Owned By The Bratva King by Jagger Cole

4

Yuri

I need a cage.I need strong rope, binding me fast to this room so that I may not leave. So that I don’t rush back to hers, break down her door, and have her every which way a man can claim a woman.

I need to be locked in here. Guarded, kept at gunpoint from her. Because I made a mistake. I miscalculated. I thought of myself as stronger than this.

I was wrong.

Tonight, I played games I had no business playing. Tonight, was playing with fire, or live dynamite. The point of her being here is to make her my pawn—to have her play the role I need her to play when I destroy Semyon.

I can lie to myself all I want. I can tell myself that having her strip for me was a power move—a way to show her I hold the reins here. But I know what that really was. That was me losing control. That was me wanting her. And that’s dangerous. A king uses the pawn, and sacrifices the pawn, in order to win the game.

A king doesn’t desire the pawn. A king doesn’t barely keep control of spreading the pawn’s legs and burying his cock in the pawn’s sweet little cunt.

I can make excuses. Yes, River Finn is one of the most stunningly beautiful, gorgeous young models on the planet. She’s on magazine covers and strutting down the runway of the Vanessa’s Dream lingerie fashion show wearing lace and silk.

She has the face of an angel and a body built for sin. Her very career is based on her ability to make men desire her and women want to be her. I can tell myself that that is why I’m finding my control wavering. But those are merely excuses. Those are symptoms of a bigger problem.

I’m a powerful man. I’m wealthy. I’m at the top of one of the most influential, connected, and ruthless bratva families in Moscow. Young, pretty things batting their eyes or throwing themselves at me is not anything new to me.

And yet I have not indulged myself with women in almost six years. I simply do not have the time, the interest, or the bandwidth to do so. My throne and continuing the reign of a bratva empire that has lived through two world wars, a revolution, and the overthrow of both a monarchy and an entire political system comes first.

But that resolve has been shaken twice now in the last six months. The first time was the dinner in Chicago with my daughter Belle, her fiancé Nikolai, and River.

The second was tonight. And it’s quite clear what the underlying common theme is with both of those instances.

I groan as I step out onto the private porch off my bedroom. I grit my teeth, feeling my pulse thud and my desire for her surges. My cock strains against the front of my suit pants, and I grip the railing tightly. I look out over the dark Black Sea and breathe slowly.

I can’t want her like this. For one, I’m more than twice her goddamn age. I’m forty-five, she’s… what, twenty? Twenty-one? I groan as I bite my lip. There are men far older than me with the similar means, power, and wealth with girls even younger than her on their arms. But I am not those men. And I don’t desire “arm candy” to make me look or feel like a bigger man.

But I do desire her. Voraciously.

I hiss as I look away over the dark waves below. There’s also my daughter, Belle, to think about, whose life I’ve barely just stepped into for the first time. And here I am lusting after her best friend, who is currently a prisoner on my yacht.

This isn’t “going to be” a problem. This is a problem. I can’t want her like this. I can’t desire to take her, and to claim her as my own. For all of those other reasons, but also for the very reason she’s here at all: to destroy my enemy.

The power that my having her has over Semyon is the threat of me “taking her for myself.” He wants her for her beauty, but also for her innocence. Which might be disgusting and barbaric in a way. But my world does move in disgusting and barbaric ways, like it or not.

If Semyon fears I’ll claim her myself, he’s my puppet on a string. If I actually do claim her myself, that power goes away.

I turn and spy the bottle of scotch on the bar cart back in my bedroom. But suddenly, my private cellphone rings in my pocket. I pull it out and smile thinly. Speak of the devil. I was wondering when the news would finally reach my asshole rival’s ears.

“Sukin syn!” Semyon screams when I answer the call. You son of a bitch!

I grin. “Good evening, old friend.”

“Don’t old friend me, you piece of shit!” he rages. “You son of a whore—”

“That’s enough,” I snarl. I’m oddly in no mood to hear him bleat and whine. “You know what I have, don’t you, Semyon?” I hiss quietly.

“She was mine, Yuri!”

I shrug. “Boris’s business was mine.”

Semyon laughs thinly. “You fuck, is that what this is? Petty revenge—”

“Yes.”

He goes quiet for a second before he clears his throat.

