Forced By the Ruthless Bratva Beast (Tarasov Bratva #3)

Chapter 5 – Roman

The unease oozing out of him was subtle as he tried to mask it with a straight face and a sly grin. But I could feel it; I could sense his tension and anxiety. He was clearly wondering why I invited him for a ride. Occasionally, he'd steal glances at me, his chest heaving slowly as if trying to summon the courage to ask where we were headed.

Boris was at the wheel, eyes focused on the road as he drove us through the bustling city tonight.

In silence, I sat poised in the backseat, legs crossed as I relaxed, leaning against the backrest. Bernard sat beside me, inches away, hands clasped together on his lap, his rigid frame tensing. His shoulders were stiff, and he shrunk into the seat in an attempt to put a wider distance between us.

The stench of his fear was comparable to that of a filthy rag. His breathing was labored, and his eyes darted across the sleek interior of my plush G-Wagon. His posture betrayed his unease, and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

For a fleeting moment, Boris's eyes met with mine in the rearview mirror. He held my gaze, a silent understanding passing between us, a confirmation of the unspoken plan. I shifted my gaze out the window, taking in the breathtaking view of the city's nightlife.

I took my eyes off the environment and settled them on the man beside me. “How's the family, Bernard?” I asked, my gaze unwavering.

He managed to look at me, eyes narrowing slightly. “They're fine, Pakhan ,” he said, his tone laced with suspicion.

“Good. Good,” I replied, my voice low and husky. “You're probably wondering why you're in my car.” I returned my gaze out the window, drinking in the neon lights of skyscrapers and billboards dancing across the glass.

“Well, it's not every day you get invited to ride with your boss.” He forced a chuckle, avoiding my eyes. “I'm honored, Pakhan . But am I in trouble?” Now, his eyes settled on my face.

With a blank expression that seemed to intensify his bewilderment, I drew a breath. “What do you think makes a good soldier, Bernard?”

His brows knitted together, forehead creasing as uncertainty flickered in his eyes. “I don't…I don't follow, Boss.”

“What's the number rule of the Tarasov Bratva?” I rephrased, my gaze fixated on him.

His lips trembled for a moment, skin dampened in cold sweat. “Lo…loyalty.”

“Loyalty,” I repeated, letting out a dismissive laugh, my voice menacingly low. “How do you define that word, ‘loyalty’ in times of…uncertainty?”

He swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling, hinting at his fear. “Uh….” Bernard cleared his throat, adjusting in his seat. “Sta…staying the course, no matter what.”

“Interesting,” I said, taking my eyes off him for a moment. “I like your definition, Bernard. You understand the meaning of the word.” I returned my gaze to him. “Such a shame that not everyone in the organization shares this belief.”

“What're you talking about, Pakhan ?” he asked, his head tilting.

“I'm talking about the Judas within the Tarasov Bratva,” I answered, my voice calm and quiet and my expression serene.

“Judas?” He arched his brows, squinting at me. “That's impossible.”

“Is it?” I asked, then contemptuously clicked my tongue. “Humans can be greedy, Bernard. I mean, even Christ himself was betrayed for what? Thirty pieces of silver?” My facial muscles tightened for a moment, and I flashed a stern look at him. “Don't underestimate the extent to which a greedy man will go just to get what he wants.”

His eyes left my face, and his breathing became heavier by the second as his legs trembled.

“Someone's been selling sensitive Bratva information to the enemy, information that they had sworn to protect with their lives,” I declared, watching him try to mask his fear and anxiety, but his shuddering body betrayed his failed attempt at composure. “You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, now would you?”

He swallowed hard and shook his head. “No, I…I don't. I swore an oath of secrecy, and I'm loyal to the Tarasov Bratva. I'll never betray you, Boss,” he said, looking right into my eyes as he tried to sound as convincing as he could.

I gave him a gentle tap on the shoulder with a smirk on my face. “Good. You see, Bernard,” I held his gaze, “if betrayal was forgivable, the devil would still be in heaven with God right now. Loyalty is non-negotiable.”

