A Lock Of Death by Beena Khan

2

I have no body, no soul, no name. I am Bratva.

The oath of the Solntsevskaya Bratva had been engraved in my mind for the past three years.

I didn’t have a name.

They always called me Number Nine.

My real name had long been forgotten way before I’d been living in this glass skyscraper. Sometimes, I wondered if that name was even real. I was just Nine now.

A four-letter numerical number.

“Nine?” a feminine voice said from behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder at the woman greeting me.

Madame Gospel, a middle-aged tall woman with brown eyes and straight, black hair clipped in a bun. She wore a light gray cardigan over her black pants. I waited for her to speak.

“I’m going out for a little while. I’ll return in two hours.”

I only nodded. She turned around to leave and I stared at her fading figure as she exited my room. Now the empty penthouse chilled me. I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to. Madame always locked the front door from the outside and outside of it, the bykis, the Russian bodyguards kept watch.

Rubbing my hands down my dress, I headed to the balcony entrance and shoved the pitch-black curtains aside.

Unlocking the doors, I moved forward, the cold floor leaving kisses on my bare feet. Dusk came like a promise of starlight, and my heart sped up in anticipation.

I could go outside now even if it was temporary.

The last of the sun's rays hid behind a gray cloud. The fragments of the day had disappeared and only welcomed the night. The night was my friend.

It was then when I was one and complete with the universe.

My hands gripped the railing as I peered down at New York City. The night deepened and expanded like night black wings. Each light in the skyscrapers buildings opposite of me slowly turned on one by one like brilliant pearls. I smiled and rubbed my hands together. This was my favorite part.

Every window in the skyscrapers ignited up the cool night like the stars themselves. It was a special kind of darkness, a warm black that comforted me. It held me close, cloaking me like a friendly blackness. The sky became a black tranquility, and wind fluttered against my skin, cooling my warm cheeks.

I didn’t see anyone else at their balconies, perhaps because those people didn’t appreciate what they had. They could come out any time of the day, whereas I clung to the moonlight like it was my dear friend. I could never take being outside for granted.

In the velvet dark, I blazed like a hot firework.

My eyes searched through the moonlight until I found the moon itself. It stood out in the pure black of the night. Life disappeared at nighttime, and the underworld greeted me.

My watery eyes fluttered shut, and the wind tousled my hair, blowing it back. With eyes closed, the cocoon of the blackness covered me. My breath misted in the breezy air. I didn’t know how long I stood like this with my soul serene and content, possibly minutes or hours.

With a sigh, I returned inside and left the balcony doors open so the wind could breeze in the room.

Eyeing the wall in front of me, I picked up my color palette and my paintbrush. My finger ran a brushstroke of yellow on it, blending it with the red. My hand moved over my canvas like it had a mind of its own. From the hues to the flames, I smudged the color with my pinky, merging the red velvet with the gold until it blossomed orange like a million fireworks had exploded.

The orange-gold color stretched far and wide, the color of tangerine. A welcoming hearth. These rays existed for me to paint them. The walls were my blank canvas. I wasn’t allowed sharp utensils like drawing pencils so I couldn’t sketch. Madame Gospel was afraid I might stab someone with it… or me.

I never tried though.

This place had become my safe haven over time. I had smaller painting canvases, but they were much too small, and my mind was much too big.

In my other hand, I held my color palette. I rubbed a hand across my cheek, wiping away perspiration until I realized I’d smeared paint on my skin. Cursing under my breath, I tried to wipe the paint, but I just made it worse.

The entrance door behind me slammed against the wall.

I paused.

Who was that?

Madame, who was our charge, lived with us to keep an eye. I worked as a mule for the Bratva, transporting dope from one place to another. Maybe, one of the girls came in, but I frowned, realizing they weren’t supposed to return so soon. I stayed in this penthouse with eight other girls. Everyone besides me had gone on delivery today. It was my night off.

I glanced over my shoulder, still on my stepping stool, and I almost dropped to the floor. Inhaling sharply, I caught myself quickly before I stepped down on shaky legs.

I’d almost fallen to my death.

Okay, that was an exaggeration since I was only three steps above, but I could have seriously injured myself.

I glanced at the looming figure dressed in all black attire at my doorway.

My breath hitched at the man standing there.

His compelling gaze pierced into mine.

The stranger did a quick sweep over my face and body before his eyes met mine again. He bore no expression at all.

