Lawless 2 (The Finale)

by Amarie Avant

  I head for the door, my argument with Mikhail fresh on my mind. Simeon’s hand goes to my shoulder. His chin rests on top of my head, his arm claiming me from behind. A huge hand splays across my stomach. “Everything will be okay, Anastasiya.”

  “See you tonight,” I murmur, peeling his fingers from over my stomach. I open the door, scurry down the hall, and hustle down the steps. I’m not bold enough to glance over my shoulder.

  Sunlight streams in as a byki opens the double doors.

  “May I have any keys. I need a drive.” I shrug.

  Kirill is tossing a set of keys into the air as he stalks up the steps. Under his eyes, the skin is darkened from lack of sleep. “Nyet keys. I’m driving.”

  “Seems like you just arrived . . .”

  “Dah,” he sighs. “Sofiya had us holed up in some sort of cave. She fended for herself. Might’ve been entertaining to watch, had I not been with her. Then I drove at a snail’s pace at dawn. She made it.”

  It doesn’t hurt so badly, not now, with my concentration on how I left Simeon. It was an asshole move. But the revelation will still be thick between us when I return. Overwhelmed, I shrug. “So the witch lives?”

  “Dah. I’m aware of your agenda, Tsarina. Let’s go.”

  “Whatever, Kirill.” I groan. “I can’t be late.”

  He pulls out his phone. “We should be on the early side.”

  “Good. Get me out of—”

  I’m spun around on my shoes so quickly I land in Simeon’s arms.

  “I don’t give a fuck if the baby is Irek Chutin’s, Anastasiya. It’s my second chance. Our second chance.”

  My eyes brighten. There are people around. A very powerful man like him doesn’t claim someone else’s child. Especially not to an audience.

  I shove a shaky hand through my hair. I feel like an ass. The second I began to dress after learning about my pregnancy, the midwife mentioned Mikhail. She’d said it was an honor how I chose her over him. I literally went to another man seconds after learning about being pregnant. At that moment with Mikhail, the shock ceased to exist. Now, the revelation of a baby growing inside of me charges the air, and Simeon has made all the right moves.

  With a deep controlled voice, he again implores me to open up. “Asya, I was denied the opportunity to be there for you last time.”

  My lips part, nothing spills out. It wasn’t his fault for not being there. I run a hand over my forearm, vulnerable to the idea of had he known. Would the Black Dolphin have continued to be his home for the next three and a half years?

  “You,” he points to a byki. “I’m declaring to this woman that I will be the best father. I want a son or a daughter, both. I’ll be blessed with anything my Tsarina has. You’re my witness. Kirill—”

  “Stop,” I hiss.

  “Kirill, if I fuck up, shoot me here!” Simeon places his stiff index finger to his dome. “Murder me, Kazen, no consequence.”

  “Simeon, I don’t want you to die!” I gasp. “I love you.”

  “And you’re keeping my baby? And I mean mine as in fuck genetics, fuck the notion of Chutin being . . . I’ll be there always!” he grits. “You’re keeping my little one, dah?”

  Voice strangled, I gasp, recalling all of my taunting on the night Oleg’s intestines splattered half a mile down the road. “Simeon, Irek never . . . he . . . didn’t. He’s not the father—”

  The world stops spinning, tilts off-kilter, flung the opposite direction. Simeon spins me in the air. His face is in the crook of my neck as my legs fly. As I land, I teeter on my heels. I look up to see Mikhail at the window. He instantly steps away.

  Like every time before, the Good Doctor vanishes from my thoughts. Simeon commands my attention. He’s elated. I’m afraid.

  The ride to the prestigious hospital is where the uber-rich visit. That is, if their diagnosticians cannot pinpoint their ailment in their lavish mansions. Groundbreaking research occurs here, and the Castle Girls, the ones who were deemed the least likely to thrive, are inside. I wriggle in my seat. Mikhail springs to the forefront of my mind. I shoot him down, bang, bang, with thoughts of Simeon.

  I love Simeon with all of me, but I place my arms around my abdomen and determine the insanity we have for each other will never match the love a mother has for her child. Is our connection sustainable? Would Simeon truly be a good father? My fingertips trail across my lips where his public dedication fanned into a promise of adulation.

