Sociopath's Revenge Read online

  "Damian, wait." All this was madness. He ignored my words and kept shifting lower to my collarbone. He opened up my towel, exposing my breasts, allowing fresh, cold air on my hardened nipples, which sent delicious, painfully pleasant waves through me. The familiar tingle created panic inside me, jolting me from the frenzy his hands inspired. "We can't," I said, my voice slightly scared. He finally stopped, his body full of tension as the muscles on his neck strained. He raised his lust-filled eyes, which also held barely contained anger.

  God, I thought I'd never have the chance to have his gaze directed at me again.

  "Why?" he snapped, and his hand pulled my hair back painfully. "Why can't we do this?" His harsh voice did nothing to calm my rapidly beating heart as I became wetter. He nipped at my lips again, but his eyes still held mine. "Answer me."

  "You left me," I said, although other words occupied my mind. For some reason, only those made sense to share with him. My eyes filled with tears, which slowly started to slide down my cheeks. "You left me," I repeated, and for a second, it seemed like thousands of hands suffocated me as the agonizing pain I experienced all those years ago at the cliff rushed back. "How could you have done it, Damian?"

  His confused eyes roamed over me; he raised his hand and wiped away my tears with his thumb. "I didn't have a choice, my Sapphire." My eyes shut as I tried to stop the pleasure that spread through me at hearing my name on his lips. "Do you really think I would have willingly left you?" His hot breath on my collarbone confused my mind, making it hard to control my desire, but I had to. "Has any other man touched what is mine?"

  It took a few seconds for my mind to register his question, and then fury washed over me like never before. I pushed his shoulders hard, and he let me go, placing me gently on the floor and taking a step back.

  We were both breathing heavily, the only sounds in the chilled silent night. The soft breeze blowing in through the window left goose bumps on my skin, but I didn't give two shits about standing naked in front of him.

  Who the hell did he think he was?

  "That's the first question you ask me?" He opened his mouth to reply, but my raised hand stopped him. "No, really, that's your question? Not 'How is my daughter?' or 'How have you been without me?' But no, you just want to know about other men in my life." I was so infuriated I didn't pay attention to his expression darkening at my mention of other men. "That's all you care about, Damian? Well then, you know what? It's none of your business if there was someone else or not. This body"—I ran my hands from my waist to my ass—"is no longer your concern, you possessive, obsessive, arrogant asshole!"

  All those words seemed so stupid, considering just seconds ago my body was all over his, not to mention there hadn't been anyone since him. But he had some nerve asking me that. Quite honestly, I didn't understand myself at all. I acted irrationally but felt completely justified in doing so.

  With my head held high, I turned toward the bathroom, but I hadn't even taken two steps before strong arms raised me up and threw me on the bed. With a loud squeal, I landed on my back, and before I could take a breath, Damian's muscled body was on me, my hands pinned by his above my head as his furious eyes focused on mine.

  "Not my concern, Sapphire?" he asked quietly, and wiggled his hips more between mine, pressing his erection against my heat. "Your body doesn't belong to me?" With efficient movements, he bound my hands with his leather belt. When the hell did he have time to take it off? Although it wasn't painful, it didn't allow me any freedom. As he rose, his eyes filled with lust and primal need. He removed his T-shirt, allowing me to admire his muscular chest. I frowned at the sight of several new well-healed scars, and I yearned to run my fingers over them.

  Instinctively, I wanted to kiss, soothe, and reassure him. Then down came his jeans along with his boxers, and he stood completely naked in front of me. I licked my lips at the sight of his rigid erection, and he growled, making me blush from head to toe.

  Looming above me, his hands traveled down to my hips and then to the inside of my thighs where his fingers dug painfully—yet pleasantly. He spread my thighs wider as an unwilling moan escaped.

  Don't moan, woman!

  Unfortunately, it was seriously freaking difficult to reason with my body when the love of my life was touching it, especially if it hadn't seen any action but a vibrator in the last five years. He licked my collarbone, trailed his lips down to my breasts, and gently nibbled on one nipple, causing it to harden into a painful peak.

