The Bratva's Baby (Wicked Doms 1)

Trembling, I do what he says, the threat of being beaten with his belt too real.

Is he doing this for show? Or is he really so cruel? I’m humiliated, on hands and knees in front of this man who sits at the desk and doesn’t even flinch. His face is cast in shadow, but when he turns to face me, I cringe involuntarily. A scar runs down the side of his wrinkled, aged face, one eye staring blankly at me. The one eye that sees looks at me with cold detachment. This must be the man he calls Dimitri. His silver hair is cut short, his formidable jaw clean shaven. Though he’s dressed like a businessman, he has the air of an executioner.

“Welcome home, son,” he says to Kazimir, in a thick accent, though his gaze is on mine. “I see you found her.”

So this man knew who I was and was party to my abduction. I begin to tremble.

“Yes, sir,” Kazimir responds. “As you can see, she’s not responded well to my brief training and has much to learn.”

“Clearly.” The older man chuckles. “This girl,” he says, his accent so thick it’s barely coherent. “She’s not one you will share with your brothers?”

“She is not.”

The older man softly chuckles at Kazimir’s stern tone.

This is all for my benefit, for the next few minutes they converse in rapid-fire Russian. I can’t tell what they’re saying at all, of course, but it seems like a casual conversation. Kazimir speaks respectfully to the older man, and after a short discussion, he bends down to me again.

“You need a collar,” he says. “I’ll have my men make one.” He squeezes the back of my neck. “Then I can use a chain when appropriate.”

I grit my teeth but don’t respond. It seems he’s determined to keep me humbled, so I’m not giving him a reason to hurt me again.

I let out a yelp when he grabs the back of my head again, tugging my hair back so painfully my eyes water.

“Stand, woman.”

He’s pulling me upward. I quake and whimper, trying to alleviate the pressure on my scalp by complying, but it doesn’t do much good as he holds me tighter and turns me to face the man he calls Dimitri. He doesn’t need to tell me about his past for me to know it’s painful and sordid, that he’s seen and orchestrated evil. But when he looks at Kazimir, there’s pride and warmth in his gaze that quickly vanishes when he looks at me.

“Kazimir is the most exacting master we have,” he says with pride. “You would do well to obey him.” A brief nod dismisses us before Kazimir drags me out of the room by my hair. I whimper and beg, but my pleas fall on deaf ears.

He takes me to a gleaming glass elevator behind him, barks out commands to a uniformed guard, and the guard nods and presses a button. Tears of humiliation and pain blur my vision. The whole time, I try not to move, frozen in place with the death grip on my hair. I consider turning and kneeing him in the groin, but I have no doubt I’d be swarmed with guards then suitably punished by Kazimir. So I don’t fight. If I stand still, it doesn’t hurt quite so much. Fighting him now would ache.

The elevator opens, and he drags me in. The doors to the elevator close and he finally releases my hair. I instinctively massage my scalp, trying to ease the sting and burn. I blink back tears, but one escapes and rolls down my cheek. I turn away from him, unable to look at his cruel eyes. I don’t want him to know how he affects me. My heart hurts. He betrayed me. For such a brief time, I trusted him. Hoped. And now…

Reaching over to me he sweeps the tear off my cheek with his thumb, and to my surprise, he brings his damp thumb to my mouth.

“Suck it,” he orders.

Grimacing, I do, tasting the essence of my own salty tears, strangely unsettled by the command to take his thumb into my mouth. My tongue teases his rough, calloused finger. I watch as his gaze grows molten, an animalistic growl filling the interior of the elevator.

“You will swallow your tears,” he rasps, in a low voice affected by our exchange. “Swallow your pride.” He leans closer to me, his breath hot on my cheek. “You’ll learn to obey until the thought of defiance terrifies you. Until obedience comes as naturally to you as breathing.”

I stumble back when the doors slide open, as if he held me by his mere voice and released me when his talking ceased.

I’ll never obey the way he wishes.

I can play at many things but true subservience isn’t one of them. He can whip me, humiliate me, punish me. He won’t take my dignity. The more he hurts me, the harder I’ll make my heart toward him. He will only ever get outward compliance from me until I can escape.