  Antsy, I glance over at Kirill, who is exceptionally quiet. “So . . .”

  “So . . .”

  A smile blossoms on my lips. “You said Luka and I were irritating as children.”

  His cold blue eyes warm over me, sparkling at the mention of his brat. “I did. Wouldn’t take it back either.”

  I wag a finger at him. “Kirill, you’re stubborn.”

  He grunts. “Speaking of stubborn. When we arrive, you’re not to leave my sight.”

  “Why? Shouldn’t you take a nap?”

  “Nyet. You want to have a private conversation with any of your friends, forget I’m there.”

  “Wow, you left no room for compromise.”

  “That shit is for you and Simeon. He may be showing his nicer side as of late—”

  “Do you think it will last?” I blurt. Why, I have no idea. Kirill’s loyalty will forever abide in Simeon. I could goad Luka half to death, but Kirill is not Luka. Both of them were truly older brothers to me, while one was my best friend, the other offered cold protection.

  “With you, Dah.” Kirill’s gaze locks onto mine for a millisecond. “I do him in if he fails, remember?”

  “You wouldn’t.” I roll my eyes.

  “Dah, you’re right. I wouldn’t. Sim wouldn’t either. The little baby in your belly is the next Tsar or Tsarina, and my loyalty is now yours,” he assures. “One day it will belong to . . .”

  “My child.” I gulp. My baby will be Resnov.

  “You worried about the Seven?” he inquires quickly then continues. “Don’t. I ensured them Chutin was behind Luka’s death. None of my uncles thought to blame you, anyhow. They knew how much the two of you meant to each other.”

  Chapter 48

  Anastasiya

  The liaison, Faina, had turned out to be more than a female the Bratva hired for the Castle Girls. She was one of us. Faina had an owner quite like mine, referring to the clause in our contracts that outlined our educations. While Chutin preferred I dabble in the arts, Garbovsky required his chattel to have degrees in therapy.

  Yes, that Garbovsky. The one whose grandchild played the piano. The one who assisted Sofiya in her delusions. His girls were educated, and he didn’t meet them until they’d graduated from university.

  Faina was just shy of her first degree when all the Castles were dismantled. She had never met him. Some would call her a Castle Girl success story. Now, the Bratva is paying to further her education.

  With coffees in hand, Faina and I walk. Kirill at our rear is quiet as a mouse, except for when Faina shares about a young woman’s owner. One young lady is still in therapy. She’d broken her legs from the fall. He’d stiffened as Faina shared the story. Now, we’re headed for one last introduction.

  “There is one young lady the resident psychiatrist hasn’t finished assessing yet,” Faina says.

  “I thought they were all doing as well as could be expected. Wounds healing. They are transitioning back into society. How has she not been assessed?”

  Faina pushes red strands behind her ear. “Alonna is her name. A few of the others shared she’ll respond to Loni.” Faina sips her drink. “Loni won’t say a word. She’s still in ICU. Her previous owner um . . . I’m sorry.”

  Faina touches her chest at the mere thought of Alonna.

  “She had what?” Kirill bites out. Then his eyes lower, and he mutters, “Forgive me, Tsarina.”

  “It’s okay.” I nod to him, then return my attention to Faina.

  The gorgeous redhead blinks back a glossy
gaze. “She had intensive skin grafting on her back, minor grafting on the side of her face.”

  My heart softens. Kosta’s face had been mutilated too.

  “Loni’s treatment plan is more extensive than any other, Anastasiya. Suffice it to say, you and I are lucky, fortunate.”

  “Take us to her,” Kirill orders, as if my ‘okay’ gave him a voice. I’d ask him what happened to being my shadow, but I thought I’d seen warmth in his eyes earlier. Now, they’re a smoldering cobalt, ready to avenge or protect.

  Once at the door to the room, I address Kirill. “We don’t know Loni’s frame of mind. She may hate men or be afraid of them.”

  He gives a gruff nod. “I’m not moving from this spot.”

  I open the door, letting myself in and closing it behind me. Though I doubt Kirill would’ve gawked at her like a science project, Faina was given this role for many reasons. One, her educational background, and the most important, she is a woman. And clearly one of us.

