The Bratva’s Locked Up Love by Jagger Cole
13
Maksim
I’m throbbingall over in the dark of my cage. I pace like a trapped animal. And mostly, I’m just wanting her. I’m hungry for her.
This is a line I should not cross; that we should not have crossed. But mostly, I know this was me. She’s shown me kindness. She’s helped me. She shouldn’t.
She should hate me and has every reason to. I almost hurt her. I’d planned to, even. Before I knew who she was. I can’t lust after her.
I breathe as I grab the bars and climb my way to the top of the cage. I do pull-ups until my vision blurs and my arms are numb. I drop to the door, seething and panting. I grab the phone. It’s a risk. But, it’s a lifeline.
I dial in a number I’ve memorized for just such an occasion. It’s a Chicago number, so that won’t set off any alarms if the cell transponder in here is tracking stuff.
“Southside matching carpets and drapes!” a cheerful woman’s voice chirps.
I smirk. The call center is a sham, of course: a way for members of the Volkov Bratva and our allies in the Kashenko family in Chicago to call in without pinging calls directly to higher-ups, in case a phone has been compromised.
It was set up Lev Nychkov, the second in command of the Kashenko Bratva. Who apparently has a sophomoric sense of humor with this “southside matching carpets and drapes.” I roll my eyes.
“I’m in need of an area rug.”
“Lovely!” The woman says happily. As if it’s perfectly normal for someone to be calling a store like this at eleven-thirty at night for a fucking area rug.
“For which room?”
“For my bathroom.”
This is all part of the code.
“I see,” she says easily. “Size?”
“Thirty by four.”
Yes, I’m calling a carpet store at almost midnight to ask for an area rug for my thirty by four-foot bathroom.
“Color?”
“Magenta.”
“Highlights?”
“Goldenrod, with sea-green trim.”
“Please hold.” Her voice is all business now. I hear a series of clicks as the call is forwarded.
“Da” a man’s Russian voice grunts.
“I need to speak to the manager,” I growl in English.
“You speak Russian?”
“English, please.”
He grunts. “Which branch is this?”
Fuck this. I don’t have time for this James Bond shit.
“Alexei, it’s Maksim. I need to speak with him.”
He swears. “Shit, Maksim!? I… fuck, man!”
“You thought I was dead.”
“It’s been discussed,” he mutters. “Shit, brother. You’ve been missing for two months.”
“Well don’t plan the funeral yet.”
“Hold on. Let me get him.”
A minute later, I hear a familiar voice that makes me smile.
“Goddamn it’s good to hear your voice.”
I grin. Yuri; the man who saved me. The man who brought me to edge of death, who burned the poison from my veins and gave me a second lease on life. A father figure to me.
“We need to speak English,” I grunt. “There’s an AI listening, potentially. I am sorry for the call, but it had—”
“Don’t you apologize for shit, Maks,” he growls. “Christ,” he breathes. “I thought you were dead.”
“Not quite,” I grunt.
“Where are you?”
I glance around the cell. “I don’t really know. A prison, somewhere. Maybe CIA.”
He whistles. “Fuck. Okay, I’ll make some calls.”
I smirk. Of course Yuri Volkov, one of the most powerful Bratva kingpins in the world, has inroads with the fucking CIA.
“Thank you.”
“What are they charging you with?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I’ve been here since about an hour after I left O’Hare airport. They ambushed me, hooded me, and took me here.”
Yuri hisses angrily. I can tell he’s holding back from swearing in Russia, as to not trip the AI.
“Any geographic—”
“I think I’m underground. No windows at all.”
“Shit. That can’t be a good sign.”
“Not exactly.”
“Uniforms? Any insignia you’ve seen on guards?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Fuck. Sounds like a black site.”
I nod. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But I don’t know why.” My brow deepens. “They’ve been asking me about the Volkov organization, though, and you especially.”
Yuri sighs. “Goddamnit, I’m sorry, Maks.”
“I’m obviously not going to say shit.”
“I know,” he growls. “That’s what worries me. Do you have any help in there?”
I hesitate. Then I nod. “Yes. A do—” I catch myself. “Someone. Someone who gave me this phone.”
“Good, use him.”
“Da, I will.”
“This phone… you’ll have it with you?”
“It might be best if I do the calling, Yuri.”
“Absolutely. Listen, call me two days from now. Use the call center again. I’ll see what I can dig up before then.”
I close my eyes, nodding my head.
“Thank you, Yuri.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“Yes, I do.”
He chuckles. “Stay safe, stay low. We’ll fix this.”
“Say hello to River for me,” I smile, thinking of Yuri’s firecracker of a young wife who most certainly keeps him on his toes.
“Got a prison girlfriend yet?”
“That’s very funny, Yuri. Have you considered comedy?”
He chuckles. “Stay safe, my friend. I’m going to fix this.”
When we hang up, I turn the phone off to save the battery. Then I hide it well. Then, I’m alone in the darkness.
But not really. I’m in very good company with the thoughts in my head. Though not a single one is about my conversation with Yuri, or about this prison. They’re all about Quinn.
My every thought is of wanting her. I groan, lying on the cold metal bed. I close my eyes, but when all I see is her, I know sleep isn’t coming. I picture her in that tank top and sleep shorts she mentioned, lying in her soft, downy bed.
I picture her hair splayed out.
I picture her legs splayed as well.
I growl as my cock thickens, surging until it’s rock fucking hard in my pants. With a hiss, I push them down, slip my hand down, and wrap a hand around my swollen length. Pleasure sizzles through me at the simple touch.
My head falls back, and I start to stroke, squeezing my cock as I groan. My thoughts center on Quinn, and of peeling her clothes away to feast my eyes and my mouth on her supple, soft body. My balls tingle with aching need. My abs tense as I stroke.
I move my hand faster. I imagine her above me, legs around my hips and sinking down on my dick. I picture her bouncing like a bunny on my cock. My hands on her hips and her tits—raising up to taste her plump lips with my tongue.
Somehow, I manage to stand. I stumble to the metal toilet in the corner of the cell. I groan, gripping the bars behind it with one hand. My muscles clench and coil. My jaw grinds. I grunt in pleasure as my hand fists my thick, bulging cock.
Oh Maksim… fuck me. Fuck my little pussy, Maksim.
My eyes close. My balls draw tight as my muscles clench. My cock throbs in my fist, spilling white ropes of cum against the stainless steel below.
