by Amarie Avant
“When I first saw you after four fucking years, Anastasiya, I wanted to tear you apart.” Simeon’s deep baritone drones out every word. “I told myself to gut you in half, get back the heart you stole from my chest.” His hand skirts across my collarbone to my throat.
A whimper of a cry crashes deep within my chest.
“Then I saw you, and just like that, you fucking had me, Asya. You had me. And you used your deceptive tears about an innocent baby. . . about how others kept us apart.” His eyes gleam with the notion that I’ve lied to him.
“Plllll—” I begin to plead. Simeon is always the reason between us. Yes, it might not seem as such. But he was. He found me many years ago, and he saved me. When the world up and decided our love was too vast for the earth to hold it, Simeon welcomed me home with open arms. He loved me after all the fucking cards were stacked against me. Again, I strain against the duct tape, my voice raw.
I watch as he reaches into the lapel of his suit jacket. He pulls out a scrap of paper.
“For eighteen days, I’ve kept this where my heart once was. A subtle reminder that you never truly gave a fuck about me, my beautiful Tsarina.”
He shoves the paper in my face, too close to read. Then Simeon speaks, verbatim, “ ‘Though it seems I’ve abandoned you twice, you have to know how much I’ve always cared. For now, all I can give you are my—’ ”
My apologies with love. My mind fills in the conclusion. That bitch screwed me, and now she’s dead! I’m so dead too!
Chapter 28
Mikhail
I delivered an ultimatum. Made a declaration. I kissed her with all the passion in the motherfucking universe. None of it was her saving grace. She ran back to the devil.
The bastard brought out the worst parts of her, and yet, I wouldn’t trade a single argument or retort. The makings of Anastasiya epitomized perfection, and she was letting him win. Fade the glow in her, fill her with darkness.
My feet ache from the long walk. It’s a long fucking way back to hell. The threat I made about leaving Russia is for naught.
I’m not conceding.
Not until . . . I’m sure of Anastasiya’s safety.
The only person with wool over their eyes was me. Her undying love for Simeon—that shit hurt. But with each step I take, trekking up the lonely road toward a life I never craved, I contemplate how I will stay.
“Just to make sure she’s safe,” I tell myself. The textbook version of addiction runs through my mind. I fit the bill. Every box checked. My drug is outside the realm of my grasp.
Over two hours later, I’m meandering past imports, Simeon’s legion saunters down the front steps.
“Kazen?” Kirill’s eyes sparkle with a question. “What brings you by? Conveniently on the same day the suka arrived.”
I cock a brow. “What bitch are you referring to?”
He smiles, planting his hand on my shoulder. I place my hand on top of his, squeezing his fingers together as his hand bites into my shoulder. “Kirill, I’m not a fucking pushover.”
He chortles. “Nyet. I heard when Igor died that you grew a pair. You helped Vassili with his psychotic sestra? I heard you had it in you. But when Simeon’s suka returned and the pizda I know you for returns too, dah? Show me what you’ve got.”
I yank his hand down and toss my left fist at his nose. Kirill ducks. His fist slams into my gut. I spit blood in his face, kicking my foot out at him.
“Again, I’ll ask,” Kirill cracks his neck. “Why the fuck you here, Kazen?”
“Who are you to question me?” I roar. “You murder Simeon? Are you the Tsar now?”
“Blasphemy.”
“Then who the fuck are you but a lapdog, Kirill?”
“Kirill Resnov is my first in command.” Simeon’s lethal voice comes from the top step.
“Simeon, did you murder the Tsarina?” Kirill winks at me with his back to him.
Simeon’s eyes glitter. Flecks of blood are on his white linen shirt. I’ve heard the bastard say he prefers this attire for torture. My heart falls into my chest.
“Why would the Tsar,” I begin a collected tone, “murder his Tsarina.”
“Because.” Simeon becomes the definition of pause for effect.
I’m a broken man, and he’ll be responsible for sending me over, no doubt.
“Because, Mikhail, my Tsarina killed Luka. That is the only reason I’d murder her. Sure, Anastasiya has failed me, failed me lots. Beautiful as she is, I’d put her on a fucking leash and keep her, regardless of her faults. But she murdered my blood. Your blood.”