  The sterile-scented room doesn’t have a single sentiment on the wall. Alonna lies in bed. White gauze covers much of her body. Pops of rich bronze skin peep through at various areas. Lengthy individual braids wiggle out from a cap supporting her scalp.

  Heat burns my eye-ducts, but I meet her chocolate gaze. Not expecting a response, I begin in a soothing tone, “Good afternoon, Alonna. I’m—”

  “I know you.” Low, deathly words slither out toward me.

  My pupils search over her. No, this cannot be right. The Loni I knew had been the youngest Castle Girl I’d ever seen in the place. Before Kosta became the bitter woman Oleg and Kahdar created, she’d mentioned Loni.

  I brought her chocolates. She’d grab them with her fat, small-fisted fingers as a toddler. The truth slams into me hard enough to send me flat on my ass. I widen my stance and offer her a soothing smile. “Loni—”

  “Here I am. I’ve waited for you to arrive.”

  I bite the bile down my throat. “Chutin—”

  “You called him Volk. I distinctively recall that before you left.”

  She hadn’t even been my age when Volk came to see me the first time. She’d been still so young when I left at the age of twelve. I guess, five at most.

  “I liked that name, Volk. It fit well.” Though her voice can only rise above a whisper, it’s deep in thought. “I was the last purchase from his father.”

  Tears wet my eyes. “Loni, I’m so sor—”

  “Don’t be. You brought me Colombian chocolates.”

  “Did Oleg?” I try to speak, throat clogged.

  “Yup. I didn’t make Irek’s father happy. Enter Oleg. But that occurred after you left. The other girls who jumped with me, they were all owned by a Chutin, Anastasiya. Not just you.” She says it with no bitter malice in her voice whatsoever. “Oleg paid less than the amount of a few scraps of copper for us, once we broke for him.”

  Meeting her harrowed face, she attempts a smile. She tries to talk about the chocolates again, but it is so hard for her to do. She’d mentioned she was Afro Columbiana once, and that was why I had that weasel Volk purchase the chocolates. He’d buy me anything. But he knew . . . he had to have known I wanted them for his father’s matryoshka doll. That sick fuck.

  Shame tightens my throat as I say, “Oleg was fired a lot sooner than the Castles were closed.”

  “But we looked like this.” She can hardly move. Her gaze slithers over her bandages. “Dah. The new headmaster found us in a secret compartment a few months in, at least, I think. Oleg didn’t feed us daily, anyhow.”

  “Why didn’t he say something?” I murmur.

  “Not certain. Didn’t want to be to blame for breaches of contracts. We found out that we had food in our individual cages that entire time. You saved me, Anastasiya.”

  “I’ll-I’ll be back.” I open the door, murmur my apologies, and close it behind me. Kirill is still standing where he promised. I hurry to him. Baffled, Kirill uncrosses his arms, and they fly around me. He might not be Luka, but when I close my eyes, I feel my brat.

  Kirill grips my cheeks. “Sestra, stop it.”

  “I asked for this too late.” My voice breaks. Mikhail Resnov can’t save me, and my delayed reactions murdered more Invisible Things and Alonnas than conceivable.

  “Simeon’s baby is in your stomach.”

  I sob, “I’m not—”

  “You have the future Resnov ruler in your stomach. Don’t cause the baby any stress. Do you hear me?” he grits through clenched teeth.

  A ball of sobbing mess, I nod.

  “That little baby growing in your tummy is already a spirit, already feels your emotions. You got that?!”

  “Okay.”

  Kirill’s hands unclamp from my face. His square jaw nudges toward the door. “Looks like you left in a hurry.”

  “I did. I’ll be a little while longer with Loni.” I wipe my tear-streaked eyes. “In the meantime, you make the call to Simeon. He said time didn’t matter. Tell him, I’m keeping Chutin until the end of forever.” Me and the rest of the Castle Girls. Let’s see how he likes that.

  Chapter 49

  Simeon

  These past few months were a blessing and a curse alike. My most valuable possession returned to her rightful place at my side. So, when Kirill calls, my heart launches into my throat. My second-in-command is highly competent, reaching out when issues arise. To see his number on the caller ID when he’s in charge of keeping Anastasiya safe, my baby safe, has me answering him on the first ring.