  "Why is your body responding to me, then?" Damian asked, right before he enclosed the tight bud with his mouth and sucked on it hard, making deep ripples of pleasure spread through me. My back arched off the bed only to be pressed down by his chest on mine. He licked my skin and then caught the other nipple in his mouth, giving it the same treatment as the first one. His lips trailed lower, leaving burning kisses and licks that ignited my desire even more. He dipped inside my belly button before he reached the place that ached the most. Damian shifted my legs above his shoulders as his thumbs opened me to his hungry eyes. Without any warning, he delved inside, causing me to moan softly.

  He licked around my clit then closed his lips around it, pressing it. I swear to freaking God, I saw stars. Self-induced orgasms had nothing on his tongue. As he continued to focus on my clit, two of his fingers entered me, creating friction. My hips met each thrust as he pushed deeper and deeper. The ultimate pleasure was so close, but right before I could reach it, he stopped.

  "Damian!"

  He ignored my outrage. His mouth landed on mine, allowing me to taste myself as his tongue made love with mine. He gripped my hips tight and entered me. I gasped in pleasure and pain.

  My pussy stretched to accommodate him, and my unused muscles protested.

  He stopped moving at once. "Are you okay?"

  The burning sensation was still present, almost like losing my virginity all over again. The sting was quickly replaced with restlessness. I nodded. "You have to move."

  He frowned. I noticed droplets of sweat on his forehead and realized how hard it was for him to put my needs above his. Since he continued to stay still, I slowly wiggled my hips, and he gritted his teeth. "I'll fuck you raw if you don't stop."

  My toes curled at the mental image. "Do it, then."

  His control snapped, and he rammed home, breathing heavily against my ear. I wrapped my legs tighter around him. A loud and long scream was about to spill from my mouth when he covered it with his palm, allowing me to enjoy my pleasure without fear of waking our child. His lips latched onto my nipple again, as he pounded into me relentlessly. The headboard hit the wall softly with each thrust, and the sound was music to my ears, eliminating any other thoughts from my mind.

  Nothing existed in that moment but him and the connection our bodies shared. He took an ass cheek in each hand and pulled me closer to him, giving me just what I needed to reach the stars.

  Suddenly, my back arched, my breath hitched, and my body stilled as a numbing climax hit me. A scream tore from my throat. I lay there breathlessly, as he kept pounding inside me until his head tilted back and he groaned in pleasure as he came. He lay on top of me, his weight slightly crushing, but I didn't want to slide away.

  Not yet anyway.

  I closed my eyes, but the calm I sought didn't come. As good as it felt to be in his arms, all I felt was disgust at myself for relenting so easily.

  I wiggled from under him, even though he didn't want me to. But after my firm "Let go," he allowed me to get up without any questions. Grabbing the sheet, even though it was stupid considering he'd tasted and touched my body just seconds ago, I raced to the bathroom.

  Bratva Headquarters, Moscow, Russia

  "Dominic, we have a situation here." Michael appeared in the doorway and groaned when he noticed my naked state. "Man, maybe you should cover yourself up, huh? All this male beauty is too much for my innocent eyes," he drawled.

  I turned to him and raised my brow. "I think you forget yoursel
f, Michael."

  He rolled his eyes, leaned his side against the doorjamb, and folded his arms. "You can stop the whole threatening stare now. You'd never do anything to me. I'm too pretty for that," he joked and then feigned removing nonexistent hair from his forehead and batted his eyelashes at me.

  Michael wasn't a typical Bratva member. He was easygoing, had a sense of humor, too softhearted for half of the jobs we did, and he was gay.

  Gay was the most unusual part.

  I found him on the streets of Irkutsk, Siberia one night when he tried to steal my wallet from my back pocket, and I caught him. How fucking ironic that history wanted to repeat itself? He was only fifteen years old, and from somewhere deep within me, I felt pity for the boy and took him under my wing. The man cringed at any show of violence and half of the time puked at the sight of blood. He acted more like a personal assistant who took care of all my meetings and houses and didn't annoy me much. The situation was a win-win considering it allowed him to be busy with something without it being questioned by anyone else. We didn't run a charity here.