I placed my palette on the table nearby before I fiddled with my long braid and brought it out in front of me. His sharp eyes lowered to the thick braid, from where it began to where it ended. My thick, wavy brown hair with faded golden highlights ended at my knees. I stopped fidgeting with my hair and stared at the stranger, wondering who he was.

I’d never met him before, and I didn’t recognize him.

I could tell he was Russian though.

“Who are you?” I asked with hesitation.

“Dimitri Nikolaev,” the man spoke without missing a beat.

The hair on the back of my nape stood up at the thickness in his harsh voice. It thundered through the room, echoing around me. It wasn’t smooth or likable at all. It was deep, penetrating, and it commanded authority.

What was my Boss’ brother doing here?

He was Second in Command in the Bratva Brotherhood.

Cold-blooded. Barbaric. Inhuman.

I’d heard of this sinister giant before.

I took in his features, but I didn’t see much of a resemblance to the Pakhan. Maybe a little if I stared enough. He had the same fair skin and black hair like Pakhan.

Dimitri Nikolaev’s hair was thicker on the top and shorter on the sides. His face caught my attention though. His eyes were completely different from Pakhan too. I had expected black but bright azure eyes met me instead.

Blue.

The kind of alluring blue in the sky.

The sky the sun filled every day.

He would be attractive if he didn’t look like he ate people for a living. He never once looked away from me, and his gaze unsettled my insides.

Predator.

A predator stood in front of me, not the leery kind that I was used to, but he had a gaze that I’d never come across before.

A confidence about him flared in the air like a man that always possessed what he wanted or maybe it was just the way he held aggressive eye contact with me.

My cheeks warmed, but he still didn’t look away. His shameless eyes continued to observe me. Many men would cheekily smile at my uncomfortableness, but his expression remained stoic like he wasn’t even aware of my weirdness.

He seemed unfazed, and he wasn’t even polite about looking away. It threw me off balance. It didn’t creep me out… but I couldn’t read his expression well. I searched for lust and desire in his eyes, but they remained vacant.

Dimitri Nikolaev had a muscled and hard body and was much taller than my five-foot-five frame. He looked close to six-foot-three in his simple black clothes. My eyes fell to his waist where a gun was clipped to his belt. Glancing up, I realized, he had this air of maturity about him, and he looked a few years older than me, maybe in his late twenties.

I was twenty-three.

His face remained carefully composed that it almost looked frozen. So still. He wore no smile on his face nor curiosity lurked in his eyes. Bland and permanently stoic.

Did he even know how to smile? Was he ticklish?

I wondered if I should reach out and tickle him to see if he was. I shook that silly thought off. He was different from his brother. Alexander Nikolaevwas more humorous, and this man in front of me had no funny bone in his body.

A wave of unease pressed down my chest.

“Why is this room painted?” he spoke again, his deep voice running chills down my spine. My toes curled involuntarily.

I glanced back at the walls that were once white but now they were flames of red, orange, and gold. The sunset. The white was no longer visible. This is what I’d imagined the rising sun to look like after a velvety night. It was a sky of fire, the one I would never see outside these gilded walls.

“Pakhan allows me,” I replied after a moment, returning my attention to his stoic face. I was loyal to Alexander Nikolaev, my leader of the Bratva organization. I owed him big time.

The man narrowed his eyes before saying, “You’re being delivered.”

Delivered? I didn’t understand.

I rubbed my hands together, but the paint had already dried on it. “Delivered?” I questioned. “I don’t have a delivery scheduled today. I wasn’t informed of a new assignment.”

“It’s more than that,” he replied stonily.

Oh. I waited for him to continue.

“You’re being sold.”

He didn’t even blink as he said this to my face.

I took a step back, puzzled. Sold? What did he mean?

“Your new assignment you will be delivering to will be your new owner.”

Owner? But I didn’t have an owner to begin with.

Pakhan was my leader, not my owner.

My heartbeat sped up, and I backed up with hesitant footsteps. I played with the middle of my braid because I couldn’t reach the ends of it anyway.

“I don’t understand,” I replied, looking at the man, wide-eyed. I tried to hide the panic from my voice, but he could tell how nervous I was. “Pakhan has only wanted me to transport dope for him. You are confused.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I’m right here where I’m expected to be. Next week, you are being delivered.”

My erratic heartbeat sped up, and my yellow painted hand tugged my braid again. His eyes followed that movement.

I shook my head. “I’m not a slave.”

His hardened eyes landed on my face, and he stepped closer.

