Sovietnik's Fury Read online

  But that was the point, wasn't it? Those moments weren’t his to have. Every time he had spent time with Jake, I felt as if I’d stolen those moments from Radmir; they rightfully belonged to him. Even Jake’s love for hockey… my Russian loved it too. It was a big sport in Russia, and he had dreams of teaching his son how to skate and for him to play professionally if the child was interested.

  Instead, Alex was the one who experienced it, and I hated it with all my being.

  Alex and I had a complicated relationship, to say the least.

  Alex had a secret, and I kept it well while he provided much-needed protection for my son and me. The Jordan family name wouldn’t have survived the news that their only son had certain sexual needs. Alex didn’t share much with me either, just that it took a lot of people to satisfy him. Whatever the hell that meant.

  He never tried to touch me. The marriage was platonic; we’d even signed a contract. He had sex with other people constantly and didn’t mind me having an affair, not that I ever wanted one. Jake knew Alex wasn't his daddy; he called him Uncle Alex. I didn't think he understood his mommy was married to him, since we never acted like a couple.

  It turned out Alex had a good explanation for being an ass to me back then, but he was nothing but polite ever since. If it were only about him, I would have flipped him off and told him to get lost. After all, his help didn't come for free. But he was right, Jake needed those Sundays, and with Radmir out of the picture, it wasn't like he was here to enjoy it.

  “Only Sundays, Alex.”

  Relief and gratitude shone in his eyes as he nodded. “Thank you. If you ever need anything—”

  Yeah, right. Was he kidding me?

  “I’ll never ask you.”

  He gritted his teeth and left, waving to Jake who waved back and then turned back to his cartoon, dismissing Alex all together.

  The one thing I learned during my pregnancy with Jake, as my world was falling apart, was to never expect help for free.

  There would always be a price to pay.

  “Would you like something to drink, miss, before we take off?” the steward asked politely, offering a tray with all kinds of drinks.

  Although my family was loaded, Dad didn't believe in spoiling his kids with first-class tickets. He would often travel that way, but we were always in economy class, and usually since he made last minute arrangements, we ended up with bad seats somewhere in the middle, squished between other passengers. My sister used to bitch about it, but I didn't care. Folks were always nice, and I had the opportunity to snap several photos for my collections. Not to mention, it gave me a much-needed break from my mother’s constant nagging or my father’s scorn for daring to have an opinion.

  But since I was in first class anyway, why not take advantage of all the luxuries? Burying deeper into a comfortable wide, leather seat, I said, “Champagne, please.” It seemed appropriate to celebrate this big escape and forget for a while about my house.

  The attendant put the napkin on the seat-back tray and then the glass, along with some nuts on the side. Then with a polite smile, she left to tend to the other passengers. Leaning back in my seat, I sipped the drink while watching from the window how the airport staff kept putting luggage inside the plane.

  A bag suddenly dropped on the seat beside me, startling me, and I almost spilled my drink.

  What the hell?

  I opened my mouth to give whomever a piece of my mind, when my eyes grew wide at the stranger.

  It was that Dominic guy from the hallway!

  Un-freaking-believable.

  If his snarl and bored expression were anything to go by, he wasn’t happy about finding me next to his seat either. “Well, hello.” How freaking lame must I look?

  He just shook his head, and then replied, “Hi, again. Don’t worry.” He chuckled, clearly amused about something. A man passed by him, saluting him as two more signaled to him from the back. How many of them were there? “We won’t spend much time together,” he assured me, then shouted, “Radmir, I’m gonna take your seat.” Then he moved away and sat down a few rows in front of me, dismissing me all together.

  Blinking a few times at his hostility, I got that he probably didn't like me, but geez, changing his seat? My brows furrowed, but I didn't have much time to dwell on it as Radmir showed up.

  And my breath hitched once again.

