by Amarie Avant
I’ll be there. But she won’t hear of it, not now.
Anastasiya’s body sags into the bed. She sighs. “How soon must we return to Russia?”
“Chutin will be at a library exhibit in a few weeks. It’s the best scenario for him to be taken. But time is of no importance, moya milaya. My byki will hold him until you’re ready to do whatever it is you have in mind.”
“Oh.”
“Care to share?” You won’t talk about your parents. This is us from when we were fucking kids, and I never knew of Oleg. I’m about to threaten her to share something when her mouth curves into a dubious smile.
“Honestly. You’re rubbing off on me, Simeon.” Her hands fly to her face, full of gorgeous embarrassment. “I’m contemplating how he will die. Although I appreciate your mention of time, I’ll take that into consideration, too.”
“Ideas?” I cock a brow.
“Ha! This is not college! Where I stand in front of hundreds of students for a debate, in which you go all ‘red pen’ crazy, critiquing my efforts, Professor Resnov.”
I smile a little. Parents aside, Asya seems to be in a better headspace. Oleg’s death hadn’t been a perfect conclusion. And it shouldn’t be. But this is progress. “Okay, nyet critiques on my end. Once taken, he’ll be off the grid. You want to go somewhere else before returning home, tell me. You want to stay here another month, a fucking year, you tell me.” My entire demeanor stresses how Anastasiya is my number one priority. “As I said, time, it’s on our side.”
“Sim, I’ll stay here with you . . .” Her tone is strummed together, reeking of contingencies. She rolls onto her back, perky breasts spearing the air. I rub a hand over my neck so as not to fall into the temptation of touching her body. That’s how the truth of her parents hadn’t been resolved.
She looks at me, almost as if reading my thoughts. “Sim, I need help, though. We need help.”
Chapter 40
Anastasiya
Crazy in love.
Mad about him.
Our love is madness . . .
This love is insanity.
A bevy of phrases denotes how psychotic love can be. Our love is off the fucking Richter scale. The type of high where neither of us wants to come down. There has to be a happy medium, right?
When I walk into the common space of our villa, all of the sliding glass doors are open. The navy-blue dress whisks around my ankles. Simeon exits his room. Again, he’s replaced morose dark suits for jeans and a shirt, which rides the expanse of his chest. His eyes swallow me whole.
“Once we return,” he says, “you’re moving to my room, or I’m stowing away in yours.”
A lazy smile crosses my lips. “Nope. I appreciate his and her rooms. Also, I doubt either of us would’ve gotten dressed were we to share a room. For instance, this is our first outing since arriving here. Um . . . What’s with the shoes?”
He arches an eyebrow, glancing down at himself. The men’s ankle boots he’s wearing, give his attire a nice flare, more for the city than the ocean. I roll my eyes because it hits me. “Oh, you’re afraid of sand in your toes.”
The space between us vanishes in a millisecond. My heartbeat rises. The psychotic in me loves how he dominates my area. His hand has a firm hold of my throat, and he peppers kisses along my cheekbone. “Me, afraid?”
“If I say—” My entire body tenses as his sharp choppers bite dangerously close to my bottom lip. “Hey!”
“Repeat yourself, Anastasiya.” Those obsidian gems twinkle, and I’m in a trance.
“You should take me over your knee . . . I said you were afraid of sand in your toes.” I roll my neck.
“Dah?” He reaches around to clutch my ass, using his hands to juggle the fat flesh of my ass cheeks. “That’s your statement; you’re sticking to it?”
As quickly as we’ve taken on a roll, it ends. Simeon’s cellphone goes off. He glances at it.
“More Bratva stuff?” I ask.
He flashes the phone in my face. “Nyet. Couples retreat schedule. I’m confident in Kirill. He reached out to the Seven when—”
“Couples what?” I blink. “I thought we were doing touristy stuff.”
