Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)(7)

Three floors made up the old Victorian: the basement where they kept nearly every brand of alcohol known to man—though clients were only served the cheap crap—the ground level where clients were introduced to the girls and ultimately made their selections, and the top floor, where the actual servicing took place.

There weren’t dozens of rooms in the place, more likely around seven, but since there were only a small number of girls, it worked fine. Sometimes, when they got a new girl, she would sleep in the basement where a cot was set up until a permanent place was found.

The man Mikhail, the former boss of the Volkov Bratva had left in charge after demoting Luka—not that he was going to be there long since Mishca was in the midst of getting rid of all those who were loyal to the former Pakhan—was an * who enjoyed his position a little too much. Sure, they were whores, and this lot chose this as their profession, but that didn’t give him the right to take advantage of them. Sure they chose this, but working for them was entirely different than just working the streets. While they were afforded security only the Bratva could provide, they also knew that they needed to keep the bosses happy because they were expendable.

Even Luka wasn’t that bad, and he had done some questionable things over the years.

Yuri sat on a sea-green couch, facing a large television that was currently on a football game, and if from the way he was raptly watching each play, it was safe to assume he had money on it.

Luka didn’t bother giving the man a greeting, taking the stairs two at a time to the next landing. A few of the girls passed him by with pleasant smiles. He spoke, always polite, though most of the men who frequented this place were not. It didn’t matter to him what they chose to do for a living. Who was he to judge? He hurt people for a living.

When he reached the last door in the hallway, he didn’t bother knocking, just twisted the knob and walked in.

The other girls might have needed to share a room when they weren’t working, but Natasha was one of the highest earners, and because of this, she was given the privilege of having one of the biggest rooms in the house. Unlike other girls who chose this profession, whether by force or as a means to an end, Natasha had chosen this for the money she made.

Natasha was beautiful, as most of the girls were, but unlike them, she took very good care of herself to the point that if she wanted, she could be more than what she was. Raven black hair fell to the small of her back, complementing smooth pale skin, with a carefully sculpted shape that made her ideal for any man. Her smile was charming and the first time he had ever seen her, he’d been interested.

Like others, however, this was all that had drawn him to her. Back then, he had resorted to long nights with a sand-filled bag to work out his aggression and tire himself out until he passed out from exhaustion. It was only after he’d been called to the Victorian house that he had even met her. One client had gotten a bit too rough with one of the girls and he’d been told to take care of it. Though even now, he still wasn’t sure how it happened, but one minute he was trying to explain the rules to the man, and the next, he had snapped his neck.

No one spoke of that night, though he did wonder how many people knew of what he had done, but Natasha didn’t think anything of what she had seen from the window of her bedroom. In fact, Luka believed that was the only reason she’d come to him.

A single night with her was enough for him to know that she could take anything he gave, even if it might have left her bruised. From then on, he saw her every Tuesday like clockwork.

It worked for them.

They accepted each other. He didn’t treat her like a whore, a tendency that most men in their world treated the girls, and she gave him a reprieve from his frustration.

So long as there were no feelings involved, it worked for him. He was always careful. Always trying to make sure she knew that he didn’t want anything more from her than her body and on the rare occasion, companionship.

“Long day?” she asked sitting back on the bed, stretching her arms out beside her.

He shrugged, not answering. While this was a ritual they went through whenever he visited her, he often wondered if she ever got tired of it.

Tossing his jacket across an empty chair, he lay back on the bed, arms folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for her to finish whatever it was she was doing. It wasn’t long before he heard the scrape of her chair as it was pushed back, and she stood, crawling onto the bed, climbing over him.

As the adrenaline began to wear off, slowly his thoughts automatically went back to the events of the night, remembering the way the blade had sliced through the man’s skin. Just the memory was enough for him to breathe deeply through his nose and back out through his mouth.

Her hands drifted over his chest, and he shuddered, wishing he could disconnect his sex drive from the pain he inflicted on others.

“How many?”

That was another question she asked, one that would help her gauge exactly how much was pent up inside of him. Tonight, however, he didn’t answer.

It wasn’t bad as it usually was.

Her hands drifted over his shoulders, kneading the muscles along the way, her lips to his ear. As much as he could, he relaxed under her touch, though he didn’t let his guard down completely.

He didn’t trust her enough for that.

For just a few moments, he let his mind wander, thinking of things that were better left forgotten, and a time in his life when moments like these were stolen, knowing that others wanted him ruined, but while he had it—even if it wasn’t with the person he necessarily wanted—he would accept it.