Pakhan's Rose (Pakhan #1)(14)

Clenching the papers tight in my hands, I ordered, "Schedule a meeting with him tomorrow afternoon. After that, we are going home."

Vitya raised his brow at my words, surprised, and then he cleared his throat again. "What about, Rosa?" Vitya was one of my closest friends, beside Radmir, and I valued his opinion and feedback. However, no one was allowed to question me about my woman.

She was mine.

Mine.

No one else's.

"She is not your concern, Vitya."

He jerked his chin in acceptance, recognizing the steel in my voice. "As long as you understand the consequences of your actions, Dom." We faced off for a moment, and understanding passed between us as he clasped his hands and nodded. "Fine, I'll get everything ready. Make sure you don't regret it though."

Regret was a funny concept.

I learned at a young age that it had no place in my life; otherwise, the power and pain of it would suffocate me to death.



Man with the dragon tattoo

Leaning back in the hot tub, I enjoyed how the warm water eased my sore muscles, and the classical music allowed my mind to drift to my favorite places.

Like cells where women cried in pain as I fucked them.

Or blood spilled from different fucks who crossed me.

Or, and my favorite, when all those victims begged to be spared, and I'd promise it to them, only to squash all their hope in the next few minutes.

Currently, Lola was massaging my head, making me moan, and the only thing that ruined my paradise was her fucking shaking hands.

"Relax," I barked, as she stilled for a moment, but then resumed working with ease. Closing my eyes, I wondered if maybe the time had finally come to fuck this little bitch. She was only sixteen, but then, I had younger pussies before. With all those fantasies about Rosa, I couldn't get release anywhere I tried. I needed something to enhance the process for me, and what better way to do it than an underage girl with no hope of surviving?

My cock stood up at the thought, and I grabbed her hand painfully and pushed her forward. Her whimpers added to my need. "Get naked and join me." Fear widened her eyes, and she shook her head, so I slapped her hard. "Fucking get naked." She slowly took off her tight, black dress and heels-she was naked under it per my instructions-and joined me.

Dominic and Don were acting civil, and right now, it seemed the pakhan had given up all together on his woman.

The time had come to speed up their reunion  , or it would take ages to finally deliver my blow.





Something cold pressed onto my forehead, as my mind slowly registered itchy pain all over my body and especially my face, but I shifted my head on the soft pillow, as though I wanted to get away from a mosquito bite.

When I raised my hand to remove whatever it was bothering me, someone's gentle voice shushed me.



       
         
       
        

"Shhh, you are too weak. Let me help you." The voice belonged to someone new. I wasn't familiar with it. And indeed, everywhere the wet cloth touched me brought instant relief. Although I still felt every bruise and stab of pain running through me in other parts of my body, and I groaned loudly.

"Poor little thing. What happened to her, Dad?" Another voice, even gentler than the first.

I tried to open my eyes to understand what was going on around me, but my eyelids were too heavy, and it seemed like I had no control over myself. Then long fingers smashed some kind of sticky, cold ointment onto my wounds from the knife, and they instantly started to burn. I cried out in agony, thrashing on the bed, but two strong hands restrained me.

I opened my mouth to protest, but it was dry as hell, and I couldn't utter one single word.

"Dorothy, give her a sedative. She won't let us treat her otherwise." Even furrowing my brows seemed like an impossible chore, but I did it right before something sweet-smelling rose up to my nose, and in a second, I was out.

And for a second time in my life, I welcomed it as it freed me from pain.



Dominic

Sitting in an un-fucking-comfortable chair, while my folded bandaged palms rested on the plastic table in front of me, I tried to study the prison with an open mind.

The room had beige all over: walls, furniture, and even the fucking floor. The three small windows, which allowed in some natural light, had black metal bars on them and brought nothing positive into the picture. Several cameras surrounded us. A vending machine was on my left, although I doubted anyone used it, because why the fuck would you even want to drink coffee or grab a snack here? Police officers walked around the place, their guns ready to strike any minute and disable any danger.

