Caught by the Sinner (Russian Torpedo Book 3)
CAUGHT BY THE SINNER
A RUSSIAN TORPEDO NOVEL
HAYLEY FAIMAN
HAYLEY FAIMAN BOOKS, LLC
CONTENTS
Also by Hayley Faiman
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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
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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.