Stripped by the Sinner (Underworld Sinners Book 5) Read online

  He shakes his head slowly from side to side. “I need something else, not food or drink.”

  My stomach dips as he stares at me. He is looking at me as if he knows something, but I have no clue what he knows, so I just stare at him and hope that it’s nothing that is going to be too hard for me to comply with.

  “What is that?” I ask finally when he doesn’t continue.

  Rostam’s lips twitch into a smile and he dips his chin once before he speaks. His intense gaze focuses on me as if I’m the only woman in the entire world. This is why his wives complain about absolutely nothing. This man has charisma, and he knows exactly how to make a woman feel as if she’s the only one in the whole world.

  “Need your help, but can’t talk to you about it here. Come to my office tomorrow morning?”

  “How do you know that I can?” I ask. “That I’m not being followed?”

  He snorts. “Azar doesn’t monitor you, but I’m guessing he probably should.”

  Pressing my lips together, I refuse to verbalize my thoughts on that. Yes, Azar should probably watch over me. But, at the same time, I wouldn’t have ever met Ruslan and I wouldn’t know what an orgasm by a man feels like.

  So, instead of saying a single word to Rostam, I give him a small smile and dip my chin slightly. I am not going to give him anything. I like him, but I don’t know him well enough to divulge any personal information at all whatsoever. He doesn’t try to make me, at least not yet.

  I don’t know what will become of going to his office tomorrow though. I have a feeling that it’s going to be something that I’m not ready to deal with, but won’t have a choice, much like most things that have happened to me in my life.

  CHAPTER 2

  RUSLAN

  Walking into the club, I look around and let out a sigh. Soblazneniye is just warming up, the lights have been turned on and the employees are all moving around the floor. The waiters are all dressed in suits, checking the alcohol and replacing what needs to be replaced.

  When I envisioned this place at its conception, this is exactly what I wanted and I’m proud as fuck of it. Walking around the floor, I check the tables, the pool tables, and chess and card tables. Everything is in working order and clean. Then I make my way upstairs to the rooms where the women are.

  An old-fashioned gentleman’s club, with rooms upstairs for the brothel part of the club. There are ten rooms that line the upstairs with a second-story open balcony all the way around. The middle is completely open from floor to ceiling.

  One end has double doors and there is a small strip club room where men don’t have to pay for sex, but they can watch a show. I didn’t want to open just a strip club, brothel, or gambling house. I wanted a place where all appetites could be met.

  Making my way upstairs, I see the woman in charge of the prostitutes and their schedules looking down at her clipboard. Clearing my throat, I wait for Polina to lift her head and look up at me. She scribbles one last thing, then does just that.

  “Ruslan,” she murmurs, her lips curving up into a smile.

  “Polina,” I mutter. “What does tonight look like so far?”

  She clears her throat, then holds out the clipboard for me. Taking it from her, I hold it out slightly so that she can see it as well as she talks to me. She extends her hand, her pen in her grasp, which is what she uses as her pointer.

  “We have rooms one, five, and six open for walk-ins. I have rooms two, three, four, and seven completely booked with appointments. They will each have five men tonight, all their regulars. Rooms eight and nine are booked as well but with two men each who requested longer and more in-depth services.”

  Nodding, I scan the names of the women and smirk. This has turned into something I never imagined it could become. I knew what I was doing, seeing as I’ve done this before, but I never dreamed it would be quite this successful or that I would like it all that much.

  I thought that I only wanted to be a Torpedo, a hit man. I didn’t think that I would want to do anything else, but this entire job that I was given has even proven me wrong because I absolutely fucking love it.

  “This all looks good. I have no changes for you. There will be three guards up here tonight. Do you foresee needing more?” I ask.

  I always have guards up here that are specifically for the women, but more importantly, they are here as a presence to the men who visit the women. They are protection and also inhibitors to anyone who thinks that they can attempt to hurt the women or cause any trouble at all.

  “The DA?” I ask, recognizing one of the two names on room nine’s list.

  Polina smirks. “He is a very regular client of room nine,” she says. “He likes to share a meal beforehand, and dessert afterward. He always requests five hours for his activities.”

  “Food play, huh?”

  Polina laughs. “Yeah. Better for us that he and his little friend, the San Jose police chief, come in together.”

  “No mayor tonight?” I ask.

  She hums, then points her pen to the first client of room eight. “They all come together. Dirty together in every way,” she says.

  I chuckle because it’s a lot better for me that they’re dirty as fuck. They won’t try to fuck us over if their hands are as unclean as ours. They can do their thing. I’ll take their money, and then I can do my thing. They won’t say shit, and neither will I.

  “The schedule looks great, and I’m sure we’ll have plenty of walk-ins. Anything else that needs my attention before the evening begins?” I ask.

  She presses her lips together, rolling them a few times, then lets out a sigh. “Not really, except…” Her words trail off.

  I don’t say anything, crossing my arms over my chest, I look down into her eyes and wait for whatever it is she’s about to ask or tell me, I’m not quite sure which one it’s going to be. She looks to the side, then lifts her gaze back to meet mine before she speaks.