  “Krasivoglazaya,” he said, his voice like a warm cocoon I wanted to bask in. “Forgive Dominic’s lack of manners.” He frowned at the back of his friend’s head. “We’ll have a few words about it,” he muttered.

  “That’s all right.” What else could be said in such a situation? My throat went dry, and I quickly grabbed the champagne and took a large sip, enjoying how the cooling liquid ran through my body and distracted me from the stranger. He put his bag in the overhead compartment, closed the lid, and sat down next to me. Instantly, the smell of rich cigarettes and expensive cologne washed over me, making me instinctively lean closer to him to inhale it.

  If I had one weakness, men who used good cologne was it, and although I hated cigarettes, something about the combination of those two on an attractive man did crazy things to my libido and imagination.

  “Nervous?” His voice was deep, and husky, and damn, why did it make me shift uncomfortably on the seat? Without glancing at him, I stuck my nose to the window.

  “No, I’ve never been to Russia, but it’s hardly my first flight.” He laughed; it was rich and loud as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “You’re in for a surprise, then.”

  No accent was evident in his voice, and before I could stop myself, I asked him a question. “Are you from there?”

  He raised his brow, put his elbow on the armrest between us, and leaned over, which put his face closer to mine and allowed me to see the amusement and something else in his eyes, something I wasn't quite able to catch. No man had looked at me with such an expression before. “Where?”

  “Moscow?”

  He half smiled and then shook his head.

  Did I get it wrong? He was American?

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed—”

  “I’m from Irkutsk.”

  Blinking several times in confusion, I clarified, “Irkutsk?”

  “A city in Siberia. Where Baikal Lake is.” He chuckled. “My love for this city transferred to the rest of the guys,” he added, probably talking about Dominic and such.

  I did know about Baikal Lake. Who wouldn’t? It was, after all, one of the largest lakes in the world and had almost clear water, perfect for drinking, so Russia was pretty much set in case of any cataclysm coming. It was also said if someone got lost there, no one would be able to save them, because the lake was so deep. It was mysterious, large, and, based on pictures, very beautiful.

  However, I had no clue a city existed in Siberia… and wait, city?

  “There are cities in Siberia?”

  The drink the stewardess got him while I was digesting his information stopped halfway to his mouth. He blinked and then raised his brow. “Yes, a few of them. Why are you surprised?” Then he studied me for a second, and before I could reply, he laughed again. “You don’t expect Siberia to have cities?”

  Okay, that was embarrassing, and my cheeks heated up. I was probably as red as a tomato, but I couldn’t say much to him.

  “No!” I decided to quickly clear up the misunderstanding. “I just assumed it’s a state, like we have Alaska?”

  He nodded, sipping his whiskey. “Russia doesn’t have states though.”

  I freaking blushed again. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize, krasivoglazaya. Someday, you’ll have an opportunity to see it for yourself.”

  That word again, curiosity was killing me, and maybe once I knew the meaning, my body wouldn't go on high alert. It probably meant some lame-ass nickname or comment. “What does it mean?”

  He studied me for a second then placed his drink on the floor and raised my chin wi
th his fingers. The first contact of his skin to mine made my heart beat faster as he whispered a few inches away from my lips, “Beautiful-eyed.”

  I was too stunned with his compliment to reply, but when I finally found my voice and wanted to speak, a stewardess interrupted us and whispered something in his ear. Radmir narrowed his eyes, and she took a step back, hanging her head low.

  Clearly, she knew she’d screwed up.

  He stood up, gave me one more smile, and went into the direction of the pilots’ cabin.

  Weird.

  Once he left, I noticed that first class was filled with only suited men with stoic expressions and a few guys wearing jeans and shirts. These men had a variety of tattoos, and they kept checking the door and their phones.

  No single women or someone looking as ordinary as me was in first class.

  What the hell was going on?

  And even though it didn't matter, I still tried to calm my rapidly beating heart as the unfamiliar feelings ran through my body.

  Just what the hell did I sign up for?

