Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

The sleazy motherfucker is leaning against his rundown Buick LeSabre when I step out onto the street. He straightens up when he sees me, his eyes sharp, his fingers twitching. “What a pleasure running into—”

“Cut the shit, Remmy.” My voice is low with menace, but that’s only because I don’t want to draw attention to this little exchange. The kids are terrified enough as it is. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, but his fingers keep twitching and he fidgets around a little too much. “Was just in the neighborhood.”

“And you make a habit of prowling around the streets, looking for… what, exactly?”

His crooked smile isn’t the least bit intimidating, no matter how much he might wish otherwise. “A story.”

“You’re not going to find one here.”

“Oh, I beg to differ. That pretty little secretary you have knows more than she’s letting on.”

My hands clench into fists as I take a step closer to him. “My secretary is an employee. She knows only what I tell her. So unless you want to write an exposé on my coffee preferences, get the fuck away from here.”

He turns his sleazy smile onto the windows of Emma’s apartment. I follow his gaze to see four faces at the window. Josh and Emma are at either side of the frame, with two little blonde heads peeking out from the bottom of the lower pane.

“You know, Ruslan, it strikes me as odd that you would be here at all. Considering she’s ‘just an employee.’ Seems rather… protective for an infamously hardened employer like you.”

I gnash my teeth. The most efficient way to get my point across would be to beat the living shit out of him. Except there’s no ethical way I can do that with Emma and the kids watching. So instead, I switch to Plan B.

“I take my employees’ safety very seriously, Jefferson. It’s the reason you won’t be able to find one person on my payroll who will agree to speak to you.”

His eyes narrow. “All that proves is that you’ve bought their silence. How easy it must be to get what you want when you have cash pouring out of every hole in your body.”

“Careful there. You’re looking a little green with envy.”

He scoffs. “I would be as wealthy as you if I murdered and stole and broke the law as a daily habit.”

“Is this you fishing? I expected better.”

“I’m gonna crack this story one way or the other.”

“Tell you what,” I suggest. “Let’s take a little drive. Just around the corner. You can ask me as many questions as you want in that time.”

His nostrils flare. “I’m not getting in your car.”

I shrug. “Then I’ll get in yours. Unless, of course, you’re scared to be alone with me?”

The easiest way to get to a coward is through his ego. Fyodor taught me that, back when he was more than just a walking shadow.

Sure enough, Remmy bristles on the spot. “Fine. My car, then.”

While Remmy gets into the driver’s seat, I drop Kirill the location I plan to have Remmy stop at. Then I slide into the cramped passenger seat of his LeSabre.

Ping. Ping. I glance at my screen. Two messages, sent within seconds of each other.

KIRILL: :thumbs-up:

EMMA: Ruslan, what are you doing?

I put my phone away, conscious of the fact that Remmy keeps glancing at me. His knuckles are bright white as he shifts gears and starts driving, though he makes a big show of whistling like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“You’ve got ‘til the empty lot on 58th,” I tell him.

He scowls. “That’s not very far.”

“Then I suggest you talk fast.”

He leans to the side and pulls out a small recording device. “On the record?” he ventures.

I shrug. “Go for it.”

“Is it true that you’re in the process of launching an illegal, highly dangerous, possibly addictive drug that’s funded by Bane Corporation?”

I don’t falter. “Of course not. I’m not in the pharmaceutical industry. Nor am I a drug dealer. I run a high-end security tech firm. That is my primary source of revenue.”

Remmy grinds his teeth. “I have it on good authority—”

“Do you have a name?”

He grimaces. “Not as such, no.”

“So then it’s hardly ‘good authority,’” I dismiss with a chuckle.

“I’ve heard people refer to you as ‘pakhan.’ Is it true that you are the head of a Russian crime syndicate?”

I lace my fingers in my lap. “I’m a businessman, Mr. Jefferson. That is all.”

“And what about the disappearance of Mattias Helva?”

The name rings a bell, but I feign ignorance. “Who?”

“A young man on your payroll. He disappeared a few weeks ago.”

Ah, right. The skinny scientist with the smart mouth. The one who ate a bullet for his betrayal. “I’m sure the Bane teams in charge of that sort of thing are working diligently to assist the authorities in whatever ways necessary. But I don’t keep track of every single one of my employees on a personal basis, Mr. Jefferson.”

“Just the pretty ones?”

I jut my chin toward the parking lot. “We’re here. Pull over.”