“A little of both.” Simeon’s hands squeeze my ass so well, my sex jolts. Then his hands are taking mine. He moves back to the open area, which leads to our speed boat, in a space that I haven’t navigated since our arrival.
“Like I said, ‘couples retreat.’ It’s a few islands over, and the timer implies we need to go, Asya.”
I exhale, the ocean air is refreshing. When I’d said we needed help, I hadn’t expected this.
I need this.
We sign up for a weekend retreat then extend it as time goes on. Activities like sky lining in the jungle or jumping from extremely high cliffs propel us to the top of stardom concerning the other couples. We become relationship goals while learning extreme-water sports together. Little do they know, the daring trust factor was never an issue.
Then there’s the sex therapy with an esteemed shrink from France who made the island her home. That’s where things get a little fuzzy. In a light-blue room, with shells and beads all around, the therapist asks about our sex.
Simeon and I cuddled in our loveseat. He gave an “it’s amazing” grin while I said so.
“Tell me about that.”
“About our sex?” Simeon arches a brow.
“Sure?”
“She has a fairly big mouth. Go ahead, Anastasiya.”
I roll my eyes at him and start sharing the juicy details. The therapist volleys back and forth, attune to my chatter. Until I conclude with, “All and all, except for the one time where he tried to murder me, sex is great.”
Simeon chuckles. “If we’re being transparent, there was that one time when you shot me during sex. But I’m not complaining. I came hard first.”
The therapist laughs. “The two of you are a riot. That’s about it for today. I’m sure communication, our next goal, will be right up your alley.”
Simeon and I stare at each other, and I gulp. But the therapist doesn’t seem to notice because she sends us home with a homework assignment about sex. Super easy.
Communication was right up there with avoidance for Simeon and me. Or rather, in the beginning, it seemed to be my problem. The mudak loved delving into my head. But our therapist helped me learn how to open up to Simeon on my terms.
After a few sessions, the therapist pats my shoulder while Simeon and I sit facing each other and holding hands.
“You’re doing well, Anastasiya.”
The beast offers my hands a firm squeeze.
“How does it feel to be open, honest?” she inquires in a tone that moves like a soft river.
“Overwhelming but obligatory,” I offer a hard grin.
“Good. We’re in a structured environment, so it might get a little harder before it gets easier, Anastasiya. Now, Big Guy,” she says, having given him a nickname.
Simeon cocks a brow.
“Next session, we’ll dig in about how you demand information. We will soften your approach. Anastasiya has her reading material, let me find yours.” The therapist moves toward a bookshelf filled with textbooks, authored by her.
“Sim loves to read,” I reply, winking at him.
A few more sessions are centered around Simeon’s actions and responses to how I communicate with him. But I have to hand it to him, so far, he’s surprised me. Throughout our awakening as more nurturing lovers, Simeon did the very thing I have craved since we grew up in this world.
He set aside the Bratva and placed me first.
The next few speed sessions are more trying. But we still have our sex toys.
Once complete, I utter words I hope not to regret.
Let’s return to Russia.
Chapter 41
Simeon
Russia
Snow falls like a halo on the crown of Anastasiya’s head. A line of SUVs follows us. Condensation puffs from her plush lips as s
he holds my hand, guiding me across an expanse. I grit my teeth at the sight. Snow blankets the otherwise overgrown grass and weed-infested field.
Our child was buried in an unmarked grave four years ago. A tenement encompasses the entire road across the street from us. It’s as hopeless and decrepit as the dwelling we found Oleg in forty-eight days ago. On the drive over, Asya shared how she’d fled from our home with a gunshot wound and made it to her old roommate’s home.
“There was a tree here.” She spins around, cheeks singed in shock. Frantic, she starts pointing, muttering to herself. “Where-where is that fucking tree?!”
“Take a breath, Anastasiya,” I stop her. “Let’s retrace…”
She moves away. “We retraced my steps from Kosta’s old stoop. I counted every step! But the tree was here and our baby . . .”
