Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

Emma jerks to her feet, the color draining from her face. “Ben, this is my boss, Ruslan Oryolov.”

I can smell his breath from here. He stinks of cheap booze and cigarette smoke. The moment Emma introduces me, his eyes bulge a little wider. The veins running through the whites of his eyeballs shine a sickly red.

“The Ruslan Oryolov?”

I don’t like the way he says that. I can practically see his irises turning into two massive dollar signs.

Emma’s gaze keeps flicking from the drunkard to me. “Ben, we’re in the middle of dinner.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” he growls. “I’m not invited to dinner in my own fuckin’ apartment?”

It’s the first time all night the girls have been silent. The bottom half of Reagan’s face has disappeared behind the table. All I can see are those big eyes glancing around fearfully. Caroline has moved a little closer to me and she’s abandoned her plate of pasta to chew on her nails. Josh is the only one who’s sitting up straighter since their so-called father entered the room. But I don’t miss how his fists tighten around his fork and knife.

Emma is trying hard to contain the situation. “If you’re hungry, Ben, I can get you a plate.”

How she manages not to kick this motherfucker out on his ass is a testament to her patience. It’s probably also a testament to how much she loves these kids.

He pulls his lips back and displays a set of yellowing teeth. “I don’t need a fuckin’ plate. I need that damned piece-of-shit car to work properly.”

Emma’s eyebrows knit together. “What happened now?”

He grunts and moves to the fridge. “Fucker died on me again.”

“Ben!” she hisses, lowering her voice. “Stop cursing in front of the kids. And take that car to the mechanic while you’re at it.”

“I’ll talk the way I wanna fuckin’ talk.” He snatches a can of beer from the fridge. “I’m a grown fuckin’ man. As for the damn car, I don’t have the fuckin’ money to—”

My chair scrapes loudly as I push back from the table and stand. Emma and Ben turn to me at the same time. My hands clench into fists, just like Josh’s, and for a moment, the desire to use them is tempting.

But Ben and Emma aren’t the only ones who are watching me. Reagan, Caroline, and Josh are staring at me with wide eyes. And everyone is holding their breaths.

I look right at Ben, trusting that he can read the threat in my eyes even if I can’t say what I want to say to him. “Where’s the car?”

He blinks stupidly. “What?”

“The car. You said it died on you. Where is it now?”

He clears his throat to hide a burp. “Oh, right. Yeah. It’s parked out on the curb.”

“Then let’s go take a look. Lead the way.”

Emma’s jaw drops. “Ruslan, you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s not a problem. I used to work on cars for a living.” I throw Ben a murderous glance before I make my way into the living room. Emma says something to the kids in a gentle voice, but the actual words escape me. I’m too busy imagining all the ways I could beat the shit out of her asshole of a brother-in-law.

I’m almost at the door when Emma catches up with me. “Ruslan!” Her hand floats over my arm, but she snatches it away before she actually touches me. “I’m so sorry about him. The car’s a piece of junk, though. It has been dying for a while. You don’t need to—”

“If I stay in this apartment with him for a second longer, I will punch the fucking stink right off him.” Her eyes widen for a moment, but then they soften. “Let me go down and look at the car. Okay?”

She nods reluctantly. “You’ve never actually worked on cars, have you?”

“Why do you look like that strikes you as funny?”

She lets out a soft giggle and shrugs. “I just never pegged you—the great Ruslan Oryolov, big bad Bane Corp. CEO—as a grease monkey. Did you also wear grease-stained jeans and muscle shirts? Did you have a mullet?”

I narrow my eyes. “What if I did?”

As her eyes run up and down my tailored pants and designer shirt, she bites her lip. I wonder if she knows she’s doing it. If she’s aware of how magnetic her attraction to me is—and vice versa. “I’m having a hard time imagining it. Do you have any pictures?”

“None that you’re ever getting your hands on.”

She laughs. In my face. If we weren’t in her shoebox of an apartment with her three little dependents and her one big inconvenience in the very next room, I’d throw her over my knee and spank that juicy ass of hers until it’s raw.

“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat and my head at the same time. “I know my way around an engine.”

“Can I come?” We both turn to find that Josh has managed to sneak into the living room without either one of us noticing.

I glance at Emma. She looks conflicted for a moment. Then her shoulders sag and she nods. “If Ruslan says it’s okay.”

In answer, I hold the door open for him. “After you.”

Josh doesn’t say a word as we walk downstairs. He doesn’t say a word when I pop the hood and take a look at the smoking engine, either. He just stands off to the side and watches me work.

“Shit,” I growl when I’m done poking around.

“How bad is it?”

I sit down on the edge of the curb just in front of the car. “I’m shocked it’s lasted this long with that amount of damage to the radiator.” Josh sits down next to me. “Does your dad drive you around in this thing?”

Josh nods. “Sometimes. And Auntie Em, too, if Dad doesn’t already have the car.”

I shake my head. “From now on, none of you are getting in this car. Not until I fix it.”

“You’re gonna fix it?” I grind my teeth and nod. Josh sidles closer to me. “But Auntie Em has the new company car.”

“Yes, but I’m guessing your dad uses this one. He’s probably going to keep using it until it combusts in the middle of the road.” Josh flinches at the image. “So I’m going to fix it up so that that doesn’t happen.”

The guy may be an asshole. But he’s an asshole with three young kids. Three great kids. Despite his flaws, they don’t deserve to lose their father after everything they’ve already been through. And as much as I would like Ben to disappear off the face of the earth, I’m not gonna be responsible, directly or indirectly, for taking away the only parent that Josh, Reagan, and Caroline have left.

Josh’s gaze veers over to me. “You’re a good guy, aren’t you?”

Fuck me.

“No one’s ever accused me of that before.”

The kid actually cracks a smile. “I know you’re the one that paid for my basketball fees this season.”

I’m not about to deny it. If the boy is smart enough to have figured it out, then he deserves the truth.

“That doesn’t make me a good guy.”

He frowns. “What does it make you, then?”

“It makes me the kind of man who refuses to let the people in his life suffer.”

Josh’s gaze rises to the window of his apartment. I think I have a pretty good idea what he’s thinking. Compared to Ben, I probably look like a goddamn saint.

I can’t help but laugh at the irony of that. The cold-hearted, violent, soulless pakhan of a deadly Bratva is more of a role model to this eight-year-old than his own drunkard father.

Who would’ve thought I’d be anyone’s hero?

“Ruslan, can I ask you something?”

The tremble in his voice should serve as a warning, but I ignore it and nod. “Go ahead.”

“Will you come to my basketball game next week? It’s the first game of the season.”

I stare down at his earnest little face with warning bells tolling in the back of my head. I should grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him. I’m not a hero, boy. I don’t deserve your admiration or your awe. Don’t make me into something I’m not.

But instead of saying any of that—instead of turning him down like I should—I end up nodding. I end up telling him I’ll be happy to be there.

The craziest part is…

I mean it.