The police and I, back in Russia, had a very cautious relationship. We flirted, but I never wanted to make the commitment they wanted. In other words, no matter how many times they tried to catch me with some shady stuff, I always came back from it clean, and it drove them crazy.

What the fuck ever. Seven people, mostly women with hopeless expressions, occupied the other tables and waited patiently like me for the prisoners to arrive.

Needless to say, all this didn't brighten my mood, which was shitty to begin with. Catching my reflection in the black polished part of the vending machine, I noticed red eyes and a pissed off vibe.

I didn't get any sleep last night.

"Now get on your knees, put it in your mouth, and bring me to heaven."

"Please," I begged, but only got a slap with a belt over my back in return. Closing my eyes, I held in the cry of pain, knowing it would only antagonize him more.

"You are no good for nothing but this, boy." One more slap. "Better listen the next time." The sound of a zipper lowering, one of the most hateful sounds in my life, and then his flesh was in my mouth as he got off on my gag reflex and the tears sliding down my cheeks. 

The lid of the phone cracked in my hand, sending a small jolt of pain to my palm. It was the only thing snapping me out of the past or things that haunted my sleep.

Benjamin and Richard, men who made my and Damian's childhood a living hell, were now behind bars and enjoying their punishment there. Originally, we were supposed to take matters into our own hands, but Damian decided not to do it and to send them into the system. I agreed with him, but part of me still demanded justice I felt we didn't get.

A buzz sounded, and a moment later, a tall, brooding man entered with two guards holding his hands behind his back before they let him go. He had massive shoulders and a bulky figure, way more buff than I remembered. Even the veins in his neck were strained. His head was clean-shaven and various tattoos ran all over his body. His eyes scanned the room, landed on me, and I rose from my seat to greet him.

His granite face lifted up in a half smile that barely reached his grey-as-metal eyes as he pulled me forward and hugged me close, patting my back as his hand held mine.

"Dominic," he said.

I squeezed him harder, as I replied, "Radmir."

After a second, we let go and sat opposite each other. "Why are you here? Where is Vasya?" He frowned. Clearly, he didn't like that his request wasn't honored. Last night, he had all but demanded to be seen by the pakhan.

I held his stare, as I replied, "He is dead."

His eyes widened in shock as his hands clenched into fists, and a flicker of sadness passed across his eyes. "When?" he finally asked, containing his emotions.

Clearing my throat, I gave him the information, knowing the reaction coming. "Almost two years ago."

He rose swiftly as his fists hit the table loudly, and several women gasped. "And you are just telling me this?" At once, the guards were on him, holding him as a deadly expression spread over his face.

"Успокойся, Радмир."(Uspokoisya, Radmir) My softly spoken words in Russian were enough for him to understand the importance of staying calm, and after a moment, the guards pushed on his shoulders, so he sat back down. They retreated, but not before one of them issued a warning. "One more time, and this visit ends." Nodding, I focused my attention back on my sovietnik. "Five years in here and you still can't get hold of your temper?"

He snarled. "You try living in a fucking cell and stay civil." Realizing what he said wrong, he gritted his teeth and he paused. Radmir, aside from Vasya, Yuri and Vitya, was the only one who knew about my past. Seven years my senior, he was the one who greeted me into the mafia and taught me a lot of stuff. "I'm sorry, Dom," he said, remorse coloring his voice.

"It's fine." And it really was. I understood him like no one else.

"Who is the new pakhan?" Without saying another word, I opened the sleeve of my shirt to show him my green snake tattoo, and recognition filled him. "Fuck, you?" Immediately, his mouth spread in a happy smile as his eyes shifted to my neck. "You don't have a cross." A cross was a gift from Vasya when I became a full member of the Bratva after I did my first kill. Once it was given, you couldn't take it off. Unless you wanted to stake a claim.

Radmir shook his head in disbelief. "You have a wife now?" Before I could answer him, he fired another question. "Who is your sovietnik then?" Nothing but indifference showed on his face.

The Bratva, or in other words the 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.