Was this brute getting taller, or was I getting tinier?

“You are whoever Boss says you are.”

His deep voice was filled with ice, the kind that soaked into your skin, wheedled into your mind before draining you dry.

“I want to speak with Pakhan,” I demanded, raising my head and squaring my shoulders.

He narrowed his eyes. “Brother is busy. He doesn’t have time to speak with mules.”

“I work for him, not you. He will talk to me.”

Dimitri Nikolaev’s tornado body edged closer, his movements deliberately slow to spook me, but I didn’t step back. He exuded control and authority. Broad and crisp shoulders with a graceful stride, the stance oozed of confidence and devastation. He had the kind of alluring face that female bodies would die to glimpse again. Sadly, he didn’t know how to smile.

I’d seen many like him before in my lifetime. Would he threaten me with a gun? Hold me at gunpoint? Beat me?

I wouldn’t be surprised, but I would like to see him try though. Now, he stood in front of me. His eyes that could be beautiful traveled from my face to my collarbones.

Blue like the ocean

I could paint them.

I followed his gaze.

Paint clung to my skin, and his eyes lowered to the marks on my golden dress that was once pretty, but now stained. I really needed to pick one outfit for my paintings. All my clothes were like this with paint smeared everywhere. His eyes moved to the top of my hair, and I wondered if I had paint there too.

He moved even closer until his massive body loomed a few inches away from me. My chest heaved and I forced myself to inhale and hold my breath. I wouldn’t let him see how much he intimidated me. Frustration flickered through me. I hated his height, how tall he was, and how he loomed over me.

Who did he think he was anyway? I didn’t follow his orders.

I tilted my head back, looking him in the eye.

“When Alexander is not around, you answer to me.”

Dick. I cringed because he was right.

I knew his position in the Bratva.

He was Second in Command.

“You might want to be careful on not talking out of turn again, otherwise…” his icy voice trailed off and the unspoken warning sank in.

My pulse spiked and I wanted to throw my paintbrush at him. I glanced down my fingers that still held it.

Without thinking, I reached up to mark him yellow like the goddamn sun. He could use some sunshine anyway.

His hand shot up like lightning, blocking me before grabbing the paintbrush from me and throwing it on the floor.

Frozen, I followed that movement before my eyes darted up to his unhappy face. His eyes narrowed, but he remained calm.

“Otherwise, I will deliver a tongueless and handless girl,” he finished his warning, his refined and rough voice blasted, sending a cold flutter of air to my heated face.

Double dick.

My heart turned icy in my chest, and his warning grated my nerves. His gaze flicked up and caught mine, dry and emotionless, looking straight through me. The glance stole a breath of air from my lungs.

I inhaled slowly. Then, I released it.

His eyes fell to my body, and I was glad it had moved away from my eyes. I didn’t want him to look into them and find what lurked underneath the gloominess of my eyes. His dry eyes were heartless and invasive, scorching my insides.

Would he really cut my tongue out?

I pressed my lips together, and he gave a knowing look.

He arched a subtle eyebrow, and the blue in his eyes lost the hardness. “Be ready next Friday. We’re going on a road trip.”

I frowned. “Road trip?”

He licked his lips like he was thinking about how to possibly kill me already. My treacherous eyes followed that little movement to his pink, soft mouth. He was clean-shaven, but not even the sharpest razor could hide the stubble. My cheeks flushed, and I met his eyes again, scolding myself internally.

“Yes,” he replied, “Mexico.”

I rubbed my throbbing forehead. “I want to speak with Pakhan!” I protested again. After a moment, I realized I had spoken a little too loud.

He caught that, and he chided me with his eyes.

“Lower your tone.”

His voice remained low and gruff as he spoke.

I’d expected him to yell at me instead.

I tried again, licking my lips, I opened my mouth to speak, but I froze. His eyes were on my mouth now. My throat bobbed, and I remembered to swallow. He followed that little movement. Maybe I had paint on my throat too. I didn’t think much about his staring, and I finished my original thought.

“That’s not the kind of deal I have with Pakhan. I provide him with different services. I don’t sleep around anymore.”

Dimitri’s eyes narrowed. “Anymore?”

I had no interest in explaining my history.

“Mr. Dimitri,” I tried playing nice.

His lip twitched like he knew what I was up to already.

It was the first time that I’d seen any movement on his face. I waited to see if his face would fully curl up in a smile but it didn’t. I wondered if this brute had smiled even a day in his life.