  Radmir

  I expected many things coming inside the main room, but not Dominic sitting at the bar, drinking vodka as though it was water, while Kostya kept giving me worried looks as he complained about his orders. Other members were busy playing billiards or making out with the women who served them drinks and rubbed their tits on them. The colorful crystal chandelier hung dangerously low and was at risk of damage from those fucking idiots who kept swaying their hands up and down or flexing their muscles or playing with guns. The black marble floor vibrated with the music blasting from the speakers, so loud it made my ears bleed. Why the fuck Dominic allowed such behavior was beyond me; it wasn't as if they deserved it. They weren't killing people or accomplishing stuff left and right. The last few months were laid back for the brotherhood, since the pakhan’s whole attention was on getting his woman, Rosa, back.

  Kostya was the bartender and the main keeper of the headquarters. I had no fucking clue where he came from or why Vasya gave him the position, and I never questioned it. He was a good enough guy who knew what to do when shit hit the fan. His relationship with Konstanciya, our sniper, interested me, because it could create chaos among the Bratva. Making a mental note to check on it later, I addressed the pakhan while sitting on the stool next to him. “Getting shit-faced won’t help her in this situation.” Kostya slid a whiskey glass to me, and I saluted him with it.

  Raising his brow, Dom pointed out, “Funny… you saying this to me, considering you aren't a saint either.”

  I chuckled as I studied the girls dancing on the pool table. The guys salivated while gazing at them, some of them even shifting uncomfortably, adjusting their hard-ons. What was the fucking appeal of wanting women who literally fucked everyone in the brotherhood? Some of them were around even before I got locked up. Although I liked fucking in the past, like Dominic, I preferred finding women outside. The idea of putting my dick in someone who just had one of the new recruits inside her didn't exactly help my hard-on. “Unlike you, I have better reasons for it.”

  My reply was met with a snarl as he slammed his glass on the bar. “My woman was abused and then turned into someone she isn’t, all because of some sick motherfucker who I still can’t locate. That’s not reason enough for you?”

  Calmly sipping my drink, I wondered aloud, “Where is she?” If Dominic thought his angry outburst would accomplish anything, he was wrong. I raised him. I could recognize when his heart hurt. Vasya brought him to me when he was fifteen years old, an angry little pup who dreamed of finding his identity in this world. He learned everything from me.

  “Upstairs. Ruslan said she just fainted due to shock and nerves. I left her with Michael, because her words still hurt me. I couldn't just sit there,” Ruslan was the Bratva doctor, and a damned good guy. I still owed him for stitching my knife wound ten years ago.

  “Right. But she is yours. Unlike me… Vivian married Alex and had his son.” My voice was laced with coldness, covering the bitterness running through my veins at the thought of her, my woman, in that fucker’s arms. Had she not been his wife, I would have dragged her to Russia with me and never let go, but she legally belonged to him. And if there was one rule I never broke, it was taking someone else’s wife. She would divorce him and then I’d take what was rightfully mine from the very beginning. Our one night together was my vengeance on her, but it turned out the only person I ended up punishing was myself. Images of her beauty and moans haunted my dreams nightly, while my heart longed to hold her in my arms.

  Before I could add anything else, a redhead came to us with a huge smile on her face. She wore a short skirt that displayed her long legs and a white top without a bra, so her nipples were visible through the thing. Her whole attention was on me. What the fuck did she want?

  “Sovietnik,” she murmured, trailing her index finger down my chest, her eyes scanning my shirtless torso with appreciation. “Would you like my company?” Turning her voice husky, she licked her lips, promising me a good time between the sheets.

  I used to adore women, never having one for more than one night, and they all liked me. Generous gifts and dinners seemed like a good bargain for a night of sex; I never wanted them to feel used. None of them inspired anything but a hard-on in my body, but nevertheless, I always tried to be the perfect gentleman.

  But then Vivian happened, and I lived and breathed for her. And she might be married with a kid… but my body didn't get the memo. Any thought of putting my hands on another woman repulsed me, as if I was betraying something precious.