  I place the contracts onto the table, fisting the phone at my ear. “Whatever the fuck you’re calling me for, better be good news, Kazen.”

  “That depends on you, Sim.” At his use of my name and not Tsar, the air growing stale in my lungs expires.

  “What is it, then?”

  “Asya had a quick message for you. I guess it couldn’t wait until she saw you. She’s keeping Chutin forever—verbatim.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Keeping him?”

  “Oh, um, it took me a few seconds to understand her statement. Your Tsarina is crazier than you, Kazen, bravo! I take it she wants him tortured until his heart gives out or the apocalypse comes.”

  Jealousy, second nature to me, fades, and I smile. “That’s what she said. My beautiful Tsarina . . .” I murmur. “Then you have the best doctors on hand for when he’s brought to us.”

  Not me.

  Us. Anastasiya and I.

  “Mikhail?”

  “He’s going home tomorrow.”

  “Sim,” Kirill sighs. “You watching him like a hawk? He disappeared for a little while when Anastasiya first went missing. He was visiting his mother’s grave. He's not like us, Kazen, but he’s blood.”

  “Shut the fuck up, alright,” I cut in. “He’s a Resnov. I’m not murdering my blood . . . without cause. Before you left with Asya, Mikhail shared he’s leaving on his own accord. None of my men have been assigned to him since he made you a sleeping beauty for a while.”

  My cousin growls into the phone. “I don’t recall the Tsar being a comedian.”

  I almost break into a grin. Before hanging up, I retort, “I don’t either.”

  In Los Angeles, I groveled, said I’d change. Then I’d told Vassili the exact opposite. All I had to do was give Anastasiya the illusion of what she thought she needed and hide my barbaric ways. There is no way in hell I’m giving up that part of me, but I’ll be a better man for her. I’ll protect, be strong, and love our baby. A father is his child’s first hero.

  With that in mind, I request an architect and interior designer, then I call for my cousin, Mikhail. It was true. I had removed the bodyguard assigned to him when I’d assumed that he couldn’t have had a hand in Anastasiya’s disappearance. Nevertheless, discussing as much with Kirill brought something to my attention. Like the day she and Luka’s car wrapped around that fucking tree, he was gone the day she returned and much of the day before that.

  Where was he?

  Hours lat
er, I’m swiveling side to side in my leather chair when my deadly glower lands on my older cousin. Earlier today when Anastasiya had exited his room, I hadn’t noticed the puffiness beneath his eyes, nor the sheen of silver whiskers at his jaw.

  “Sit.” I gesture.

  He offered to have a party for me? For us? Why? Does said inquiry align me with my distrustful, deceased father? I don’t give a fuck if it does, but out of respect to Uncle Malich, I’ll ease into my concerns.

  “The president will be under my protection in about two weeks.”

  “Under your protection?” Mikhail lifts an eyebrow then thinks aloud. “You mean under your protection as in you plan to torture him? I assumed all the Chutins had an arrangement with our family for ages . . . shit, even I know that.”

  Mikhail grabs a tuft of his blond hair. I wait for him to continue speaking. Similar to Don Roberto Dominicci, who only learned to shut his fucking mouth the day his lineage was cut in half, all my enemies use their mouth to dig their graves.

  “Is that a good idea?” he gasps.

  “Why would it not be?”

  He sputters on his words. “Simeon, I have no real ties to the Bratva. You say it’s a good idea, you’re my little cousin, but what trumps that is your status as my Tsar.”

  “Dah, I’m your Tsar, aren’t I?” My glower lands on him.

  “Yes,” Mikhail stresses.

  I reach over to my top drawer, my eyes still on his. Sim, don’t fucking do it. He hasn’t crossed the line since the jet ride to L.A. Asya seems to like him, almost like Luka, I guess, warning myself to be easy. I yank open the top drawer and pull out a bottle of Resnov Water.

  “Let’s have a drink, shall we,” I test him. Mikhail swims like a fucking fish in alcohol since Igor’s death. I pour two glasses, sling one across the table.

  His hand stops the cobalt glass. A little of the vodka sloshes out. My drink is almost to the rim, too. We toss them back.