Broken Bride (Belaya Bratva 2)

“Harder!” she cried. “Harder! Fuck me like you own me. Fuck me like I’m your whore.”

My hands gripped her shoulders as I worked my rhythm, listening to her scream as I fucked her. I didn’t stop, didn’t give her a chance to recover and drilled into her, sweat dripping from my skin and blossoming against hers.

“HARDER!” she shrieked. “USE ME!”

My hands moved to her waist, rough fingers holding her in place as my cock moved like a piston between her legs. Her walls clamped down around my length, and I felt my control slipping. Her legs started to tremble, and then the unmistakable quiver of her pussy began. Slowly at first, and then faster. Faster. Faster.

It wasn’t long before I followed her. A hoarse shout escaped me as I poured into her, my heart hammering in my chest. Even my fucking legs were wobbly, and I pressed my body against hers, careful not to put my entire weight on Naomi’s back as I struggled to catch my breath.

I could hear the harsh shuddering tones of her own gasping breath as well. Her face was covered by a mess of hair. Her skin was flushed. Her mouth was agape, and her lower lip was trembling. Small tremors moved through her body as I extracted myself, pulling a silky string of our arousal between our bodies.

But the moment I finally moved away, she grabbed my shirt tightly around her, covering up her nakedness and fleeing the room. And the only thing I heard before her pattering footsteps disappeared up the stairs was the sound of a wet, muffled sniff.

What the hell?

I stared after her, thrusting a hand through my hair roughly. A part of me told me to go after her, but I didn’t. Instead, I fell backward into the sofa, my joggers still around my ankles and my body trying to recover from what had just happened.

Naomi never fled after sex.

Never.

“Fuck,” I breathed, leaning back on the sofa to stare up at the ceiling.

I had given her exactly what she wanted.

But why did it feel like I had done something wrong?

***

The next afternoon, I stepped out of the car and walked into the bar, buttoning my suit coat as I did so. Anatoly was to my left, his eyes scanning for any danger that could be lurking in the shadows, but I walked through the space confidently, as if I was fucking invincible.

Maybe I was.

A man approached me, his head bowed in respect. “Pakhan,” he replied, motioning for me to follow him. “This way.”

I did so, moving to the back of the smoky bar to a private space behind it, where a lone man waited at one of the tables in the space.

“Pakhan.” He stood to give me a bow. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

I nodded to him and he gestured for me to sit, pouring me a glass of vodka before taking his seat as well.

“I hear that congratulations are in order,” he started out, leaning back in his seat. “For both your rise and your marriage.”

“Your congratulations are noted.” I picked up my glass. “Though I am curious as to why you wanted to meet with me, Yardle.”

Malcolm Yardle chuckled, rubbing his thumb over the rim of his glass. “Perhaps I am a man who is looking for a new boss to follow.”

It was my turn to chuckle before taking a swallow of the vodka, savoring the path it burned into my stomach. “Are you not happy with your current arrangement?”

His dark, beady eyes honed in on me. “Orlov was my arrangement. He would supply fine vodka like this to my bar, and in turn, I would give him one of my routes for his men to use.”

I settled back in my chair, inwardly gloating that Yardle had reached out to me in search of a partnership.

He was more than just a bar owner. He owned a good number of the bars and nightclubs in LA. He demanded payments in the form of crates of vodka that were otherwise impossible to acquire through legal means. In exchange, he set up the back rooms and basements of his venues to cater to a more carnal crowd.

With a steep discount to those who provided their own entertainment, of course.

And for the more enterprising bosses, those venues also served as safe houses. Yardle kept the cops on his payroll; Mafias kept our products in a few additional storerooms. A quick exchange of money, vodka, women, and drugs. Pretty quickly, everybody’s pockets would get just a little fatter. And most importantly, the money would be clean.

Now, with Orlov gone and his men under my command, Yardle could be persuaded to go exclusive. No more bidding wars for storage and rooms with the other Mafias. I could lock up almost the entirety of LA through him and him alone.

And he knew it.

“I believe you are going to be the head of organized crime in LA for the future,” he continued, his words clearly meant to flatter me. “And I simply want to share in your fortunes. A win-win, if you will.”

“You must understand.” I leaned forward and tapped my finger on the glass. “I require more from you than Orlov ever did. Don’t think you can push me around, Yardle. And don’t think you can put your hands on things that don’t belong to you.”

Yardle’s eyes gleamed. “Of course not, Pakhan. I know where a man’s limits are, and I know what belongs to me. More importantly, I know what belongs to you. I am not interested in the past. Only the future.”

“Good, because if you betray me…” I started.

“Yes, yes, I know.” He nodded and bowed his head in submission. “You don’t need to remind me, my Pakhan.”

***

Yardle’s words stuck with me as I made my way back to the mansion, looking at the passing city as it flew by the car’s window. Yardle was right about one thing. I was interested in the future as well and how it could benefit me and my Bratva, no one else’s. There were others that I wanted to take on now that Orlov was dead, but I had to be very calculated in how I approached those particular battles.

And they couldn’t happen before I had the former brigadiers completely under my thumb.

As the car pulled up to the mansion, I climbed out and checked my watch. It was well past midnight and I had two options. I could go to my own bedroom and sleep in my own bed or I could go to Naomi’s.

My cock stirred, but I willed it down as I climbed the stairs to the second landing, my feet making up my mind for me, and I pushed open Naomi’s door, finding her asleep in her bed. Quietly, I stripped off my clothing, wishing I could take a shower and not wake her to rid myself of the smell of smoke that clung to my skin.

Instead, I stripped down to my bare skin before climbing into bed, careful not to jostle Naomi too much as I did so. She murmured something in her sleep that sounded a lot like my name. I eased my arms around her, letting her fall against my chest. Her movements were instantaneous, curling up against my chest with her hand resting right above my heart.

I felt the tension ease from me with each passing moment, my hand rubbing her lower back lightly to draw her back into her dreamless sleep. If someone had told me years ago that I would be craving holding a woman like this, I would have laughed in their face.

I would have reminded them that I’d vowed to never do such a thing again.

I would have reminded them of the greatest betrayal I’d ever suffered.

Yet here I was, listening to every sigh and snort that came from the woman in my arms. Why I was so drawn to her lately, I didn’t know, but it likely had to do with the child she carried inside her.

So, I lay there, Naomi slumbering in my arms, and breathed in her scent. I was doing this for us, for our child’s future, and while I knew Naomi wouldn’t understand all of what I had to do, surely she could see that my heart was in the right place. I wanted a legacy that I could pass along to our child, regardless of its gender.

A woman could handle this as well as a man could, especially one with my blood running through her veins.

Closing my eyes, I tried not to think of the dark realities that my child would have to deal with in the future. I needed to pave this path. I needed to give my child a means to stand on ground that I never had. I needed to do whatever was necessary.

The same way my mother had.