“I have more—”

“Unfortunately, you’re out of time.”

I get out of the car and he follows, slamming the door behind him. I notice he doesn’t bring the tape recorder with him. Pity. It might’ve saved him some pain.

“That wasn’t a legitimate interview,” he sneers, jabbing a finger in my face. “You lied about everything.”

“I agreed to talk to you. I kept my word. It’s not my fault or my problem if you don’t believe me.”

His jaw clenches. “Well, then you leave me no choice but to make her talk.”

I check over each shoulder to make sure we’re alone. When I’m sure the coast is clear, I lunge forward, palm his throat, and pin him to the brick wall at his back. “You go within a fucking mile of her or her family and I will destroy you.”

He splutters, pawing uselessly at my arms. I hold him there for one more beat, his feet flinging in every direction, before I set him back down with a grimace.

“Well, well,” he croaks, trying to clear his throat a few times. “I can’t imagine what I’ll find if I dig into that relationship.”

Great. I overreacted. The last thing this smarmy fuck needed was a reason to keep poking around.

Time to backslide into Plan A.

He’s standing there, smirking, at the perfect angle when my fist connects with his face in a quick jab. He goes down so easily that, as I feel cartilage crunch under my knuckles, I start to wonder idly if he’d even survive a full-on beatdown.

“Fuck!” His hand reaches up to assess the damage. “You—you broke my fucking nose!”

“Trust me: it’s an improvement.”

Blood runs down his hand and he keeps touching his nose, the bridge of which is pointing in a different direction than it was a moment ago.

“Fuck,” he groans nasally. “My nose. My fucking nose!”

“You’re lucky I broke only your nose,” I snarl, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and hauling him toward me. “Stay the fuck away from her. You hear me?”

His eyes widen and he nods hard. I shove him back just as Kirill rounds the corner in his silver Maserati.

Remmy trips on the parking block and lands on his ass in the gravel. He’s shaking hard and clawing at the rocks, tainting the dirt with his blood. He gulps as Kirill gets out of the car and walks over.

“Started the party without me, did ya?” my second-in-command asks.

“W-what are you g-gonna do to me?” Jefferson stammers. Blood keeps pouring down his upper lip in a thick stream.

Kirill throws him a disgusted look, then glances at me. “Excellent question. What do you think, sir?”

My gaze slides over the runty reporter. Honestly, he’s too fucking pathetic to kill. And I’m pretty sure he’s got the message loud and clear. Still—I didn’t earn my reputation by being lenient.

“Let’s give him a new zip code, shall we?”

Kirill raises his eyebrows. “That all?”

“Y-you can’t do this. There are people who will look for me!” Jefferson insists.

“I very much doubt that.” I squat down in front of him. A brilliant purple bruise has already started to form around his nose and beneath his eyes. “Although, to be fair, if you ever go near her again, I will most certainly be looking for you.”

Now, even his bottom lip is quivering. A second later, the stench of ammonia stings my nostrils. I look down between his legs.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter.

It isn’t the first time a man has pissed himself out of fear of me. It might be the most pathetic, though.

I pull my fist back to knock him out just so I don’t have to hear him whimper anymore, but the fear suddenly becomes too much for him to handle. His face freezes for a moment, then his eyes roll. He faints back against the concrete before I lay so much as a finger on him.

Disgusted, I get to my feet. “At least he should be easier to transport now. And quieter.”

Kirill just scowls. “You couldn’t have done that before he pissed himself? That car is brand new!”

“Put him in the trunk. Hell, put him in the glove compartment. That little fuck will probably fit.”

My second-in-command sighs again. “How did this happen, by the way?”

“Fucker was prowling after Emma, trying to get a story out of her. When she refused, he started stalking her kids.” I’m still simmering with anger over the image of Remmy sniffing on her trail.

Kirill lofts a brow. “You sure dumping him in Bumfuck, New Jersey is all you want me to do?”

“For now, yes.”

I wait until Kirill stashes Jefferson into his trunk and drives away before I get into Remmy’s LeSabre.

I’m very aware of the fact that I’m the one who created this fucking mess. If I hadn’t overreacted to his wild guess that I was fucking Emma, Jefferson wouldn’t have caught on.

So the least I can do now is protect her.

The least I can do is make sure she’s alright.

At least, that’s the reason I give myself for driving back to her street and walking up to her door.

I clean up my messes.

That’s all this is.