Dancing for the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 3) by Hayley Faiman Read Free Book Online Page A

to each other, Kirill?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
    “You fuck no other man. You do whatever you wish, other than that. There are women you can befriend in my circle.” He waves his hand as if he is dismissing me. I straighten my spine.
    “I don’t think that works for me. What will you do?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
    “Whatever I want,” he chuckles. Then he narrows his gaze on me “You took my daughter from me, Tati. You’re lucky I’m giving you this opportunity. You’re lucky I still want your cunt and you’re useful to me. Otherwise, you would be gone and Kiska would be with her papa.”
    “You don’t mean that,” I gasp in surprise.
    “You knew me as a boy, Tati. I’m no longer a boy. I am a man, and Green did not lie when he said I was Bratva . I am. These tattoos you see, they tell my story. I am not a kind, gentle man. I am the highest ranking member in my area. I am in charge of hundreds of men. I am a Pakhan .”
    His words are full of anger and his tone is daring me to defy him. I won’t. I’ll suck it the fuck up because I did bring this on myself. He’s right. I took his child away from him when I shouldn’t have.
    Regardless of how young and scared I was, it still was not right. I let my fear guide me. I let my impulses take over, something I often did as a young girl before I became a mother myself. I hurt him and I hurt Kiska. Not anymore. I’ll shovel the shit he’s throwing my way, and hopefully he’ll see just how sorry I am and forgive me—one day.
    “Okay,” I concede with a nod.
    “First, we need to get that prick to leave you alone,” he grinds out.
    I snort as I make myself busy by walking into the kitchen to cook. I have to do something. I have to keep my hands busy, or I’ll do something stupid, like wrap myself around him again.
    “He’s been popping up off and on for the past ten years. I never know when,” I shrug as I take out bread and sandwich fixings.
    “What information did you give him?” he asks. I sigh as I grip the countertop.
    I was hoping I never had to go through this, hoping he would drop it all.
    “Nothing. I had nothing to give him, Kirill. He frightened me. He told me things about you and about your line of work. He manipulated me. He promised that the FBI would keep me safe. When he truly discovered that even if I knew anything I would never tell him, then he cut off all funds coming to me from the government. He left me penniless with an infant. He…” I almost finish telling him the rest of my story, but I don’t. I stop. He doesn’t need to know. He only wants me for one thing, to fuck. He doesn’t really care .
    “Finish,” he urges. I only shake my head as I place his lunch on a plate and hand it to him.
    “Doesn’t matter. Just that’s why I started stripping. I was working part time at this little boutique, but when he cut off my supplemental income, I needed cash, and fast. I moved us here, to this much cheaper apartment, and I started dancing. Kiska was eight months old.”
    “You like it? Dancing?” he asks. I take a bite of my food, thinking as I chew a few times.
    “I don’t hate it. I could do without some of it, but it’s good money and I don’t have an education, so my options are limited,” I shrug.
    “You didn’t finish college?” he asks, furrowing his brow. I throw my head back laughing.
    “No, Kirill, I did not finish college. When I left, I killed my chances for any semblance of a normal life.”
    Kirill doesn’t say anything else. We finish our lunch in silence. I have so many questions, so many . I don’t ask them, though. We aren’t real—he and I. What we are is this undefined thing, this relationship that is for appearances. I am to be his lover carnally and in public, but as far as friends go, we are not. It’s so confusing, and it hurts to think about.
    It hurts to know that he wants me only to use me, and nothing else, especially when I have such fond memories of him. But he’s right. He