“So.” My hand feels like putty as I heft it up to feign nonchalance and rub the back of my neck. “So, you think she murdered our cousin, Luka, and . . .”
“And?” Simeon shrugs. “Vindication of a Resnov is the proper course, is it not?”
He steps toward me. “Feel free to refute my statement, Kazen. You’re family. Don’t be afraid to disagree with me.”
Chapter 29
Simeon
I focus on Mikhail. He returned home suddenly. The wrath emitting from him is enough for me to toss his dead body in a ditch.
“Disagree. You should.” I dare him, shrugging, “If your opinion differs from mine. You have that right.” Give me a reason to apologize to my uncle, Malich. The slightest reason.
He says nothing.
I address Kirill. “I’m not killing Anastasiya today.” Maybe never. Breaking her is a little easier than living a life without her. “She will provide you with the exact details of Luka’s death. Not today. But you have my word, Kirill.”
He gulps, nodding slowly. This is not the response he was looking for.
“After she provides you with details, I will advise the Table of Seven as required.” I leave them to their own sad existence and head back inside. The second I left the torture chamber with Anastasiya bound to her bed, I forgot how to hate her. Now, as I head back to the room, the letter burns in my brain like a seal of her dishonesty.
How could she?
Don’t fucking do this to yourself, Simeon.
Foregoing the elevator, I climb the steps to the third floor to enter the room. Grow numb to the whimpering, I warn myself. Her sobbing comes in a stutter then tapers off. Her breathing is rhythmic as if she’s falling into a fitful slumber. I settle in a chair. A tiny smile reaches my face at the thought of her holding a knife to my throat that one fucking time I kicked her out of the bed. She had nicked me a little. After that, I placed blankets and pillows in the tub then slid Asya's loud, sleeping ass inside of it. She liked that.
Don’t think about good times either. She wavered in her love, not me!
I pluck up the book I’ve been reading for weeks. It has never taken so long for me to finish a novel. I rub my hand over the binding. Feeling a set of eyes on me, I place the book down and look up. The pillow beneath Anastasiya’s head is wet through. Her tears run along the side of her face.
“You’ve awoken, my pretty Tsarina,” I murmur, rising to my feet. “Are you hungry?”
Her eyelids hood, transforming into slits.
I point a finger at her. “I’m the stupid one. I’m in love with you, Anastasiya. The truth is blaring in my face. All your actions over the last four years. I’m the mudak who can’t stop loving you. I asked if you’re hungry! I’m not the fucking monster here. You are. Nod your head!”
Hissing, I arise from the seat and climb on top of her. “I can’t kill you. I should. Were I not the Tsar, it’d be far more than required. The Seven would kill me too. And you know what,” I clasp her face. She tries to turn away. My fingers bite into her flesh. “I’d let them. Let them do us both in because I don’t go any-fucking-where without you. That’s loyalty, that’s love, moya milaya.”
Her eyes water. I glance away.
Gritting my teeth, I start again, “I’ve learned my lesson. So, you go no-fucking-where without me, dah.” I nod her cute little head, chuckling. My laughter fizzles, growing psychotic. I reach
over and grab the vodka to burn away my sorrows, sober me up.
“Listen, after you tell me what happened to Luka.” I snatch her chin again. She’s furrowing her brow at me. “Stop with the innocent, oblivious gaze, Asya!”
I pull the duct tape from her lips, offer her some Resnov Water.
“Sim, I didn’t—”
I slap the duct tape back over her lips, popping her mouth a few times. “Don’t take advantage of my generosity. I offered you food. You glared. I offer you a drink. You revert to lies!”
Drowning in more vodka, I toss the empty bottle, and it shatters against the marble wall. I remove the knife from my blazer and skim it across her flesh. I don’t revel in the tremble of her warm brown tone, not like I anticipated.
“What happened here?” I trace the light pink hue of fresh two-inch stitching right along the side of her breast and ribs. “Catfight?”
Eyes closed, her body shakes as more tears collect in her eyes. I press my mouth over one of her closed eyes then the other. “Nyet? Am I to assume you were too overwhelmed with the life I offered you? You left. Life not so pretty, got in a fight at a bar, club . . . oh, a strip club? You been shaking that sexy ass, those perky tits for the past couple of weeks, dah?”