“Give her to me, Yuri. I’m warning—”

“Nyet, porosenka,” I snarl. No, little piggy.

Semyon hisses out a string of swears and curses at me. I merely smile as I wait for him to finish. When he’s done, I hear him wheezing and breathing heavily for a moment. Then he clears his throat.

“Okay, fine. You can have Boris’s business, okay?”

I laugh, loudly. “You are pathetic, Semyon! So quickly? Just like that, you cave?”

“Do you want it or not?!” he snaps.

My lips curl into a savage smile. “Da, I do want it. But it was already mine.”

“Fuck you, Yuri—”

“Manners, Semyon,” I growl quietly. “Let’s not forget what—who—I have in my possession.”

His breath catches.

“What the fuck do you want—”

“More, Semyon,” I hiss. “I want so much more. You want the girl, and I want more.”

I can hear him seething on the other end of the line. And I know I’ve got him exactly where I want him.

“Yuri, you piece of shit—”

“I read the news, Semyon. I even read the celebrity gossip bullshit.” I smile. “I’m guessing you do as well?”

His breath catches audibly. I grin.

“You pathetic little man. I know why you want her. A beautiful girl like that… and a virgin?”

Semyon swears quietly.

“That’s what it takes for you to feel like a big man, Semyon?”

“She’s mine, Yuri! She will give herself to me!”

I laugh coldly. “Give? Is that what you call that?”

“I’m a man of means!” he fumes. “Of class!”

I roll my eyes. “You’re a troll.”

“Fuck you!” he roars. “Fuck you, Yuri! Fuck your mother in the—”

“Shut up,” I snarl savagely. My rival goes quiet.

“You’ll give me what I want, Semyon. Or I will take all of what you want.”

He’s silent for a second, trying to chew on that.

“What are you say—”

“You know damn well what I’m saying,” I growl quietly. “Just her and I, all alone on my boat…”

“Fuck you!”

I smile. “Who knows the things she’ll do for me? The things she’ll let me do to her?”

Semyon is bellowing like a stuck pig on the other end of the call.

“Who knows the ways she’ll submit to me, my old friend,” I snarl.

“I’ll fucking kill you, Yuri!”

I shrug. “I’ve already undressed her.”

I smile when I hear him choke. He goes quiet, and I know I have his attention. I know I’ve got him wrapped around my goddamn finger now.

“Listen to me very carefully, Semyon,” I growl. “You’ll give me exactly what I want, or I’ll have her much more than just naked for me.” I smile thinly. “I’ll have her begging for it.”

I hang up abruptly. I turn, inhaling the salty air of the sea as I gaze out at the black waves. I don’t relish this. I really don’t. I don’t enjoy the threats involving River that I’ve just thrown at Semyon. I am not that sort of man, to do that to a woman. But I’m playing a part, as we all must do.

With a final deep breath, I turn and walk back into my quarters. I pour a heavy splash of scotch and head into the office off of my bedroom. I open the laptop on my desk and click over to the video feed from the hidden camera in her room.

I grin. She’s apparently decided to finally explore the vast array of clothes I have for her in the closet in her quarters. She’s decided to ignore the drawers and drawers of expensive lingerie, opting instead for sleep shorts and a tank-top.

The problem is, this girl could dress in mud and a burlap sack and still be the sexiest women on earth.

I watch her pace the room, and my cock grows thicker. I switch cameras, watching as she brushes her teeth and washes her face. I flip back when she heads back to the bedroom and pads over to the big bed. She slips under the covers, frowning and tossing and turning. She reaches over and turns the lights off. My cameras switch to night vision.

I watch her toss and turn. I feel my pulse thud as she squirms under the covers. Her hands push under, and I groan, feeling a spark of lust. But that isn’t what she’s doing. Or perhaps she was and decided against it.

Instead, she sighs deeply and drops her hands heavily back on top of the covers. I keep watching as she squirms some more. Her eyes close. Slowly, her breathing becomes regular.

But still, I watch her sleep. And I wonder if she’s dreaming of my eyes on her; my hands.

My mouth.

I groan as I slam the laptop shut and clench my eyes shut. I must be strong. This is business, not pleasure. This is a power move, not a seduction. In this world, and in this game, I am King, and she is a pawn.

Three scotches later and the laptop’s back open, I’m still repeating that to myself.