Chapter 3 Run little butterfly run

Vladislav pov

The heavy clang of the metallic prison doors followed by the brutal clank of the lock into place reverberates through the corridor-a sound that reminds me of the cage that I called home for the past three months. Long enough that I had started to lose my shit.

But I knew better, I had to make my enemies think that they had won this time, but they were wrong.

I have men everywhere, even in the fucking government, men loyal to me, bound by their royal hearts to me. And, of course, some are not loyal to me; many want to take me down and take my place as the pakhan, but for them to succeed, they will have to eliminate each and every one of my men first.

And this....this was just a facade I had put on as my men hunted the rat that dared infiltrate my Bratva.

I run my hands through my dark hair; my jaw clench as I roll my shoulders, feeling the tension crack down my spine as I step forward with the pristine Italian shoes that I have paired with my black suit-custom-tailored, freshly pressed. My look is completed by my Cartier limited edition gold watch that weighs on my wrist in a familiar yet nostalgic feel. The rings on my fingers feel just as familiar. A thick silver band on my right hand, engraved with a double-headed eagle-my family crest, and another-a heavier one, gold, with a dark sapphire-on my left passed down through the Mikhailov bloodline.

"Your ride will be here in a few," the guard who had escorted me out here mutters in a stiff voice avoiding my gaze.

Yes, fear is what I exude and he knows better than to look me in the eye. One wrong move-one mistaken word-and his family will be collecting ashes instead of his corpse.

Outside, the night air is cold, but the faint scent of rain smells more like victory. A familiar blacked-out Mercedes Benz pulls over and Leonid, my right-hand man, my brother in everything but blood, pops his head out.

"About fucking time!" he yells out loud, to which I flash him with one of my signature smirks as I slide into the car.

"Anything for me?"

"No how is my brother doing when I was away'" Leo asks, dramatically clutching his chest before mashing his foot on the gas pedal like he was in a Fast & Furious movie.

"I believe you wouldn't dare show your damned face to me if you didn't have the information i asked you," I ask in a more calm businesslike tone that doesn't match the chaos brewing deep inside me.

"Fine fine," he retorts, and immediately he hands me, more like tosses me a thick black binder like it is nothing but a dinner menu in some cheap Chinese restaurants down China Street.

I flip it open, my eyes zeroing in on the name at the top.

Caitlyn Clark

She who came to clear me for my release-not that my freedom depended on it that much, and instead, she left that cell wrecked for me.

Even after giving me a mind-blowing release from her amateur blowjob, I couldn't bring myself to erase her from my fucking mind. She proved to be an enigma shrouded in mystery and intrigue, and I made it my mission to unravel it.

I skimmed over the page quickly, my eyes devouring the details about her-Caitlyn Mae Clarke is a boring typical. She comes from a boring middle class family in Florida to a single stepdad and a mother who took the L before she could hit her early teen years-sad but I did not care.

She is a licenced psychological therapist in a small but struggling mental clinic. She has a dull, meticulous routine that she repeats every damn day like a fucking clock. That includes the coffee shop she visits every morning and those early morning runs she indulges on daily.

That's why I trust Leo, he is competent and always came through with any needed information.

Leonid chuckles beside me, shaking his head as he pulls a cigarette from his coat.

"You're fucking obsessed," he mutters, lighting a cigarette, exhaling a slow drag of smoke. "Three months in a cell, and the first thing you want isn't revenge, isn't your empire-it's some random girl you met... Remind me again where you saw her?"

He's right. I should be torturing the mole who dared to infiltrate my organization, tearing through my enemies like I always have. Instead, I'm here, thinking about her-about relishing in memories of her jasmine-scent and a mouth that ruined me in ways I don't want to admit.

I should let it go. It was a mistake. A distraction. A fucking amateur blowjob, and yet-I want more than I can admit.

I'll find her. I'll drag her back into my world and make her wish she never met me. And once I've had my fill-once I've fed this obsession clawing through my veins-I'll forget her. Go back to being who I was before she touched me.

The ruthless Pakhan of the American Bratva. Untouchable. Feared. The man no one dares to cross.

*****

So I've picked up goddamn morning runs lately.

And by running, I mean this is the third day I am here in this fucking neighborhood just because of her.

The first time I came here, I saw her run, but I didn't move. I just watched.

The second time, I followed.

Now, I'm gonna use a different strategy.