At my words, I begin to pluck the stitch work. Her body tenses then vibrates. More tears fall as the wound is plucked open. But unlike her, who left a gaping hole in my fucking heart, I’ll stitch it right back up.
I failed. I couldn’t stitch Anastasiya up. With every snip of her sutures, it felt like lava was desiccating my fucking skin. The honey pool of tears spilling from her eyes sent me straight back out of the room once I left her with an open wound. I had a byki fetch a maid. I’d ordered the servant to complete the job, neatly, without inflicting any more pain, and to ensure Asya showered and was fed.
Then I ventured into the Armenian’s room and let him go. Not alive. My concession would’ve left the Bratva vulnerable to retaliation. I shot him execution style.
Hours later, after I’ve had a shower of my own, I contemplate Asya while eating a cold meal. I decide to walk upstairs and check on her when my cellphone chimes.
“Fuck,” I groan, answering the call. “Dah, Mother?”
“Moy syn, I’ve waited for you to call me.”
“About what?” My eyebrows furrow. Did I miss any reports regarding Sofiya’s welfare?
“Our Anastasiya.” Sofiya’s voice dips. “She’s home.”
My head tilts. Light ribbons beneath the door of Anastasiya’s room. “I have to go, Mother.” I hang up while my mother is jovially asking to see the woman I cannot help but love. Fisting my gun in my hand, I open the door, prepared to kill whoever came to see the girl I love after dark.
My gaze collides with something I never in a million years expected.
Chapter 30
Anastasiya
Heaven and hell clashed, creating a parallel universe this afternoon as I’d watched Simeon. The highlighter roved over his tattooed knuckles. Thick eyebrows kneaded pensively. The only tell that he wasn’t enjoying the book, while assuming I was asleep, was the line formed by his lips. Then he’d shattered my heart beyond repair.
I’m tied to the bedpost with only a linen sheet to cover the fresh, red negligee that the maid must have assumed was suitable attire. Furious tears wash over my cheeks. The maid had stitched me up, fed me, and hummed while I bathed. When she wasn’t looking, I was able to secure the picture I’d taken from Oleg’s, my source of strength now.
I speculate how late it is when the doorknob rattles. The person on the other side lacks a key, but the metallic scratching sounds like they are picking it. As they enter, I can tell it’s not the maid’s frail figure coming. The height is all wrong: broad shoulders, slightly narrowed waist, narrower than Simeon’s.
The man I pledge to never in a trillion years love has again left me in a compromising position.
I snatch an intake of air I hadn’t known I needed. Looming over me is Kirill, his frosted eyes probing into my soul. The only sound is our breathing.
After a while, he bites out, “You killed him in cold blood?”
He leans in closer, enough to warm my clammy skin. His calloused fingers travel feather-soft over my cheek as he removes the duct tape with extreme care. The act causes fragments of my time with Oleg to compete with Kirill’s demented voice.
“I’ll undo your restraints. Then you can tell me all I need to know.” He unravels the binding at my wrists. “Depending on if I believe you, one of us will live. I bet it’ll be me.”
Kirill descends on the chair Simeon commandeered earlier. He looks away as I wrap the linen sheet farther around me. “Asya, I apologize for not allowing you a moment to dress, but I’ve waited for answers. My brat, not yours, has waited to be memorialized. My ma, my fucking pa, deserve answers, and they aren’t even aware Luka is . . . d-dead.”
“Luka is dead?” My voice trembles. I clutch the blankets tighter around my goose-bumped flesh.
“Luka!” Kirill growls. “Don’t play games, Anastasiya. Almost all my life, I’ve granted you the same respect, return that shit! You knew I was referring to Luka.”
I tilt my head and ruminate of his words. “Luka . . . dead?”
Kirill pulls the elastic from his ponytail. It would be an intimidation tactic if you hadn’t the pleasure of knowing him before his golden locks grew out. Others would be afraid right now. Hell, I’m stuck in a parallel universe. I should be afraid, but my entire body is trapped in Disturbia. He mustn’t be ready to kill me. He forks at the wild strands then places his hair into a high bun.
