Owned By The Bratva King by Jagger Cole

12

River

We’re rushedas we take off from the yacht in the helicopter. Yuri ended up getting a last-minute call on bratva business from the US right before we had to leave. So it’s closer to eight than seven when we finally lift off and start cruising over the dark Black Sea.

Every single nerve in my body is vibrating. Every single pore on my skin is throbbing and prickling with an electric hum. It’s exhilarating. It’s like a filthy, dirty little secret that only I know. It makes me feel like this sultry, naughty temptress.

I’m talking about the fact that under my gown and lace panties, I’m wearing a gleaming silver and diamond butt plug in my ass. It is without a single hesitation the wildest, dirtiest thing I’ve ever done.

And Yuri knows.

He’s talking a mile a minute, in Russian, English, and French as well into three different phones. He’s clearly in the thick of it with business. But every so often, he raises his eyes and lets them just hover on me. They just burn deep into my soul, like he’s looking right through me.

And he knows I’m wearing it. Somehow, I just know that he knows; that he can tell. That he knows I’m wearing this filthy, slutty little accessory, and that I’m wearing it for him.

I squirm, blushing as I whip my head around to look out the window at the dark sea beneath us. But suddenly, it occurs to me that I have no idea where we’re even going. I turn and glance at Maksim.

“Are we going back to Odesa?”

He shakes his head. “Nyet.”

“So, where?”

Maksim glances at Yuri, who’s still on a phone call. But he gives Maksim a brief nod before barking more orders into the cell phone.

“Nessebar.”

I wrinkle my brow, trying to place where that is. But then it rings a bell from a map I remember from the first yacht where we were shooting.

“Bulgaria?”

He nods and then turns to look out the window. I nervously do the same on my side. Yeah, I’m just hopping around to all sorts of different Balkan countries in a billionaire criminal’s helicopter without a passport. No big deal…

Slowly, I’m aware of Yuri no longer growling into different phones. I look up and blush deeply. He’s looking right at me, those piercing blue eyes sizzling through me. Slowly, his lips curl just a little at the corners—like a hungry, wicked smile. His brow cocks just a smidge, and my face burns hotly.

Yeah, he knows. And he knows I know that he knows. I squirm in my seat, sizzling and marinating in the dirty little secret.

Out over the dark sea, suddenly, there’s a tiara of lights. We get closer, and I gaze out at a seaside town that looks like an old Roman city sitting along the coastline. The helicopter banks and lowers as it moves towards the far end of the small city. Up on a cliff sits a huge stone villa with lush gardens lit by flickering firelight. A man with two glowing sticks directs the chopper down to a waiting helipad, and we touch down softly.

Maksim and Yuri’s small ensemble of guards step out first. They’re all dressed in black suits like Secret Service agents, complete with earpieces and everything. Yuri steps down next, in his black suit with black dress shirt open at the collar. He looks back to me and raises a hand to help me down.

We’re escorted by a host of some kind down a gravel path lit by hidden lights throughs a stunning, torch-lit garden. Up ahead, the sprawling Roman villa thuds with club music. Gorgeous guests in stunning gowns and suits mingle in the gardens and on the veranda, sipping champagne.

But before we hit the main villa, suddenly Yuri’s hand tightens on mine. He pulls me back, spinning me. I gasp as I fall against his chest, my heart thudding in mine. His blue eyes burn hotly as they look down at me.

“Do I need to check?” he grunts quietly.

I blush, heat pooling between my legs. I know what he’s talking about. We both know what he’s talking about. But when I say nothing, because I’m blushing and trembling too much to even speak, his face shadows. He pulls closer to me, making me gasp.

“Do I need to check?” he growls through a clenched jaw.

I shiver.

“It never hurts to.”

The second I say it, I can feel my face roaring with heat. I can’t believe I’ve just said that—to him.

Slowly, Yuri’s lips curl into a hungry smile. I gasp as his hands slide to my waist, pushing me back off the path into the shadow of an olive tree. I whimper when his hand slips over my ass, cupping it through the silky black gown. He caresses me before his hand slides to the side and finds the scandalous slit that goes all the way up to my hip.

When his fingers slip inside, I stiffen. My heart thuds. My skin tingles like it’s been set ablaze as his hand slides under the dress and across my bare ass. His fingers tease down the back of my thong as it delves between my ass cheeks.

I moan with halted breath, my eyes closing as he traces one finger down the lace until he finds what he’s been seeking: the little diamond-studded hilt of the plug. When his fingers brush over it, a spark of excitement sizzling into me. His finger pushes on the hilt, and I gasp as the nerve endings in my most secret place tingle eagerly.

“Good girl,” he purrs into my ear. I gasp when I feel his thick erection throb against me. His finger pushes the hilt of the plug again, making me moan softly.

