Living for the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 4) Read online

  “Hey, Ash,” Ziven murmurs with a grin. “I see you’ve met Mika, your new neighbor,” he says, lifting his chin to our joined arms.

  I slide my arm from Mika’s and step away from his side as Ziven opens the passenger side of the car. I slide down into the soft, leather seat and shift my legs into the car, carefully and ladylike—perfectly. I’m so afraid of messing anything up, another thing that was engrained during my breaking—perfection.

  “I have,” I say quietly.

  “I will see you later. Maybe we’ll have a drink?” he asks.

  My eyes widen in surprise and I don’t say anything as Ziven closes the door. I don’t know what to say. It’s been six months since I’ve seen the man I love, yet that love hasn’t waned; it hasn’t dissipated. I’ve not thought of another man, not once.

  “You should join him,” Ziven murmurs as the car eases out of the parking garage and toward the city street.

  “I don’t think…” I start, but Ziven interrupts.

  “Yakov has mistreated you,” he announces.

  “I still love him. I keep waiting for the feelings and the ache of his absence to lessen, but they never do,” I whisper.

  Ziven and I are friends of a sort. We work together, but we talk on the way to and from the office. He’s one of the only friends I have. I’m also friends with a couple of the member’s wives, but it’s not the same. Ziven knows everything I’ve been through. I don’t have to share those hells with him because he knows. He rescued me from South Africa when Dimitri kidnapped and sold my body, but he knows what else has happened.

  There were pictures and video of Gregori, the man who broke me. He liked to keep them and watch them often, I later learned. Though Ziven did not see them, as he wasn’t living in the city during the time I was found, Maxim and Radimir did. No explanation was really needed between Maxim and Radimir about my life. It’s nice not to have to relive my hells over and over again by explaining why I am the way I am to somebody new.

  I still find it hard to look Maxim and Radimir in the eye. They’ve seen every inch of me; they’ve seen me beaten, battered, bruised, tortured, and raped—repeatedly.

  When either of them comes into Kirill’s office and sees me at the entrance, they always give me a look of pity when they think I’m not looking. I don’t call them out on it, mainly because they don’t treat me poorly. They treat me like breakable glass, like at any moment I’ll fall apart. They’re kind and gentle.

  Some people might be annoyed by the way they tread so very lightly around me, but I’m not. I appreciate it. I appreciate them. I know that if I need them, both Maxim and Radimir would be at my side in a second. They’ve proven it, more than once. I love them, as I would love any member of my family. They are like brothers to me.

  “You and Yakov have been through very much together, it’s true. But Mika is a good man, Ashley. Do not discount what could be,” he says, breaking me of my thoughts as his finger comes out and he taps the tip of my nose.

  “How do I live without him?” I ask.

  This is something that has been plaguing me. The more days that pass and turn into months, the more I come to the realization that Yakov will not be returning. He does not believe that he’s made a mistake by leaving me here. He doesn’t want me anymore. That hurts the most. For me, no matter what, and no matter how he’s treated me, I still want him very much.

  “Don’t live without him. Live for him,” he says. I don’t say anything. I stare at him in confusion, then Ziven speaks again. “He left you because you wanted more than he was willing to give you in life. So live. That’s what he wanted, Ashley. Live. Take what you desire from life and just—live.”

  “What happens when I only want those things with him and nobody else?” I ask.

  “I can’t answer that for you. I can’t tell you what you need, but I know the way you’re merely surviving isn’t healthy. All that vibrancy you had when you first arrived here is all but gone.”

  “He took it with him,” I whisper as a tear leaks from my eye.

  “Then take it back,” he growls.

  I’m not able to respond as we arrive at the building where we both work. It’s a big, brick structure with multiple stories located in downtown Los Angeles. My office is at the top. Kirill and I are the only ones that share the entire penthouse level.