“Lu-Lu- Luka is dead?” I clutch a hand to my chest, shuffling more oxygen into my lungs.
“Dah.” Kirill’s eyes dance across mine, searching for the same deception that Simeon expected earlier. “You—you don’t know, do you?”
In trepidation, my head tracks side to side. The blanket I’d had around me slips to the ground. My trembling hands press against my face. I sob. “No, no, no . . . my brat.”
“Not your brat!” he roars. Those glacial orbs have gone stale, glossing over with unfallen tears.
Hands soaking wet, I rub my forearm across my eyes, collecting the broken dam. Accusations are slung my way.
He gestures toward me. “You ruined him. Made him soft.”
“I love Luka! He’s my friend, my motherfucking brat. That’s what I fucking said, Kirill! You were too, once. But Luka, Luka’s dead?”
“Dah.” Kirill offers a venomous roar. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
He settles back in his chair. “What do you mean nothing? You know something. You know everything!”
“No! My last memory of Luka . . . we were driving.” I have to think hard. The fuzz of a few days ago seems to clear a bit. “We-we crashed . . .” Images flit through my brain, stitching back together. I gasp, finally remembering. “He was wedged against a tree—”
“Dah, and you got out, but before you did, you shot my brat, point-blank range.”
“No!”
“Funny, I don’t trust a mudak who refuses to speak Russian! Like our kazen, Mikhail. You’re too good for the language, but you ride my other cousin’s cock.” Fisting the armrests of the chair, he assesses me. “You riding Mikhail’s too? Is that where you were this entire time?”
“No, you sick fuck. We crashed, then I was taken by Irek Chutin.”
He waves me off. “Lies. Listen, I’ll give you a fucking knife before I take you down with my bare hands!”
“Don’t sound so noble. I’ll murder you with my fucking hands, Kirill!” I spit, “Chutin took me to Oleg!”
“Nyet.” Kirill shakes his head. “Took forever, but we had eyes on Irek. Simeon might have lost his life trying to murder him because of you. All lies, Anastasiya.”
Jaw tensed, I stand, and he does too. “Fuck you, Kirill. I’d never murder Luka. And Chutin told me that they fixed his security systems, satellites, whatever. He said that
the day he took me never existed. That he made me vanish.” I raise up to my full height. “And don’t talk to me about Simeon. I have more loyalty in my little toe than your Tsar! Simeon tried to murder me.”
Kirill gulps hard, momentarily considering what I’ve said, then shrugs. “Keep your little sob story about my kazen to yourself. The two of you are crazy about each other. That’s why I’ll kill you and die. I don’t give a fuck!”
“Fuck you. Fuck Simeon.” My chin lifts a fraction, eyes ablaze. “Fuck all you, Resnovs.”
“And I said, I don’t care. I’ll take you to Simeon. You tell him this story about Chutin and this Oleg. We confirm your story, and then you either live, or you die for murdering my brat. My brat.”
I point my index finger into his chest. “Clearly, you cannot comprehend English. I said, ‘Fuck you and your entire lineage,’ Kirill.”
We stare at each other. He’s a foot taller, even without his wild shock of hair, and has enough muscles to slam straight through me. With my chin high, the lace negligee strains against my breasts, irritating the stitching at my ribcage. Damn, I wish I had shoes, and regardless of all the shit talk, I’d take the knife Kirill offered earlier.
The door is yanked open. My hand chops against Kirill’s throat. I was expecting the maid, but my shoulders slump as I glare into the eyes of the devil himself.
“Leaving so soon.” Simeon dominates the exit.
Kirill coughs, hands clutching for his throat. In seconds, I own the gun at the back of his jeans, leveling it toward Simeon. “Yes, Sim. Goodbye forever, bitch.”
“Nyet. You and I readdressed our vows to each other a few hours ago, girl. I’m a man of my word. I won’t kill you. Perhaps, in a couple of months, I’ll set you aside for a little while.” He takes a collected step closer to me. “Keep you somewhere nice. Give you an allowance so big you can’t spend it. Come fuck you on a whim, once in a while, dah? Sounds gracious to me.”