That instant, the car came to a halt, and Bernard's eyes flew out the window, scanning the surroundings. “Why'd we stop?”

“Because we found the mole in our midst,” I said, reaching to open the door. “Wouldn't you like to know who this Judas is?” I stepped out of the car.

Boris, who was already outside, helped Bernard with his door, and the man exited the vehicle.

We were underneath a dimly lit bridge where the cool night air carried the distant hum of the bustling city and the faint wail of sirens. The soothing sound of waves gently lapping against the shore filled my ears, and the salty scent of seawater wafted by.

Three of my men stood armed behind a man on his knees with a hood over his head. His hands were zip-tied in front of him, and judging by his muffled voice, his mouth was likely taped.

Bernard walked over to me, his eyes roaming the environment. “Is this the man?”

I walked up to him, a hand in my pocket. “Not exactly.” I stood beside him, gazing at the captive. “But he's the man who's gonna identify the mole.” I gave a nod at one of the men, and he yanked the hood off the captive's face.

Bernard's eyes widened in shock once the man's identity was revealed. He swallowed hard, chest heaving rapidly.

The man's mouth was taped, so I couldn't understand what he was struggling to say, but he was constantly pointing at Bernard.

A few weeks ago, Boris had told me that one of my men had been compromised, working with the enemy against us. At the time, we didn't know who they were until I asked Boris to look into the matter. We acted like we had no idea that there was a mole in the organization so they wouldn't do a better job covering their tracks.

Two days ago, Boris discovered that Bernard, our most trusted underboss, had been the mole—the one leaking sensitive Bratva information to the enemy. Bernard's position was of significant influence; he was in charge of overseeing key operations and strategic decision-making within the Tarasov Bratva. His betrayal cut deeper than a knife to my chest.

Loyalty was the bedrock of the Tarasov Bratva, and personally, I hated betrayers. Whoever was against the Bratva was against me, Roman Tarasov. And there were no lengths that I wouldn't go to protect and maintain the dignity of the organization.

“Do you know who this is, Bernard?” I asked without turning to look at him.

His heavy breaths accentuated my fury, causing my jaw to clench as I looked at him. The man was petrified, his hands shaking, eyes flying around as though seeking an escape route.

“ Pakhan asked you a question,” Boris said to him, his thick voice low and menacing as his hollow eyes bore into Bernard's.

“I…I…” he began, stumbling on his words, lips trembling as he looked around at the furious faces glaring at him.

Slowly unfastening the buttons of my black coat, I shot a glance in his direction. “The Bratva trusted you, Bernard.” I shed the coat, handing it over to the closest man. “ I trusted you,” came the additional statement, my composure calm but dangerous as I took off my cufflinks, one at a time. “And what did you do?” My scowl deepened, creating creases on my forehead as my fingers rolled up the sleeves of my black undershirt. “You committed the one sin that I cannot forgive.” I jerked my eyes at him, and both sleeves were completely rolled up to my elbows.

He cringed, mouthing words of mercy. His hands were stretched out in front of him, eyes flickering with terror.

My fingers balled into fists as I glared at him, brows narrowing and jaw clenching. “You betrayed the Bratva, Bernard.” I rushed at him, my blood boiling with rage.

His legs dangled in the air, eyes widening in fear as I grabbed him by the collar, effortlessly lifting him off the ground. “Betrayal is unforgivable, Bernard—punishable by death,” I snarled at him, flinging him to the ground with reckless force, his body landing with a crash.

Without hesitation, I descended on him, swinging my fist at his face, drilling a series of heavy blows that dented his skull into the concrete.

On the first blow, his nose cracked, releasing an uncontrollable flow of blood that smeared over my knuckles. But I wouldn't stop even as the red fluid splattered over the concrete.

“Did you think you could sell us out and live?”

I rained down blows, each strike landing with fury. My fist pounded his face non-stop, his blood spilling on my shirt and splattering my cheeks.

Bernard's groans were guttural, his body bucking beneath me with flailing arms as he attempted to escape. But I wouldn't let him. I pinned him down, mercilessly driving my fist into his crumbling facade.