  Ziven and I don’t say another word as we exit the car and walk inside of the entrance. The receptionist glares at me as we pass by her desk, and I feel the need to roll my eyes. I don’t. She always glares at me; in fact, she glares at any woman who passes by her desk.

  There is no competition between us for any man here. I wish that I could explain that to her, but her hateful glare tells me she’d just be snotty to me. Keeping my facial features passive and not showing emotion was another perk of my breaking and training with Gregori. I do just that as I walk into the elevator car.

  Once we’ve ridden the elevator for a few moments together, Ziven leaves me to exit his floor, but not before he looks at me right in the eye and says, “Live Ashley. Fucking live. You are too young and too beautiful not to,” he murmurs. Then he releases his hand from the elevator door and walks away.

  The elevator car continues to rise to the top. When I arrive, I take a deep breath and exhale before stepping out onto the marble flooring of Kirill’s office.

  My desk is the focal point, and his personal office is to the right of it. I don’t have a door or my own space, just a desk in the middle of the room, but it’s fine by me. I developed claustrophobia while locked in a dark basement in a cage for over a year. I also sleep with several lights on in my apartment, with the window open for a fresh ocean scented breeze.

  I make my way over to my desk and I sit down. I power on my computer, entering my password when prompted, and then click on my email icon before getting right down to work.

  Kirill won’t be in for another hour or so. He is too busy enjoying his family. He takes Kiska, his daughter, to school every morning before he comes into the office. He is also trying to help his wife, Tatyana, as much as possible as she is incredibly ill with morning sickness side-effects. She is practically bedridden, and the worry that shows in her husband’s face is apparent every single day.

  I hope it passes as her pregnancy progresses. She is very sweet, and I really like her. I don’t want her to be sick and bedridden for her entire pregnancy. Not when it should be the most amazing time of her life. Carrying a child inside of her, nurturing it, and eating all the delicious foods we women deprive ourselves of normally.

  I decide to do a little indulging of my own, as I think about deprivation. I find the photo icon on my computer and click on it. Bringing up a file that I uploaded from my phone a few months ago, I open it.

  A picture.

  A picture of Yakov Chekov a few days before he left me. He was smiling, something he didn’t do often, and he was looking right at me. I snapped the photo knowing I was capturing something that was rare. He had never looked so handsome. Dark black hair, light blue eyes, and straight white teeth.

  I exit out of it and go back to my emails, ignoring that ache in my chest that is caused by him walking away from me and never looking back.

  “Jacob, is that you?” her sweet vice fills our apartment and I grin at the use of my name, spoken in English.

  Only Ashley uses the name. It’s something that I allow only her to call me. I like the way it sounds coming from her voice.

  I don’t answer her; rather, I strip out of my suit jacket and roll the sleeves of my white shirt up to my elbows. I inhale and I am pleasantly surprised that dinner is being prepared. Though Ashley is not a renowned chef, she tries, and she’s meticulous about every single recipe she follows. She’s meticulous about everything she does.

  My Ashley.

  My sweet Ashley.

  I walk into the kitchen and watch her. She’s stirring something in a pot and shifting her hips to the song coming from her phone. Her pert little ass looks fucking
fantastic in the tight jeans she’s wearing, and it makes me grin.

  I walk up behind her as quietly as possible and I wrap my fist around her ponytail before I yank it back and curl the fingers on my other hand around her throat. She gasps and her body goes completely rigid.

  “Good evening, pchelka,” I murmur against her ear, calling her my little bee.

  Her body physically relaxes and melts against mine. She makes me feel like a fucking emperor when she does that shit, every fucking time. My sweet, little Ashley.

  “Good evening, Jacob,” she whispers softly. So fucking soft that I almost can’t hear her.

  “You’re dressed,” I point out.

  Though I’m not disappointed in how beautifully her clothing encases her perfect body, she knows the rules.

  “I went to the little grocery store down the street today,” she says with a tremble.

  “That is no excuse,” I grunt.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “Fix it,” I growl before I tug on her ponytail harshly. I then release her and step back.