  “Rostam has requested membership.”

  My eyebrows rise in surprise. “Rostam?”

  This is not the man who comes to whorehouses, no matter how nicely I have them disguised. I smirk, then clear my throat. I wonder if this is his way of just trying to get a meeting with me, for whatever reason.

  Though, I can’t think of any reason why he would want to meet with me. I hold no power, not like Osip. I am only in charge of this part of the Bratva, just this moneymaker, nothing else.

  “I’ll handle him. Don’t worry about it, yeah?”

  She dips her chin, then gives me a smile. “That was all, everything else I have under control.”

  I hum, knowing that bout of confidence is probably going to bite her in the ass, but I don’t say anything, because I don’t want it to. I don’t need any extra fucking headaches at this point.

  Taking my phone out of my pocket, I find Osip’s number and ask for Rostam’s contact information. I know that I’m going to have to answer some questions, questions that I do not have answers to at this point.

  ISABEL

  Sitting at the dining room table, I bow my head as the first wife, Donya, tells Azar all about their children and the activities that they were involved with for the day. They have three children, aged fifteen, thirteen, and ten. He nods and hums when expected, but I know that Azar cares very little for the day-to-day activities of his children.

  Next, Maryam, the second wife, continues the conversation and tells Azar about their children. They have four aged thirteen, ten, nine, six, and three. He, again, hums when he’s supposed to, he probably nods too, but I’m not looking up so I’m not sure.

  “What did you do today, my Isabel?” Azar asks.

  Lifting my head, I inwardly cringe at him calling me his Isabel. He only does this with me. The other women, he grunts at and sometimes calls them by their first name only. It’s probably one of the many reasons that the other wives despise me.

  “She wasn’t home all afternoon,” Maryam announces.

  Azar arches a brow in question.
I could stab the bitch with the butter knife in my hand, but I don’t. Instead, I stay completely and totally cool and act as if I wasn’t doing anything wrong at all.

  Nothing at all.

  Smiling, I lift my gaze to find his. “I just needed to breathe. I took a drive to the museum and walked around all afternoon, then I came home.”

  Azar’s expression changes from one of curiosity to that of almost gentleness. I know that the gentle look he’s wearing is nothing like the actual man. He will appear to be sweet, maybe even say a few honeyed words, but then when he is alone with me, he will be a vile human being. It’s just who he is.

  “There is nothing wrong with that. I am glad that you had a good day,” he says, then gives me a wink.

  Instantly my stomach twists.

  The rest of the dinner, he turns to his children, all of which are seated at the end of the table opposite the adults, and asks them about their grades. Donya and Maryam have not discovered, or maybe they simply do not care, but Azar gives not one single fuck about their activities.

  Azar wants to brag about their grades, because he is a narcissist and wants to have the smartest children in the entire universe. Nothing else matters to him except appearances. He wants bragging rights about anything and everything.

  When dinner is finished, the oldest children take the dishes into the kitchen and clean up, as is their single chore in the household. A maid service cleans twice a week, which includes changing all bedding, and all laundry.

  The two wives do all of the cooking, and the children clear the dishes and wash them, which typically consists of sticking them in the dishwasher. Azar stands, as do the three of us. Maryam brushes past me to the three-year-old and scoops her up, taking her to the bathroom to have her evening bath, while Donya and I follow Azar into the living room area.

  “I would like to change the schedule,” Azar announces, his attention on Donya. Her spine straightens and I watch her face tighten at his words.

  “Azar,” she whispers in acknowledgment.

  “I would like you to get with Maryam and discuss her ovulation schedule. I would like another child.”

  “With Maryam?” she asks.

  She balks as if she cannot believe that he would want another child with her, but I know the truth behind her question. She wants to know why he doesn’t want a child with me. Why we haven’t already had a child together. She’s asked me before, but she will not ask him. I had no answer for her as he’s never told me. I’ve just been thankful.

  “With Maryam,” he says with a nod, not giving her any more information.

  “Yes Azar,” she breathes through clenched teeth.

  “I’ll be shopping for a fourth wife as well. Just to keep in mind. Start to think about what room you would want her placed in.”

  “Yes Azar,” she says, her tone even tighter than before.

  “Good, now that, that is handled, I’m going to work in my office until bed.”

  I watch as Azar stands and turns his back to us. He walks away and I imagine throwing darts at his back. Over and over until he just falls face-first. I smile to myself at the thoughts that I know I shouldn’t be having.

  CHAPTER 3

  RUSLAN

  After question-and-answer texting back and forth with Osip, I am given Rostam’s phone number and the go-ahead to contact him. I don’t immediately. Before I slip into my office, I watch the club as it starts to fill with men.

  I see A-list entrepreneurs, there are a couple of actors, city officials, police, restaurant owners, and politicians. It’s going to be a good night, a good weekend, just like every weekend. The good thing about this business is, we’ve been able to harvest enough income between Friday and Sunday that the girls don’t have to work all week, and I can do other things for the Bratva as well.

