He shrugged, and said, “I like her. Bianca is a good girl.”
Yes, indeed she was. My life was blessed when she entered my world. No one cried in desperation so truthfully or tasted so delicious. She still managed to hold that aura of innocence around her, although there wasn't a place I hadn't fucked.
Bianca. Bianca.
Adding Rosa to our mix would bring impossible-to-stand pleasure, so I couldn't wait.
A month and a half.
Just a month and a half until my knife would sink into her heart as my cock fucked her raw, dry pussy.
A fist connected with my cheek and my head swung to the side to the loud cheering of the crowd. “Yes, Radmir! Give it to him!” Misha shouted, but at the same time, added, “Come on, Dom! Hit the guy.” Shaking my head to get all my addled senses straight, I went for the kill when I threw my arm back and hit him right in the nose, and at the same time, my other fist punched him in the gut so he had bent in two.
Both of us stood in the middle of the fighting ring, our boxing shorts wet as sweat slowly dripped from our chests and foreheads. We breathed heavily, each one of us measuring the opponent, looking for a weak spot to hit harder, and in the end, to win the fight.
One of the first things the Bratva did was teach their newbies how to fight.
As it turned out, Vasya Konstantinov was the pakhan of the Bratva, who didn't take kindly to me trying to rob him, but he was impressed with my stealthy approach. He saw talent in it, so he offered for me to go back to Russia with him and learn to become a full-patch member, or die on the streets.
Needless to say, I chose the former, but I couldn't leave Marty and Duncan behind, so I begged for their lives.
Surprisingly, he agreed, placing them in an elderly home and warning me that he would take all the cost from my cut, whatever the hell that meant.
Living in the Bratva was no hearts and flowers. As a newbie, I did all the errand work, studied Russian, which was fucking hard, built muscles and stamina in the gym or running around in the mornings, learned to drive all sorts of vehicles, got interested in guns, as they really caught my attention, and finally fighting.
You couldn't be a member if you knew shit about protecting those involved in the family. Which brought us back to here, where Radmir, Vasya’s sovietnik, decided to fight with me to see how much I’d grown in the last year and a half in the house.
He swung one more time, but he made the mistake of taking a step too quickly, so I darted after him and delivered the final blow that sent him to the floor. Everyone whistled, and my eyes made contact with Vasya’s. He raised his vodka shot and winked, clearly liking my progress.
Holding my hand out to help Radmir get up, he surprised me with his smile, as he commended, “Good job, Dom. I’m proud of you.” He one-arm hugged me, and murmured, “Forward. Never back.”
Nodding, I let go, and to the continuous cheer of the crowd, I went to have a hot shower—turned out it still existed—to remove the grime of the evening.
Forward. Never back.
He said the same words to me after I had my first vodka shots and spilled my secrets to him with Vasya in the room. Their faces darkened, but they only kept on saying the same thing.
Forward. Never back.
And today, I finally understood their meaning.
Rosa
“Sex on the beach, please.”
Kostya’s brows rose in surprise as he noticed my presence back in the room, and then he frowned. “What are you doing here?” Seriously, could he be any friendlier?
“Got bored of waiting.” By his displeasure, I got the feeling it wasn't the usual occurrence with Dominic’s women. Maybe he just fucked them immediately once they had arrived, and little old me was an exception in this scenario.
Kostya reluctantly picked up the shaker when I didn’t budge or shy away from his stare. He mixed all the ingredients, adding vodka to it, and even placing an umbrella along with a pineapple chunk on the edge of the cup. “I didn't think it had fruit.” But some refresher would be nice for my dry mouth.
“Consider it on the house,” he said with a straight face; otherwise, I’d think he was joking.
The orange liquid smelled and looked delicious, and my lips wrapped around the straw. Just as I was about to take a sip, a woman plopped on the high bar seat next to me. She leaned over the counter, grabbed a Bacardi bottle along with a glass, poured herself a drink, and added Coke from the can. Raising it high, she addressed me, “Cheers, girl,” and gulped the whole thing in one swig.
Blinking a few times, I studied her as she swung her chest to the beat of the music, which reminded me of the David Guetta song “Sexy Bitch.” She wore a khaki top, pants, and black army boots laced up the front. Her hair in a bun on the top of her head was blue, which along with her brown eyes gave a rather creepy look. As if she could know all your dark secrets.
Her porcelain skin highlighted her bruises, while her fit, muscled body oozed confidence and the whole ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude. “??? ???? ??????”(Kak tebya zavut?)Her voice was husky, as if she had a sore throat. I heard somewhere guys fucking loved it, because it reminded them of sex. Would my voice change during the act?