  I watch as she takes in a breath and then strips herself completely. Naked. Bare. That’s how I want her when she enters our home, and that’s how she stays until she exits.

  Unless we have guests, her body is mine to do with as I please—and one of those things I wish to do is gaze at her naked flesh as often as I’d like. I want to touch her when I feel like it, too, without the hindrance of her clothing between us.

  Once she is completely nude, she turns around to face me, her eyes downcast and her body completely bared to me. It’s a gorgeous sight. My woman. My Ashley. My slave.

  My cellphone rings, breaking me of my daydream—something I do quite often these days. I hate it. I look down at the name and frown. Kirill.

  A million thoughts run through my head and all of them lead to Ashley. Is she all right? Is my main worry and the reason I hit accept on the phone.

  “Chekov,” I grunt.

  “It has been too long, my friend,” he says, sounding jovial.

  The man should be jovial, I suppose. Married to the woman he’s loved for ten years, they have a beautiful nine-year-old daughter, and he’s just found out his wife is expecting another child. Life is beautiful for him.

  “Only a few months, Kirill,” I point out.

  “I think it is time you came back for her,” he murmurs.

  This is not the first time he’s tried to force me to gather up Ashley and bring her back to New York. In the beginning, when I left her, he called me every couple of days. Slowly, the calls have tapered off. Obviously, he is not giving up yet. He should. I am not going back to her. She wants too much from me.

  Marriage and children.

  I can never give her those—I don’t want them. I don’t know how to be a father or how to be a husband. I know how to be a Master to a slave, and that is all. The only father I had was a sonofabitch that I shot in the head.

  No way can I bring a child into my world. I’ll just fuck it all up.

  No way can I have a wife, a true partner. I’ll fuck that up, too.

  “Nyet,” I mutter.

  “Then you aren’t the man I thought you were, and you don’t deserve her. She’s beautiful, smart, and strong. She deserves a man who will cherish those attributes. She needs a man who is worthy of her. I’m going to make sure she finds it, too,” he grunts.

  I open my mouth to speak, but then his words register. He’s going to make sure she finds it. What the fuck does that mean?

  “And how are you going to do that?” I ask on a half shout.

  “I’m not telling you. You don’t give a fuck about her,” he says.

  “I care about Ashley very much, don’t assume that my leaving her had anything to do with how I feel for her,” I point out.

  “You’re a pussy.”

  “Fuck you, Baryshev,” I growl.

  “You are. A total fucking pussy. You don’t deserve her. You don’t deserve her beauty or her loyalty. You don’t deserve her devotion or her obedience. You don’t deserve a single fucking thing about her. I’m going to make sure a man who is deserving of all those things gets her in his life and can show her all of the beauty that the world can give her. She’s seen enough goddamn ugly. So I’m just warning you, and I’m warning you off. Don’t come into my territory again, Chekov. You are not welcome.”

  I stare at the phone. The line is dead, and that is because Kirill has ended the call.

  A man I called my trusted friend has just banned me from his area. Banned me from California, over a woman. I don’t understand it.

  Yes, what I did to Ashley wasn’t nice. But banning me? That is business, and you don’t mix pleasure with business. Fuck, you don’t mix feelings with business.

  Then his words really sink in.

  He is going to find a man for my Ashley.

  A man who deserves her.

  A man who will show her the beauty that the world has to offer.

  A man that is not me.

  In theory, it is exactly what I wanted. In reality, I wrap my fingers around my phone and I throw it as hard as I can against the wall in my office. I watch it splinter into about ten pieces and fall to the floor.

  Fuck.

  IT HAS BEEN A long day. Kirill was in a mood, and it began shortly after a telephone conference he had first thing in the morning. I didn’t understand it, but then again, I don’t understand much.

  My job is fairly easy. I am Kirill’s assistant, which means I answer phones, e-mails, and type dictated letters. I also run personal errands for him, and sometimes business errands, like delivering contracts to be signed, and things like that.