“You sold us out, Bernard. You jeopardized everything we stand for. How dare you!” I barked, forcing him back to his feet.

Bernard stumbled, too weak to stand, his legs buckling beneath him. A swift kick from me sent him crashing onto the hood of the car, where he slid down to the floor with a sickening thud.

I wrenched the door open, grabbed Bernard's now limp body, and positioned his head at the entrance. With a powerful swing, I slammed the door shut, the impact cracking his skull, a gruesome crunch wafting through the air. “You're no brother. You're no soldier. You're a fucking traitor!” I barked, my voice laced with venom.

His bones cracked, his flesh tore, and his pathetic screams dissolved into gurgling whimpers as I repeatedly slammed the door against his head. His legs were twitching, his body trembling at the agony of how his life was exiting his form. Blood gushed as his head disintegrated, eyes dangling from their sockets with a distorted skull.

With a final slam—a viscous one—the edge of the door sliced through his neck, severing his head from the rest of his body. His lifeless form thudded to the ground, and his head rolled over to my feet.

My chest heaved rapidly as I straightened, eyes still blazing with fury. His blood was all over the backseat of the car, dripping down and flowing through the concrete.

I stretched out my hand, and a handkerchief was placed in my palm. With it, I wiped the droplets of blood on my face and cleaned up my knuckles.

Our captive's eyes widened in fear as he locked eyes with me, breathing heavily. He looked like he'd seen the devil in human form. His hands were shaking, as was his whole body.

I rolled down my sleeves, requested for my cufflinks, and signaled one of the men to free the man's mouth.

A loud gasp came forth as the tape was peeled off his lips. “Please, please. Show mercy. I'm begging you!” He bowed at my feet, weeping and pleading. “I have a daughter. She's just a year old, and I'm all she has. I don't deserve to live, and I don't expect you to let me go, but please, I'm all that little girl has.” He jerked his head, locking his gaze on mine. “I'm not begging for myself; I'm begging for her. If you kill me, she'll have no one else. Please…she's just a year old.”

His pleas meant nothing to me, and for all I knew, the story about his daughter was just a means to save his own skin. I'd dealt with men like him before; cowards would say anything— do anything—just to get out of trouble. I slipped back into my coat and towered over him.

I could tell when my victims were lying—it was a superpower—and right now, this bastard was lying.

“You and your organization were buying information on the Tarasov Bratva.” I squatted to his level. “Big mistake.” I clicked my tongue with contempt, raising his head by the chin, the barrel of my pistol pressed against his flesh.

“No, no, no, please. Hear me out,” he begged, whimpering as I stared at him with a blank expression. “I can be of value to you…I can turn on them—be your spy…. I'll tell you everything we—” His rushed words were cut short by the sound of a gunshot that echoed in the air as I pulled the trigger on him.

The bullet passed through his chin and burst his brains, creating an exit hole at the top of his head. His body thudded to the ground, motionless in the pool of his own blood.

“No one messes with the Tarasov Bratva and gets away with it. No one ,” I muttered, rising to my feet. “Clean this up.” I gestured at the two dead men.

“Yes, Boss,” one replied, immediately getting to work with the others.

I glanced at my watch; I was already late for an event, and with a sniffle, I wiped a thumb over my nose. The G-Wagon was messed up with blood; there was no way I was going anywhere in that.

Boris requested for the keys to the other car—the one my men had driven in. They were handed to him, and he led the way. “Let's go, Boss.”

***

The hall was filled with the soft chatter of societal elites—politicians, philanthropists, some Hollywood stars —all dressed to impress. Waiters skidded through the crowd, holding up trays of champagne and canapés.

A soft classic jam wafted through the air, adding to the ambiance of the atmosphere as a live band performed at a corner. Chandelier lights cast a warm glow over the guests as they hung in small clusters, exchanging smiles and pleasantries.

