Free Seducing the Badman (Russian Bratva #2) by Hayley Faiman

purple silk blouse that unbuttons enough to show off some of my cleavage. I finish the ensemble with a pair of nude spiked high heels. I smooth out my long black hair and apply the perfect amount of makeup, making it dramatic without looking like a prostitute.
    I am going to confront Radimir.
    I walk outside of the apartment and see Erik standing right next to the door.
    “Take me to him,” I order. He blinks.
    “He does not wish this, Emiliya,” Erik warns.
    I turn and face him, my meek, sad self gone, my mask now in place. If he thought yesterday was bad, today will be a million times worse.
    “Do not address me so informally. I am Ms. Chekova, and you will take me to him,” I demand.
    Erik’s eyes flash in anger. I want to shrink away from him, but I don’t. I stand my ground. He mutters something, sounding very close to calling me a cunt, and I want to laugh at him. I slide into the luxury car as Erik speeds off toward wherever Radimir is staying now that he has left me.
    Radimir talked sweetly to me, held me, then he turned on me completely. His demeanor changed suddenly, threatening me, and I want to know why. I will not allow him to do this to me and then walk away, only to ignore me. It isn’t fair and I won’t stand for it.
    I talk such a big talk, but my stomach is full of butterflies and my head pounds with fear.
    Once we arrive at a posh building, Erik walks ahead of me and unlocks a door, waving his arm for me to walk onwards. I roll my eyes at his theatrics. If I thought Ruslan was an asshole, this guy has him beat by a thousand. He makes Ruslan look like my BFF.
    I walk into the apartment and my eyes are assaulted by a stripper pole in middle of the room. On the pole, there is a woman arching back, her body completely bare. Radmir’s dark haired head is leaning back against the couch.
    “Bend over, show me your pussy,” he slurs.
    It doesn’t sound right. He doesn’t sound himself. I decide to keep my mouth shut so that I might see exactly what is going to happen. I am under no illusion that he has been pining over me; and though I do not love him, I don’t want him to be able to move on from me so quickly. He hurt me, yes, but I still feel like I have some kind of claim over him—even if it is just in my own mind. Men like Radimir are never claimed by women. They claim, then they do as they wish.
    I watch as the girl bends over with her legs spread, showing Radimir her very intimate body parts. My stomach lurches at the sight, and then he slurs again, telling her to shove her fingers inside of her body. I almost growl, but I don’t. I stay quiet, even though it is killing me.
    “You aren’t even wet,” Radimir barks. He throws a glass full of liquid at her, hitting her in the thigh. She yelps and stands up, turning to face him with a look of pure panic on her face.
    “I’m sorry, sir,” she whispers. I look into her eyes. She can’t be more than sixteen years old, and I feel pity for her.
    “Worthless whore. How do you expect to make any money if your pussy stays dry when you’re touching yourself? What happens when a man touches you? Trust me, no man wants a whore who is dry as the fucking desert. It’s a fantasy. You are supposed to be goddamned fucking perfect,” he screams. I watch as her lips tremble and he yells at her to leave his sight.
    I silently stare as the girl leaves with tears streaking down her pretty, young face. Then I slowly walk around the couch to face him. Radimir’s head is hanging low and he looks so sad, his shoulders slumped and his demeanor completely broken. I clear my throat and his head shoots up. Once his eyes catch mine, he draws his eyebrows up in surprise.
    “What are you doing here?” he growls. I press my lips together.
    “You left without a word,” I say, calm and smooth.
    “You wanted me gone right? I left so you could be in peace,” her offers. I nod my head in understanding.
    “You are stupid,” I point out, watching as his jaw