  It isn’t a difficult job, but it is a job, and I am thankful and grateful for it. Kirill and his men have taken care of me from the moment I needed help. He, Maxim, Radimir, and Ziven are like the four big brothers I never had.

  They are also the only men, aside from Yakov, that I have ever trusted in all my life. I know that as long as I am with them, I am safe. It’s a peaceful feeling, safety; especially when the bulk of the past three years I have felt anything but.

  “I have to leave, Ashley. Ziven is unable to take you home tonight. He informs me that you’ve met Mika. I hope that you will feel comfortable with him taking you home this evening?” Kirill asks.

  I inhale shakily before I lift my eyes to meet Kirill’s

  “Yes, that will be okay,” I say softly.

  “You can tell me if you are uncomfortable. I can take you home now, if you wish,” he offers with a furrowed brow.

  “No, I, he… well… he kind of asked me for a drink. I kind of ignored him,” I say.

  “He is a good man, a good Boyevik on his way to becoming a Brigadier,” he says.

  So he’s a solider and he’s climbing the ranks. I guess if I were interested in him, this news would be important to me. However, I’m not interested in him. How can I be? I only love Yakov.

  “Yakov is not coming back, Ashley. Not now, not in a few months, not ever,” he says, his voice low and gentle. He speaks as though as long as he gentles his voice, the words will hurt less.

  It doesn’t work.

  They hurt.

  I try to quell my tears, but I can’t. They come in a rush and my broken heart shatters just a little bit more.

  “It’s been six months. You have to move on. We are all very worried about you,” he mutters.

  “I’m trying. I don’t know what else to do,” I whisper.

  “You need to move on. Day by day, it will get better. Trust me,” he urges.

  He says this, but he is lying. He never moved on from his beloved Tatyana, not even when he thought her dead for ten years. He fucked other women, but he did not move on. He cannot tell me that it’s possible. I know that it isn’t.

  If he can’t do it after only having had her for months before she was ripped away from him, then there’s no possibility of me ever moving on from Yakov—not when I had him for almost two years; no
t when he rescued me, and mended me, and healed me.

  Instead of speaking, I shake my head at his words.

  “Okay,” I relent.

  I say it mainly so that I can end this topic of conversation. I hate it. I hate the look of pity he’s giving me, and I hate that he thinks I need to move on from the only man I love.

  The man who has saved me and the man I want to share my entire life with. The man I want to give children to. The only man.

  “Mika is a good soldier, and he’s smart and kind. He will take great care with you, Ashley,” Kirill says. The words confuse me. I must look as confused as I feel, because he explains further. “No contracts have been made, but I urge you to take a chance on him. The match could be very successful.”

  “Match?” I ask.

  “Our culture here, we’re usually matched for one reason or another. Maxim and Haleigh, Radimir and Emiliya, Tatyana and me,” he explains.

  I close my eyes, understanding his words for what they are. He wants me matched and gone so that I’m not living rent-free in his apartment anymore, and possibly not working for him, either. I’ve overstayed my welcome.

  “Whatever you wish,” I say, looking down at my high heels, feeling extremely nervous and self-conscious.

  “Look at me, Ashley,” he barks. My eyes immediately rise to meet his. “I am not doing this to get rid of you. I am not doing this to punish you. I am doing this because you aren’t living. You are young and beautiful and you should be with a man who worships every breath you take, a man who will care for you and nurture you in the way you need it.”

  “I only want him,” I whisper.

  “He does not feel the same. That is a hard thing to hear, I know, but he does not feel the same way. Do not make any decisions. Let Mika take you home as your first step. Then, in a couple of months, once you know him a bit better, then we can talk again, yeah?” he asks.

  “Okay,” I whisper with tears shining in my eyes.

  “If he loved you, he would show it. He would need you like he needs air; he would be here on his hands and knees begging for your forgiveness,” he rumbles.