But then, his hand slips away and out from under my dress. I groan, feeling cheated, or toyed with. But also feeling like he’s flipped a switch in me, leaving me “on.” He pulls back, smirking dangerously at me.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

He takes my hand and wordlessly pulls me back onto the path. We follow the lights and step out on the gorgeous veranda strung with lights. Tuxedoed waiters carry trays of champagne, and three gorgeous girls in silver miniskirts, bikini tops, and knee-high boots gyrate slowly on a stage above the DJ booth to one side.

People turn to see us. Many of them seem to stiffen with both fear and respect when they spot Yuri. Most of them make attempts at either nodding or coming right over to say hello to him. It’s weird, because I’ve been on his massive yacht for days, seeing the power he wields there. But this is bigger. And for the first time, I’m really seeing him as the bratva King he is, with the power that comes with that.

People approach to smile and even bow, like they’re all here to show fealty to an actual monarch. Yuri is cordial if not short with most of them… gruffer to some and warmer to others. But the whole time, he keeps his arm firmly around my waist.

It’s possessive. And it sends a message. A few other bratva-type men who come to speak with him let their eyes drop to his hand on my hip. No one says anything. But even I get that it’s an unspoken thing. It’s a claim he’s publicly laying on me.

Maybe that should annoy me. It’s barbarically patriarchal in a way. And yet, it also makes me tremble with heat. I like his hand firmly on me, making this statement. I like the possessive feel of his arm around my waist.

I’ve been desired my whole life. But this feels different. This feels like protection and warmth. I sure as hell feel desired, but it’s not just lusted after. It’s like a claimed sort of desire, which feels… different, somehow.

“Ty prishel, yy sukin syn,” a wheezy, familiar voice sneers from behind us. As we turn, instantly, a big shape is shoving his way through the crowd to lurch between us and the man who just grunted at us. The shape is Maksim. The man with the sneering familiar voice is Semyon Belksy.

But Yuri just smiles. He puts a hand on Maksim’s shoulder and grunts something in Russian. The big guard turns and arches a brow, as if saying “are you sure?”. Yuri nods again. His eyes slide to his rival.

“Da, it is fine, Maksim,” he growls in English. “Despite this little piggy’s poor manners, this is a party.” His smile thins. “On neutral territory. Isn’t that right, Semyon?” He pats Maksim on the shoulder again and gestures with his chin. With a final glare at Semyon, Maksim moves away back into the edges of the party.

The older, rotund man glares at Yuri. But then his beady eyes swivel to me. He smiles lecherously, and my skin crawls as he shamelessly checks me out.

“Oh good, you’ve brought what is mine for me. Thank you, my friend. Bring her to my room, and then you may go—”

“My good humor has limits, Semyon,” Yuri hisses dangerously. He steps towards Semyon, who bristles and starts to reach into his jacket.

“Khvatit etogo!” A voice barks sharply. An older, silver-haired man with a Stalin-esque mustache smiles thinly as he shoves his way between the two Bratva bosses. “Enough of that, gentleman,” he mutters in English, clearly for my benefit. He glances at me, and then to Yuri, but then back to me.

“Ahh, so this is your Helen of Troy.” He smiles at me. “Welcome to my home, Ms. Finn. My name is Petya Gagarina, and I’m a big fan of yours.”

I smile awkwardly. “Oh, uh, thank you.”

“Though you have as of late made doing business with the two of these men…” he shrugs. “Difficult.”

I blush, but Petya just chuckles. He turns to smile thinly at both Semyon and Yuri. “Well, gentleman. Shall we go somewhere and talk? We must settle this little…” he turns to smile thinly at me. “This little disagreement.”

Semyon hisses something at Yuri. But Petya glares at him and barks something back. Semyon nods begrudgingly.

“Please, Ms. Finn, enjoy the party. Whatever you need, please simply ask my staff.” He glances at the two bratva bosses. “Come, gentleman.”

Yuri glances back at me. His eyes burn hotly, piercing mine. I see a flickering tendril of the heat from earlier in the shadow of the olive tree. Then his jaw grits, and he whirls to follow the two other men into the crowd.

Then, I’m alone. A waiter sweeps in with a tray of champagne, handing me a flute. I sip it, turning to start to mingle into the crowd of guests. Without trying to be vain, a few turn to me with recognition on their faces. But mostly, I’m ignored.

Parties have never really been my thing. And without knowing anyone here, it’s only heightened. With most of the conversations around me being in languages I don’t speak, I am very fully out of my element.

I try to avoid the thoughts of why we’re here. It seems like Yuri’s been avoiding talking about it as well. But I know we’re here because of the thing between him and Semyon. And that “thing” is me. It’s more than a little surreal to be at some Bulgarian sea-side villa while powerful crime lords debate and haggle the business of who you belong to.

