Kathleen

I awake in the morning with the familiar feeling of bruises over bruises, and I immediately think of my husband. I rub my wrists and eye the ligature marks. I quit trying to hide them from family members and extended family years ago. They are well aware of my husband’s sadistic side. I don’t give a fuck what my husband does to me; I enjoy it as much as he does. We share two hard limits: no fucking around, and no sharing me. Glazov doesn’t play well with others and neither do I. We both know what the other will do if one of us were to have an affair. Needless to say, there will be no infidelity in our marriage. Our jealousies runs deep, and the consequences are lethal.

Today is the day Novak will be arriving with his wife, Katrina. There is a story that is entertaining to me, a rumor about Novak and Katrina. It is said that Katrina managed to get her hands on his diary, and she wrote a book about Novak based on the material she read. Her punishment had been forced marriage to him, Novak! Evidently, male dominance is a trait that runs deeply in Glazov’s genealogy.

I jump in the shower, get dressed, and put on my make-up for the day. Glazov’s sister, Vladimira, and the rest of the women will be arriving early to prepare for the party being thrown this evening to welcome Novak and Katrina. We will also be celebrating Kodiak’s official induction in to the organization. The mansion will be full of guests and family members. Bratva from all four of our cells are being flown in from all over the country. Having Novak here and my son ‘coming out’ are big deals. I don’t know exactly what Kodiak has done, but I do know it has something to do with the man who was stealing from my husband. I can’t imagine anyone thinking they could get away with stealing from Alexander Glazov. They put their life on the line by doing so.

Vladimira smiles at me as I make my way into the kitchen. I’m not shocked that she’s already here.

“Everyone is so excited about Novak’s arrival. You’ve met him, no?”

Her thick Russian accent is more pronounced when she is excited.

“Oh yes,” I chuckle. “I’ve met him, and I’ve also had the pleasure of meeting his little plagiarizing wife.”

I don’t tell Vladimira, but I have a problem with the woman. I know my temperament, and I know I’ll end up addressing her face to face sooner or later. I’d like to know why she did the heinous act of plagiarizing Novak’s diary; it’s such a personal affront.

To a reader, it is an unforgivable sin, and it is a deathblow to an author’s career. Why would such a talented woman, who has no need to steal someone else’s writing, stoop so low? The odd thing is that after she apologized to her readers and named Novak as co-author of her book, she has an even larger following. I need to look her in the eye and get some answers before she will ever re-earn my respect. I’m a voracious reader with no talent for writing, and I loathe anyone who would steal someone else’s work. Simply put, she has a lot of explaining to do before I’ll ever fully trust her, much less respect her. I’m not the type to gossip behind fellow Bratva women’s backs. Though many of the women consider gossiping a form of entertainment, I prefer to look someone in the eye when I confront them. Perhaps I’m more like Glazov than even I ever realized.

“She’s going to be working while she’s here, writing articles for the newspaper. She’ll be Glazov’s PR person.”

“Well, that should be very interesting, to say the least. Making the head of Bratva a likable personality in the community won’t be an easy feat.”

“It’ll be easier than you think with all the community work he does. His political ties put him in a very favorable position too.”

I shake my head and chuckle.

“Leave it to Glazov to be concerned with his squeaky clean image.”

“You doubt my love of the community, Ptichka?”

I look up to see Glazov standing in the doorframe. It barely allows enough room for his large body. He’s wearing a grey suit that has a bit of shine to it, a grey dress shirt, and to top off the ensemble, a grey tie with black and white designs running through it. He is leaning back against the wall with his legs crossed at the ankles, and he is staring at me while he cleans his nails with the switchblade he usually keeps in his pocket. The man carries enough guns and knives for a small army. Who am I to judge? I have a hatbox stashed in the top of my walk-in closet that is full of firearms.

“Far be it from me to besmirch the glowing reputation of Alexander the Great,” I answer him, purposely goading him.

In seconds, he is off the wall and standing in front of me with his hand around my throat.

“Ah shit, here we go. She really needs to cook, Glazov,” Vladimira remarks as she rolls her eyes at him.

He pulls me into the large dining room, shutting the door before he pins me to the wall.

“When I want your fucking opinion about my reputation, I’ll ask for it.”

“Fuck you, Glazov. You don’t scare me.”

My eyes grow wide with terror as he calmly places the knife to my throat. We both know I am lying about not being scared.

“Liar, you’re such a fucking liar,” he hisses at me.

His hand slides up under the skirt of my dress, and he immediately reaches down into my panties.

“Please, Glazov, someone could walk in and see us.”

“Is that why that little fire crotch of yours is dripping wet for me?”

I jump when his finger thrusts into me, and I can feel the trickle of blood on my neck.

“I wouldn’t do that; you can’t jump around like that. I keep my knives very sharp. You never know when I may have to kill someone.”

He leans in to lap up the blood while his hand continues to work its magic.

“Come for me, baby. You’re such a little vixen.”

My body obeys him in the same manner it always does. Afterwards, he sticks his finger in my mouth, leering at me as he speaks.

“Clean it off, and if you leave this fucking house today without my permission, my belt’s coming off. We both know what you’ll get if that happens.”

I nod my head in acquiescence, and his sadistic laugh rings out through the air as he exits the dining room.

“Time for me to go and live up to my sparkling reputation,” he says as he walks away.

It’s the last thing I hear as he leaves me plastered against the wall, basking in post-orgasmic bliss and soaked in my own juices.