  Bratva, or in other words Russian Mafia, was a crime organization, which raised generations and generations of people with the same values and loyalty code. We lived, fought, and died for the brotherhood. There was a specific hierarchy that could never be broken or questioned, and everyone had to know their place.

  Bratva didn't like him, but since I was in command, they listened. You didn't have much choice when Пахан—Pakhan, 'the boss'—made decisions. Unfortunately, the little punk, who was now twenty, thought he was entitled to flash his sexuality left and right and even propositioned some of the guys. He got his ass kicked a few times, and those few times, I never stepped in. He had to learn the limits of his freedom. Fuck whomever you want, but don't fuck with Bratva.

  Any other time, I'd ignore his innuendoes, but my mind was still fresh from the message I received just a few seconds ago, and the meaning of it. The last thing I was in the mood for was Michael and his fucking antics.

  "Michael." His name said with a warning tone cut any humor from his eyes, and he straightened his spine. Everyone knew not to fuck around with me when they heard this voice.

  "Like I said, we have a situation. Three men arrived ten minutes ago; they are downstairs and want to speak with you." He cleared his throat. "Some big guys from the States with some kind of deal." And by big, he meant wealthy and powerful.

  "How did they find me?" Not that it was unusual; many rich American men came to Bratva to do some type of dealing that usually involved illegal activities. Pakhan Vasya was famous for it, and since his organization was one of the biggest in Russia, the big guns came to us.

  However, for the last year and a half, the throne belonged to me, and I became exceptionally selective with whom I dealt. Half of the business with the Americans didn't bring as good revenue as it used to. Some of the laws Bratva had were archaic, so I made it my mission to stop them. This created some uprisings among smaller organizations in the small cities here, but I stopped them quickly. No one and nothing could go against the system.

  "Apparently through Sasha."

  I angrily zipped my pants at those words. Sasha was turning into a pain in the ass. You fuck a woman once, and she starts to think she is the head of the Bratva instead of you. No, I wasn't the one who did the fucking, but Vasya's son, Boris, an annoying, good-for-nothing piece of shit, was. They both felt entitled to the power after Vasya's death, but Bratva didn't work that way. You had to be voted and approved, and no one fucking approved of a druggie and alcoholic to rule an empire who had an angry bitch for a woman along with it. Who could trust a man who was led by his dick? Wives, girlfriends, and bitches had no access to information and learned to keep their mouths shut.

  "Give me fifteen minutes. Keep them in the waiting room."

  Michael nodded and rushed downstairs.

  I took the sweater from the closet and put it on, along with my loafers. Black was the only color in my wardrobe. I appeared a rather dangerous creature with my amber eyes, tanned skin, and black hair. I picked up my phone, deleted the last message, and put it in my back pocket. Conversations and messages with Connor could never be tracked down as he used special anonymous IP addresses, but the safety of my brother wasn't something I wanted to risk.

  The thought of the FBI agent brought back memories from almost seven years ago when the earth tilted on its axis for me.

  Bratva Headquarters, Seven years ago

  I knocked at the door and after a second, and firm "Войдите," I pushed open the massive door of Vasya's office as requested and entered where he sat on his usual chair drinking tea.

  I found Pakhan’s love for tea hilarious. He collected different flavors from all over the world and never shared them with anyone else.

  "Want some tea, парень?" Well, except me. Somehow, he always invited me into his sacred ritual. I couldn't stand anything but water, coffee and alcohol, so as usual, I declined politely. He rolled his lips together and motioned for me to sit. Choosing the chair right in front of him, I tried to think of a reason for his sudden call for me. I hadn't done anything wrong, and all my missions as Boevik were successful. "Есть разговор, парень." We need to talk. My brows furrowed and I lifted my chin at his request for us to talk.

