises me. He doesn’t say anything. Looking at my lap, I press my palms together and stare at my hands.