Gathering her into my arms, I shush her from speaking, moving a tender hand down her clammy cheek. Tears are crystalizing on her face at the speed of light.
Damn, we landed literally seconds ago. Why had I asked for this? To know where our child was laid to rest. Maybe she wasn’t ready? On our travels home, the therapist’s suggestions were an asset. But now, the blood beneath her skin is tinged. She’s a flurry of hot and cold. My chin rests on top of her head. Her heartbeat assaults my chest, and I wait for it to normalize.
“There.” I point at a wedge in the snow. It has to be a tree stump.
“Where? The tree is gone, Simeon!”
“Let’s check.” I guide her over in the general direction she’d frantically been searching in. She comes alive, surging forward, and my fingers grow firmer within hers, not yielding to her panic. “We found our baby.” My hands strum her hair as she falls to her knees.
Eyes bright, a trembling smile curves her lips. “We found our little baby, Simeon,” she murmurs up to me, closing her eyes, face curving toward my hand.
Ice stings through my jeans as I kneel down next to her. “I know our baby is at peace, Asya. May I have him moved?”
Her eyebrows lift.
Focusing on what our therapist called a positive note, I say, “This is a beautiful place, moya milaya. But I’d like our baby closer to us. With the rest of our family.” As I wait for her response, my throat tightens. Although unearthing the baby should be her decision, all I thought about during Luka’s funeral was about my child. How he or she had to be somewhere alone.
Asya hooks her arms around my neck, hugging me close. “I’d like that too.”
It’s hours later, and we watched in silence as a team took special care in removing a wooden crate with our baby’s remains. In the backseat of the SUV, I place an arm around Anastasiya. Her face disappears into my chest. I watch a van pull off. The team will take our baby to the mortician.
“Go,” I order the driver. Kissing the top of Asya’s head, I tell her, “We can choose . . .”
“A casket?” Her tiny voice chimes in when mine breaks.
“Dah. When you’re ready.”
She sits up. “Tomorrow.”
“Listen, I have something which must be done today.” I squeeze her hand. “While we’re en route, can we talk names?”
“Yes.” A light tremble is in her voice.
“What do you think of Ahren?”
A genuine smile brightens her face. “Angel? How beautiful, Simeon. I love it. Alright, where are we headed to?”
“A place we will never call home again,” I reply.
Her eyebrows furrow for a moment. “The home where we moved after Moscow?”
“Dah.”
“Why?”
I sigh heavily. From the outside looking in, my next move might seem the worst. But I saw strength in Asya today, and she will continue to tap into that. I reply, “To right the biggest wrong of our life.”
Chapter 42
Anastasiya
Rows of mansions line entire streets from one corner to the next. Save for a plot of land, which is devoid of anything like the one where our child once rested. Resnovs still own the area. When Simeon burned our home down with Rudolf and the other guards inside, he never allowed another luxury house to be resurrected there. Yet, Mother Nature has a way of hiding the bad, favoring the best parts. The fleet of SUVs aligns the curb. A Maybach is already equidistant parallel to where our home once was. It’s too far away in either direction to belong to either of the neighbors. The windows are tinted to the fullest extent. I glance at Simeon, who’s carried us when it comes to communication and openness.
But he didn’t share the reason for this strange visit.
He gets out and extends his hand. “You trust me?”
“Yes,” I murmur, curiosity drawn to the other vehicle again.
“Now that you’re aware of where we are, I have a few more things to share with you. Wait here.”
Simeon knocks on the passenger door window of the Maybach. It doesn’t open. He knocks again with more patience than I’ve ever seen in him, which is saying heaps. The tropical island we left has brought out the best side of him.
He grits his teeth and plants his hands on the roof of the car. “Open the door, Mother.”
My heart clenches. Sofiya! Why?
The door opens. “You appear from sparkling sandy beaches and dare to order me around! I’m the mother; you’re moy syn!”