Personally, I found charity events like this to be a waste of time. The idea behind it was to help the needy, but that was far from the truth. It was just another way for the rich to keep getting richer, for the powerful to retain power, and for the famous to retain fame. This was nothing but a business gathering under the guise of charity.

Regardless, though, there were still a few people here who were truly charitable.

I wasn't one of them.

The Bratva needed more allies and more investors, and I was seeking ways to expand our horizon. My being here tonight, mingling with these hypocrites, was for one purpose and one purpose only: the growth of the Tarasov Bratva. And for that cause, I wouldn't mind striking a deal with the devil himself.

“Ah. Look who it is,” a familiar voice spoke behind me, their tone dripping with bliss.

I turned and locked eyes with the speaker. It was Kostya, and he had his wife, Madelyn, by his side. His white tux clung to his frame, revealing his masculine build, while his beautiful wife had her arm locked in his, her red gown complementing her lipstick. Her hair fell loosely on her shoulders, her feet perfectly fitted in her heels.

“ Pakhan Roman,” he said, chuckling as they halted in front of me.

“Temporary Pakhan ,” I replied, mirroring his gesture. “Good to see, cousin.” I embraced him for a moment and shifted my gaze to his wife. “Madelyn, you look amazing as always.”

“Thank you, Roman.” She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “You don't look so bad yourself.”

I grinned, tucking a hand in my pocket.

“Hey, what happened the other night anyway?” Kostya asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “The brilliant hostess—she treat you well?” he teased, playfully slapping my arm.

A scoff escaped my lips as I thought about her for a moment—the woman, a mysterious virgin, hot and sexy, who had seduced me into fucking her. I couldn't understand what exactly was different about her, but she'd somehow managed to keep me in suspense, wondering who she was.

At first, I thought she was a hooker, but after she rejected my money, I was struck with confusion. And even now, I couldn't seem to find my way out of this web of bewilderment.

She'd piqued my curiosity, and now I wanted to know more about her. Julia was an amazing woman, not just sexually but also intellectually. However, she was a woman I couldn't crack, a puzzle I couldn't solve. There was mystery surrounding her, and after that sex, she left me intrigued with a lot of questions on my mind.

I wasn't one to fall back to the same woman more than once…at least not in a long time. But ever since that night, thoughts of Julia had been lingering on the fringes of my mind. I'd fought it so many times, but her mysterious ways kept pulling me in like a moth to a flame.

“Madelyn, you used to know someone named Julia, right?” I asked her, holding her gaze. “Petite, silky brunette hair, hazel eyes….” I squinted, hoping she remembered the woman in my description.

“Julia Sawyer?” Her brows arched instantly, and her eyes widened as she chuckled. “Yeah, yeah…. She was my friend—a little younger than me, but we were cool. Why?” She tilted her head, casting a suspicious look at me. “Hold on a second; you know Julia?”

“No. Not really,” I replied. My voice was low yet dripping with anticipation when I added, “But I was hoping you'd tell me about her.”

Madelyn smiled, her face brightening up. “Well, Julia is beautiful—as you already know.” She chuckled. “She's smart, like, really smart—”

“On that note, we agree,” I concurred, flashing a faint grin.

She continued, “Julia's kind, hard-working, doesn't give a shit what anyone says—she does what she believes is right. She's wife material.” Madelyn wiggled her brows at me teasingly.

“Okay, let's not go there.” I let out a dismissive laugh. “What else do you know about her: family, where she came from…?”

Madelyn sighed, shoulders slumped. “Sadly, I can't help you with any of those.” She accepted a glass of champagne from the waiter beside her and took a sip.

“Why's that?” I asked, my brows knitting in confusion.

“Well, because I don't have the answers you seek,” she replied, cradling the glass in her hand. “You see, Julia has always been, uh….” She thought for a while, groping for the right word—the adjective to best describe her friend.

“Mysterious?” I chipped in, eyes fixated on her.

“Yeah. Exactly,” she agreed, snapping a finger in agreement. “She never mentioned her family or her parents.” Madelyn sipped from her glass.

Interesting.

Maybe I'd stop by the club again…. I just might bump into her again—the mysterious woman.