  "Какой?"(What kind of talk?) I asked. He opened the drawer next to him, picked up a manila folder, and threw it on the table.

  "Прочиай это и сам реши что с этим делать. Я приму любое твое решение." His request for me to read it and to make the decision for myself filled me with dread.

  Fear washed over me as I realized he'd found information on my brother when I asked him not to. What was the point in searching for a stranger? Yes, he was my brother. My twin. Connection never went away. But I couldn't imagine having anything in common with him anymore. I lived the life of crime. Was it fair to get him into it? Wherever he was, he probably lived a better life than me and had since moved on.

  Or at least I hoped as much, even if for some fucking reason the thought filled me with resentment. Locking my gaze with Vasya's, I told him in an even tone that I didn't want to know anything.

  "Проспись, и подумай," he instructed. Even though there was nothing to "sleep on," as I doubted I'd change my decision, I nodded and left the room. My legs almost ran toward my bike as my hands itched to grab the handlebars and enjoy the fucking ride.

  I wouldn't read it.

  I'd burn all the files.

  Of course, I did neither. On the hill where my ride took me, I discovered that he lived as Dominic and Damian, and enjoyed his fucking life as a rich heir. Learned how our parents had left us money. How he probably didn't have to care for anything.

  How easily he replaced me.

  Vasya's private investigator had done a good job because probably half of the information was classified. I also got to read about the twins who escaped.

  Later that night, I burned the file, although I'd memorized all the names and photos and I locked all the information within my mind.

  Until one day two years later, when I woke up feeling as though I was drowning with intense pain in my chest.

  That was the day I reached out to Connor and the perception of what I thought I knew changed forever.

  Present

  I scanned the room one last time to make sure nothing important was left behind: a small closet with clothes, a balcony that allowed me a view of the main side of the house, a king-sized black bed with rumpled sheets, and a modest nightstand with a white bedside lamp, which was the only source of light in the room. I never had the desire to study women or take my time with them; fucking from behind was preferable. The room was reserved strictly for hooking up with women. I would never fucking take anyone to the master wing of headquarters. Those perfumes would have never washed out of my sheets. One reason for carpet on the floor was so the sounds of their clicking heels on the mar
ble wouldn't grate on my nerves. As a result, the room was nicknamed by my men the "hotel room," and everyone knew not to disturb me if I was in it.

  Once I was in the dark hallway, lit by moonlight coming from a massive window on my left, I pressed a button on the wall to open the secret passage to my office. The passage had stairs, gray and rusted walls that smelled like yesterday's shit, and sometimes rats. But it allowed me to move to every corner of the big headquarters without being noticed. No one knew about it except the Pakhan of Bratva. He had to know how to protect his people, and more importantly, his family in case danger came home.

  No fucking family of my own for me, though, even the concept of it seemed laughable. What the fuck would I do with a wife and kids? No one needed a messed-up monster like me for a father.

  Finally, I entered my office and turned on the light. I sat in the chair, leaned back, and pressed a call button for Michael.

  Time for business.

  A gentle hand touched my forehead, placing a wet cloth on it, as another hand pressed something onto my chest, making me wince. My eyes snapped open despite my lids feeling heavy as bricks. I heard the sound of wood crackling as it gave heat and soft light into the room. At first, my vision was blurry, and I could barely see anything in the dark room, but soon my eyes adjusted. It appeared to be a wood cabin with a few chairs, some blankets, and a wooden table. The smell of chamomile and mint filled the air, and at last, the woman kneeling in front of me came into focus.

  Scars.

  Somehow, it was the first thing that caught my attention as my eyes roamed over her face. She had high cheekbones, tanned skin, cat-shaped black-as-night eyes, and her hair fell down her back in straight lines. She would have been considered an exceptionally beautiful and exotic woman had it not been for the two long scars that marked her face. One long line, seemingly from a knife, went from her right ear to her full lips, and another line spread across her forehead to her left ear. The scars seemed angry and red. Their location emphasized that whoever did this to her hadn't been kind and had purposely caused her a lot of pain.