Silver hair spills from bejeweled pens on top of her hair as Sofiya exits. Her pale skin has an iridescent glow. While her mouth moves nonstop, I scoff, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Sim, how about the two of you sort things out?” I hustle toward the backdoor of the SUV.
Simeon starts toward me, yet his mother makes it clear, he has to choose between the two of us. He clasps her arm, growling something in her ear. His eyes beg me to comply. “Asya, I wanted us to come home to a clean slate. Please . . .”
My eyes roll away from his, and I climb into the back. Kirill clears his throat from the driver’s seat.
“We had another driver,” I mumble.
“Yeah, I had to deal with that.” He nudges his chin to Sofiya. “Had the feeling she’d be dramatic. I also assumed you’d let her win, so I got inside.”
Win? I wish I could break his neck! “You’re not Luka—”
“I know.” Kirill moves around in the seat to eye me over. “I miss my brat.”
My lips pull in with tension, then guilt settles them in a relaxed line. Kirill was never one to apologize, and we never had a problem until now. “I’m not exactly the Tsarina anymore, Kirill. Go ahead, be blunt.”
“Okay. I set aside my assignments today to chauffer Sofiya. To witness this! Women are so difficult,” he grits.
“Women are difficult?”
“Dah.” He nods. “You think Simeon requested this meeting so the two of you could have tea at your old house? Nyet! You look over there and only see a blanket of snow. Nothing more. Think, Anastasiya. Why the fuck did he bring you here without mentioning his mother to you or you to her?”
“I—”
“Get your answers, sestra.”
I glare at him. “Only Luka—”
“And I miss him too. Now that he’s gone, I will be there for you. Try to stop me.”
I scoff.
“I’ll stop the ‘sestra’ thing. That’s your only option in this. I wasn’t thinking when I accused you of . . . you know what. Now get out of the fucking car, Asya. Please, and thank you.”
“That’s your apology? Wow!” I climb back out of the SUV, slamming the door behind me.
“Mother, Anastasiya, I’ll have your cooperation, all of it.” Simeon’s hand squeezes her bicep more. “Asya, you don’t have to speak. Sofiya will do all the talking.”
Speak? I cock a brow. What did I miss?
“I’m your mother!” Sofiya snaps.
“I’m a Tsar, not God. So, there’s that.” He clears his throat. “Mother, you have two choices. The easier of the two is yours to decide. One being, walk to . . .”
Simeon mentions the town where Kosta live
d before us fleeing Russia. Sofiya flushes red. It took us half an hour to travel from there just now.
Sofiya snaps, “That’s what, thirty, forty kilometers from here? Walk there? Preposterous, it’s bound to snow!”
“Dah, the snow will be falling a little harder in about an hour, so you’d need to walk fast. Faster than you scheme and connive. Which brings me to why I mentioned where you’re to walk.” He pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to her. “That’s the address where your grandchild was unearthed. Four fucking years in a crate, in a motherfucking ditch, Mother.”
Sofiya pinches the address between her fingers like a foreign object. “What grandchild?”
“The one you murdered.”
“I would never,” she sputters, moving from his grasp. A stiletto heel slips in the slick snow, and Simeon grabs her again.
“My second option, Mother, doesn’t revolve around you dying by the elements. As I’d, of course, be inclined to have one of my byki watch you walk the entire way, per option one.”
“I’m not walking—”
“Option two.” He clutches her shoulders, softening his voice, “Tell Anastasiya and me everything.”
“What grandchild?!” She slaps at his unwavering grip. “Simeon, I don’t appreciate your tone. I’m a Resnov! Who would I be to murder a Resnov? You’re my only child. Were you to have a child, I’d love him more than I love myself. More than anything. What you’re saying is impossible, moy syn. Lies and manipulations at the hand of this little suka!”
Dangerous blue eyes pin me. I’d been still during their interaction, breath stalled. Waiting, not thinking, only listening, circling to the truth.