  Suddenly, I was furious. I was so tired of those bitches trying to get me into their beds. Politeness just didn't work with some people.

  I grabbed her hair painfully, and she moaned in pleasure, stepping closer to me, fishing for a kiss, but I pushed her aside harshly. She almost stumbled back on her heels. “I’m going to repeat one more time what I’ve already told you, and if you don’t listen, your ass will be out of here permanently.” Holding on to the couch, she whimpered and cast her gaze down, not able to bear my scrutiny. “Never touch me without my permission.” I addressed the rest of the whores who stood in the corner, their eyes wide. “The same goes for you. I’m not fucking interested in what you’re offering.” They nodded frantically. The redhead joined them, and they enveloped her in a tight hug. “I’m tired of explaining this to each one of you.” My bark got the point across, and they retreated farther into a corner. “Turn on the fucking music.”

  Igor quickly flipped on the speakers, while exhaling a sigh of relief. Good to know the Bratva still remembered about my temper.

  Swiveling on the seat, I turned back to my whiskey and clenched the glass tighter in my fist.

  Fuck, I did need sex. My body was constantly on hyper-alert during the workouts and missions, but my frustration could only be soothed by jacking off, which left me even hungrier than before for a taste of my woman.

  More workouts would help to take my mind away from my needs; at least it managed to help me for the last five months.

  Soon I would claim my woman again and bring her back here, where she would become my pleasure slave as I’d come up with ways to punish her for her betrayal. Fuck my rules. She belonged to me first; Alex could take a hike.

  Dominic cleared his throat and said, “Her kid, his name is Jake, and he is five years old. He is yours.” I froze, inhaling sharply as my mind tried to make sense of the information he had given me. “The reason she married Alex Jordan was because he blackmailed her. I don’t know the details. But he never had her. She is still yours.”

  What?

  All this time in prison, she was what kept me alive, kept me going, and withstanding all the torture from the people who’d tried to kill me. Because as long as she waited for me outside, nothing else mattered.

  Then Dominic showed up a year ago and told me she had married someone else and had his child, and fury and pain have filled me ever since.

  I
didn't even have time to process that Jake was mine or the joy in my heart at the little boy being the result of our love; all I could think about was the betrayal by the one person I had never expected.

  The chair crashed to the floor as I stood up. I grabbed his shirt and spat out furiously, “Where was your loyalty? I’ll fucking kill you!” Men dashed to us, because no one dared to threaten the pakhan.

  Dom’s raised hand stopped them, because we had to hash it out between ourselves. My insides itched for a fight, and by his resigned expression, he was willing to give me one.

  The pakhan of the Bratva always took care of his brotherhood, after all.

  Pulling my fist back, I punched him in the face, pouring my rage and frustration into it. Dom’s head tilted back, but he quickly regrouped and delivered a punch to my stomach. The pain bent me in two while the men formed a circle around us, and the women gasped, running away from the bar.

  The photo of Vivian holding a baby wrapped in a blue blanket flashed in front of my eyes. “She had my son! My son, Dominic!” I shouted, delivering a blow to his liver—a cheap trick on my end, considering I knew it was his weak spot. He kicked me, which resulted in me losing my balance, but not before I grabbed his neck, punching him rapidly. We tumbled to the floor and our fists flew wildly. We just blindly hit each other.

  “What the fuck?” someone shouted, and in a second, he wrapped his arms around me from behind and lifted me off Dom while Vitya held him, but we still faced each other, standing and ready to go again.

  “Out of all the people, I didn't expect it from you, Dom,” I finally said, my emotions threatening to make me crazy blocking any physical pain.

  “Forward, never back, Radmir. Remember?” We stilled, studying one another as my teachings flashed through my mind. Whenever he was in a rage back in his teens or beaten in the ring, not wanting to stand up, my words were like a mantra to him.