A few meters ahead of me, little Babochka runs like she's trying to escape something. Her joggers are snug, hugging every curve, the soft fabric clinging to her thighs as she moves. A thin tank top sticks to her skin, damp with sweat, teasing glimpses of the toned muscles underneath. The early morning light catches the golden-brown strands of her ponytail, making it gleam as it swings back and forth with every stride.

Her movements are smooth, effortless, like she's done this a thousand times before.

I break into a light jog behind her; she feels it.

The shift in the air. The weight of my stare. The inevitability of what's coming.

But she doesn't stop running she accelerates her pace while pretending to ignore the inevitable danger looming behind her.

That's what makes this fun.

I let her keep the illusion of distance for a while, matching her speed like I have all the fucking time in the world. Because I do. I always will when it comes to her.

Then, I tighten the leash.

A little faster. A little closer.

Her head twitches like she wants to glance over her shoulder, but she doesn't. Good girl. Fear and excitement live in the same breath, and right now, her lungs are full of both.

She slows for half a second. Her mistake.

I strike.

"You run fast for such a soft little thing."

She spins, eyes wide, chest rising and falling, sweat glistening on her collarbone. Fuck. If she only knew how many times I've thought about wrapping my hand around her throat, squeezing just enough to feel her pulse race for me.

"W...What the hell are you doing here? And do I know you?" she demands, definitely throwing in the oblivion card before she turns on her heel and takes off, more like a splint hellbent on escaping from my presence.

Like a fucking good little prey.

"Watching." I jog, falling in step with her "You." Another step. "Run."

"Who are you?"

"It's me, Vlad, we met the other day at my prison cell...Oh right! We didn't get to introduce ourselves because you were busy getting off with my cock deep down your throat,"

"l..I was not!" She barks out and I definitely know I have gotten under her skin.

Fuck. Why do I enjoy beeing the reason she stumbles on her words?

"My getting all worked up, are we?" I taunt and she abruptly comes to a halt as heat creeps up her neck, slow and betraying. It crawls over her throat, staining it with a delicate flush before rising higher, licking at the sharp line of her jaw and dusting her cheeks in a soft pink hue.

By the time it reaches her eyes, embarrassment has fully claimed her-those wide, stormy irises flickering with something between defiance and the unbearable weight of embarrassment.

But you don't need to be ashamed of your other self, little Babochka.

Her lashes flutter and she looks like she wants to disappear for a split second-to will herself into the pavement and vanish. But she doesn't. She stands there, locked in place, shoulders stiff, fists curling at her sides before resuming her jog, yet this time, she lacks the spirit that pumped through her earlier.

I keep pace effortlessly, my smirk deepening. "What's the rush, babochka? We've got some catching up to do."

She doesn't answer.

I lean close to her ear, "Did you jerk yourself off with the memory of me fucking your tiny little mouth, little Babochka? Or were you scared of performing such atrocious deeds on yourself?

I sense the way her breath hitches, how the planes of her chest muscles move as her heart trumps inside her threatening to break free from its cavity-but that would be too soon.

"You look so pretty when you're breathless."

She falters. Just barely, but I see it.

I chuckle, low and rough, and move in closer. Close enough for her to feel the heat of my breath on her skin.

"Tell me, does your heart thump this hard when you cum too?"

Her step stumbles.

Bingo.

But before her body comes into contact with the pavement I catch her wrist-firm, unyielding, like a collar snapping into place-and drag her against me.

She gasps, her chest crushed against mine, her pulse hammering so fast it might as well be begging me to ruin her.

"You shouldn't be here and I never want to see you again," she whispers. Weak. Unsure. Wanting.

I grin, "Never is a stretch you basically enjoyed yourself last time. When you were practically begging me to come all over your throat," My lips brush the shell of her ear, my fingers tightening just enough to feel the tremors that run across her body.

"your pussy dripping, begging me to break it. To decimate it"

Her pupils dilate with something between amusement or anger but I can't really place my finger on which is which.

And the best part? She opens her mouth to retort, "Let me Go, or else..." but she trails mid statement, biting her tongue, and I almost curse, wanting to peel her teeth off her tongue, and hear them curses spill from her cute mouth.

That's it babochka, fight me.

"What will you do to me if i don't let go...eh?" I challenge, but she stands still against me, staring at the far distance before murmuring a plea, "Just let me be,"

She doesn't mean what she Just said, I could see it in her eyes, feel it in her fucking nerves. But I surprisingly let her go and watch her as she hesitates for a moment before breaking into a full splint, disappearing in a corner ahead.