I would have laughed if someone else had told me he was related to my Boss.

“I’m requesting to speak with Boss.”

I faked that plea in my voice, thickening it with sweetness and honey. Hopefully, it worked on him. In the past, people loved it when I cooed at them. They asked and begged for it even though it was all pretense for me every time.

After a moment, he shook his head and grazed a finger across his lip as if thinking why he hadn’t killed me already.

My eyes rested on his soft lips. My heart flew into the sky when he reached for his cellphone and dialed a number.

Yes. “Make it fast,” he warned.

Mr. Brooding passed me the phone, and I held back a scowl.

I turned my back to him, even though I could still feel his vacant gaze on me.

“Hello, Alexander,” I spoke into the phone.

I cringed at what slipped out.

I should have called him Pakhan.

“Hello, Nine.”

Boss’ voice deep and smooth voice filled my ears.

“Is it true?” I dared to ask.

Without missing a beat, he replied with, “Yes.”

The word stabbed a dagger to my soul.

“I don’t want to sleep with him.”

I tried to keep the snappiness out of my voice.

“He is your final assignment.”

My heart filled with hope. I could get out here?

“Really?”

“Yes,” Pakhan replied. “You’ll do one last delivery and remain with him. He is wealthy and he will provide for you. I will make sure he does,” he promised. Before I could say anything, he added, “Isn’t this what you have wanted? To be outside?” I sucked in a sharp breath. “He knows about your condition. He wants to accept you, and he’s given me his word that he will accommodate for your situation.”

“Will I be in a dungeon?” I asked.

I’d heard all kinds of horror stories about collared and chained women who’d been kept as sex slaves before. It wasn’t a fate I’d ever imagined for myself.

Delivering dope was one thing, being used and abused at one’s mercy was another. Being treated less than an animal didn’t sound ideal. I couldn’t place any limits on that at all.

Would it be different from what I’d been through already?

Well, at least it’s one man.

“No,” Pakhan only replied.

I exhaled. “What if I refuse?”

“Three years ago, I helped you. Have you forgotten that you owe me?” The brutality in his voice came, and he lost the smooth flair that he’d always carried.

Pressing my lips together, I realized, there was no escape. Pakhan was my Boss, and when he commanded, I obeyed.

I had another question, but then I glanced at Dimitri who still glowered nearby with his invasive eyes glued to me.

Furrowing my eyebrows, I moved away from him because I didn’t want him to eavesdrop on my conversation. It was none of his business. His dry stare still burned a hole into my back.

“Will he share me?” I squeaked out like a mouse into the phone. “You know, I don’t like to be shared.”

“No,” Pakhan replied shortly. “I made a contract for you and placed limits.”

I let out a short breath of relief.

“What is his name or am I supposed to call him master?”

“I see you still haven’t lost your sassiness. I don’t know if he’ll like that. You can pretend to be submissive for him.”

If I was in a better mood, I would have laughed.

“He doesn’t want just a slave and it’s the reason why I have agreed,” Pakhan replied, “He wants all of you.”

Stumped, I scratched my head. “What does that even mean?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. He should be there soon,” Pakhan finished.

Wait, what?

I quickly turned around and my eyes flew to the door.

“He’s coming today?” My heartbeat raced and I ran a hand over my hair. “But I thought it’s next week?” I choked out.

“He’s going on a business trip and wants to see you before leaving.” I almost wanted to ask, what for, but I bit my tongue. “Play nice,” Alexander warned.

I sulked even more.

Before I could say anything, he hung up the phone.

I stared, dumbfounded, wanting to call him back again.

You owe me.

His words echoed in my mind.

I was in his debt. I couldn’t ever forget that.

I’d made my bed and now I had to sit on it.

Dimitri Nikolaev snatched the phone away from me.

Startled, I looked up at the brute as he pocketed it back in his pants. I studied him some more, and my eyes jerked to his bulging muscles covered in ink. Tattoos swirled and roamed on his body, and that tight shirt didn’t help my eyes either.

He looked even more attractive from his side profile, probably because I couldn’t see his stoic expression. His jaw and nose were sharp like weapons themselves.

I could just imagine him using his nose as one. Everything about the massive man seemed rough and jagged. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could snap me like a twig.

If he tried, I hoped I slapped him.

He caught me staring, and his eyes bore into me.

Why did he have to have such nice eyes?

He was a sore sight to look at.

I opened my mouth to speak, but a voice spoke before me.

“Is this her, Dima?” a rich voice blared.