  Everyone is happy.

  Slipping into my small office, I sink down behind the desk and close my eyes as I lean back in the leather office chair. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I touch the text icon and type in Rostam’s phone number.

  THIS IS RUSLAN. YOU WANTED TO TALK?

  I stare at my phone, waiting for him to respond, but he doesn’t. Instead, it starts to dance on the desk.

  Picking up my phone, I slide my thumb across the screen as I clear my throat and answer, “Don’t you know nobody calls on the phone anymore?” I ask as my greeting.

  Rostam chuckles, but I can tell that he doesn’t give a fuck about what other people do. He doesn’t respond to my statement, instead he just starts to talk.

  “I have one of your women in my organization,” he announces.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know who she is. I’ve had a man on her because I haven’t been sure about her husband. But instead, I found out she has a whole other life, aside from the life she has with him, one that includes you.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask.

  He chuckles. “Can we meet in person?”

  I think about telling him no, but at the same time, I want to know what the fuck is going on.

  “Does Osip need to be there?” I ask knowing that he probably does, but also at the same time Osip said that he was giving me free rein on this to deal with whatever Rostam needed from me.

  Apparently, this is something personal, but I have no fucking clue what he’s talking about. “I’m at the club all night. I’ll tell the front to expect you,” I say.

  “Good. I’ll be there soon.”

  He ends the call and I stare at the phone, wondering what the fuck he wants from me. I have no clue what he was talking about either. I’m completely lost by this whole situation. I think about calling Osip again, but I decide against it.

  Instead, I call down to the security at the door and tell them to escort Rostam straight to my office when he arrives. I’m beyond curious about what exactly he wants from me. I have no doubt that he wants something, I’m just unsure of what it could be and what my involvement with his people could possibly be.

  He arrives, wearing a suit and looking much like me. He is handsome for a man. I am no fool to think that he isn’t. He carries himself well, confident, and whatever else a man can be. He’s powerful and he knows it.

  “You said you needed to meet in person?” I ask.

  He walks over to the chair across from my desk and sinks down. His eyes find mine and he lets out a low growl.

  “I did,” he says. “You and I have someone in common. One of the Russian Bratva women was contracted to one of my men when Vova and Kevah were in charge. I’m not sure what the purpose would be, but she is his third wife. The man holds no special rank, I did not understand why he was awarded one of your women. To be frank, I still don’t.”

  “You are telling me this because?” I ask.

  “The woman is one of yours, or at least she was. You know her.”

  “I don’t know many people from this area,” I admit.

  He chuckles. “You know Isabel well enough, I believe.”

  “Isabel?” I ask.

  “Isabel.”

  Fuck.

  ISABEL

  Soaking in the tub, I close my eyes and just relax for a moment. I let the day just wash away. I try not to think about Ruslan, but I fail. Closing my eyes, I allow thoughts of him to enter my mind. The way he touches me, the way he cares for me. Everything about him.

  I’ve only ever been with two men. Azar and then Ruslan. I don’t know what sex is really supposed to feel like, but I know that when I’m with Ruslan, I feel beautiful, cared for, and even sexy. When I’m with Azar, I feel forced, used, and disgusting.

  I sigh, wishing that I could transport myself to another world, to another time, to Ruslan. I know that I should stay away from him. Nothing can ever become anything with him. I need to just accept the fact that I will be Azar’s third wife until the day that I die. His fuck toy. Because that is what I am.

  I am not going to have his children. I am not going to be any kind of traditional wife. I am noth
ing more than a body for him to use. That is why he contracted me, that is why he requires me to be on birth control. That is the whole reason I’m here.

  To pleasure him.

  I’m his whore.

  Pulling the drain plug in my bathtub upward, I watch as the water swirls around and leaves the tub until I’m naked in nothingness. Bringing my bent legs to my chest, I rest my cheek against my knees and close my eyes again, letting out a long sigh.

  The bathroom door opens. My eyes pop open and instantly my heart starts to race at the sight of the man standing in front of me. My husband. I breathe his name at the same time his lips curve up into a grin.

  “Let me shower and you put on something sexy for me, yeah?”

  I nod my head, not saying a word, because I learned a long time ago that this man does not want my words. He wants me to dress up like a pretty doll and he wants to fuck me. That is all, nothing more, nothing less.

  Standing, I reach for the towel and wrap it around my body as I step out of the bathtub. I don’t get far. Azar reaches out, his hand wrapping around my bicep. Turning to look at him, I tilt my head back and look up into his eyes.

  He looks absolutely nothing like Ruslan. He looks void. Empty. Terrifying. Which is how tonight will end. It will end in my tears, but Azar won’t give a shit, just like always. He will consider it a triumph—as always.

  “Azar?” I ask on a whisper.

  “Do you know why I decided Maryam would carry my next child?” he asks.

  I couldn’t give a shit less, but this is important to him. Instead of laughing in his face and telling him that I don’t give a fuck why he chose her. I’m just glad that it wasn’t me, because I do not want to have his babies, not now and not ever.