I scowl, downing my champagne and grabbing another from a passing tray. I take a gulp of that, starting to feel it. The music thuds around me. I start to sway to the beat, more to just sort of fit in a little better with the dancing crowd. But the second I gyrate my hips, I can feel the tingle from the… accessory I’m wearing.

The minute I roll my hips, I can feel the little plug twist, rubbing against nerve endings that make me bite my lip to hold the moan. Okay, fuck. Dancing is out. I blush as I turn to scan the veranda party for a bathroom. Fuck this. I’m not spending the whole night stationary so that I don’t get too turned on in a crowd of strangers.

I push my way through the crowd to the edge of the party. I’m find myself in a candlelit circular stone patio with gorgeously carved, ivy-covered railing. Beyond it, the moon glows low over the waves of the Black Sea.

“It’s really you, isn’t it?”

The woman’s voice startles me. I gasp as I turn, my hand flying up to my heart. But the tall, gorgeous blonde woman in the shimmering silver gown seems harmless enough. She smiles with a practiced smile at me.

“River Finn, yes?”

Her voice has a slight Russian lilt to it. She looks like she’s in her mid-twenties, maybe a little older, and very, very moneyed. The fact that I recognize her stunning gown as an Alexander McQueen only underscores that.

I smile, blushing. “Yes?”

“Wow,” she gushes. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

I smile with a shrug. “You know, I was doing a shoot outside Odesa, and when I was invited…” I shrug again. “Well, it’s a lovely party.”

“Just couldn’t say no, huh?”

I smile, spreading my arms. “I guess not!”

“Well,” she keeps grinning at me. “Most girls do so seem to have a hard time saying no to Yuri Volkov.”

I stiffen. Her grin turns into more of a smirk.

“To anything he asks,” she says flatly.

The twist in her smile throws me. But I shrug it off. This also isn’t new to me. Yuri is a powerful, good-looking man. And I did just walk in on his arm. I’ve dealt with petty shit like this a million times with the various “tabloid boyfriends” I’ve entered parties or events with. Arrive with some guy with chiseled good looks and famous abs, and suddenly every girl at the party with even a drop of social climber or star-fucker in her wants to stab you in the neck.

“We’re just…” I smile. “Acquaintances, actually.”

The girl smiles thinly and holds a hand out limply. “Svetlana.”

“Riv—”

“We’ve covered that.”

I raise my brows and take a big gulp of champagne. Well, this is getting cunty fast.

“Well, it was very nice to meet you, Svet—”

“He’s a lot of fun to be acquaintances with, isn’t he?” She sneers.

I freeze. My heart thuds. There’s a familiarness in her talking about Yuri that makes something sour swell inside of me.

“I…” I frown. “Mr. Volkov and I just have some mutual friends is all. I was here for the shoot, and he asked if I’d come to this lovely party with—”

“Oh, you poor thing!” Her smile curdles. “You mean you haven’t even gotten a chance to play with that huge cock of his?”

My stomach knots. My heart thuds in my chest as my face pales. Svetlana keeps smiling at me.

“Or perhaps you have?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“It’s that black rose tattoo that really gets me, personally.”

I freeze. My eyes narrow at her.

“It’s so hot, isn’t it?”

I don’t want to admit it. I try so hard to push it back down and ignore the emotion that I feel scorching my insides. But there’s no locking it back up. There’s no ignoring that her words and that smug, bitchy little smile bring up uncontrolled jealousy inside of me.

“It was nice to meet you,” I say quietly. “I’m going to go—”

Her hand shoots out, grabbing my arm.

“Do you think you’re his first little plaything? The first young, pretty little toy he’s brought on that boat to wine and dine and bed?”

My face grows cold, my lips pursing tight.

She grins at me. “Silly, silly girl.” Her eyes narrow at me. “You are not the first. And you will certainly not be the last.” She laughs coldly. “Let me guess, he dragged you here and is now off somewhere in a meeting?”

When my face tenses, she smiles wider.

“These are the power chess-games these men play, little girl.” She sneers at me. “You are not his queen. You are a pawn.”

Svetlana smiles smugly at me as she polishes off her champagne.

“But what am I saying? You are just… what was it?” Her lips curl cruelly. “Acquaintances, yes?” She turns to leave, but then glances at me over her shoulder. “Anyways, say hello to Yuri for me. Unless, of course, he’s already found some other silly little girl to play with tonight.”

Without another word, she saunters off into the crowd.

I want to ignore everything she just heaped at my feet. I want to shrug it off, and tell myself it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. After all, Yuri and I are not “Yuri and I” at all. He’s my captor. My best friend’s crime lord father. That’s it.

Except, that isn’t “it.” Not when I’m this deep. Not when I’m this wrapped up in him. Even if I hate that I am.

My eyes narrow. My teeth grind as my heart thuds heavily. I turn, and I start to shove my way back through the crowd. I need to get the hell out of here.

I need to get away from the man who’s somehow gotten his claws deeper than I ever should have let him get them.