Lawless 2 (The Finale)

by Amarie Avant

  “You suka!” Chutin raises his hand to slap me, but I pull the Colt from my coat pocket, nudging it against his nose.

  “Probably a good idea that you carry on in your mission to hit me,” I hiss.

  We’re at a standstill.

  “Because you will come to learn that I have no intention of shooting you and/or harming you, myself, Volk.”

  Damn, I slipped in the childhood nickname. Chutin’s eyes burn wild. I rise. Simeon clasps my forearm, assisting me.

  “Young Resnov.” Irek shrugs. “The offer still stands. Your little Bratva is no comparison to me. Let me make you richer.”

  Simeon kisses me. “I’m ready to go,” I murmur.

  “I had this suka. Fucked her good.” Chutin spits at us.

  “Lie if you like, Irek. You told me I was no Castle Girl. It might have been the only truth you ever uttered,” I retort. Simeon exceeds my expectations. With an impassive glare, he does not react.

  I kiss him again. “Thank you for having faith in me.”

  I turn to Kirill. “Is everything prepared?”

  “Sestra, your will, will be done.” He holds up his hands, signifying his role in the mission has come to an end. “The doctor will fulfill every request.”

  The old man stands on feeble legs. “I have my bag of tricks and a few assistants to aid around the clock.”

  “Then carry on, please.”

  “What the fuck are you doing to me?” Chutin shouts.

  I start down the steps. The twins give their excuses as they hurry by.

  “Am I missing something?” Simeon cocks a brow.

  “Dah.” I make use of his language and wink. “You’re missing everything.”

  He’s teeming in questions as we continue down the stairs. The second I reach the solid ground floor, Simeon yanks me around, a lot less than he would if I were not pregnant.

  I sneeze. “I hate that place.”

  “Well, my team loves it.” Simeon glances around at the quiet twins. Kirill hasn’t made a peep. “All of you delight in torture. Dot, you favor fillets of skin. Kirill, you make a body a punching bag, Beam—”

  “Pakhan,” Beam cuts in. “Your tactics are fine by me. It’s the Tsarina whom I fear.”

  “Did I say you could speak—” Simeon cuts himself off. “You all know?”

  Kirill chuckles. “I had nothing to do with this, Kazen. Honest to God. I was searching for Sofiya when you all went to Italy. I heard you refused to share your plan until the last second. Well, this girl tortured us with it.”

  “What is the fucking plan?” he growls at me.

  “Dildos.” Beam swallows, shaking in disgust. “Lots of dildos and any other objects Anastasiya and her friends deem appropriate.”

  Simeon’s shocked gaze slides over me in horror.

  “Yes. He likes to fuck. So, he will be fucked until his rectum falls out. Irek will beg for death, but his body will have to consent before we do. Loni and a few others applauded this idea.” I pat his shoulder. “Men.”

  Chapter 53

  Simeon

  Six months later

  Anastasiya blushes. The glow beneath her honey skin suffuses her. I stand behind her with my hands dripping in massage oil. Me worshiping her body has become a morning ritual for us.

  “You’re obsessed,” she murmurs.

  “Moya milaya, I’ve learned the hard way, your absolute refusal to accept anything other than my best is why we are here.” My dripping, wet hands splay across her eight-month, full-grown belly. Kneading in the oil, I stop on the tiny mark where I’d wickedly unraveled her stitches. I’d never been so jealous in my entire life.

  Her eyes sparkling at me, Asya says, “You made mistakes, Sim. I did too.”

  Our fingers roam over her belly together, connecting as one, coming to rest at her belly button. She cranes her neck, nuzzling her mouth against my chest. “Now, we’ve created a better future. We’re living in it. Besides, I returned the favor with a harsher battle wound.”

  Laughter curls from my abdomen as she winks.

  Staking a claim to her stomach again, I banter, “My son is in here, listening to that sass mouth of yours.”

  “Oh, this mouth, that licks your scars and tattoos and—”

  “Hey,” my voice levels into a powerful growl.

  Unraveling her body from within my arms, Anastasiya turns around to rise on her tippy toes. Soft, tiny fingers glide across my jaw, then she groans. In the background, her cellphone vibrates on her nightstand.

  My glower trains across the room to the electronic device I’m ready to pitch against the wall. Aware of my intention, Anastasiya grasps my arm. “Hey, I’m a woman. We can have this argument about my mouth, later, in bed.”

  “Now works for me.” Lust clouding my gaze, I glance down at my growing erection.

  “Oh, no, Simeon! Not now. No matter how much I’d rather stay here all day with you, reality called.” She waddles past me on graceful toes toward the cellphone to silence it. “We have a Bratva meeting in less than an hour. We should get ready.”

  “The Seven will wait.” I grab a slip of silk, removing the cellphone from her hands, and position myself behind her again. “May I?”

  Anastasiya chews her lip. “We should—”

  “They will wait.”

  She scoffs. “All week, I’ve reminded you about the meeting they asked for. Last night, I couldn’t sleep. This morning—”

  “You mentioned that meeting until I traveled under the sheets.” I palm pussy, massaging softly. Her lips grow hot and heavy beneath her panties. “I made you forget about it. End of discussion.”

  I secure the blindfold over her face, dropping a kiss on her collarbone. The Table of Seven can request all the meetings in the world. I’ll trump every single one of them. Though, I understand Anastasiya’s concern. They demanded debriefings like crazy during Anatoly’s rule. I’m almost three years into my reign before the Seven solicited this get-together.

  “Take a walk with me, Asya.”

  Her chest swells in a sigh. “I can’t deny you.”

  Slipping my fingers in hers, I guide her out of the room and down the massive corridor. Three doors over, I let one of her hands go, open it, and then lead her to the center of the room.

  “You ready?”

  Anastasiya sucks in a nervous groan. “Diamonds and gifts won’t help. They requested the meeting because of me.”

  The blindfold glides from Anastasiya’s eyes, sliding along her collarbone. The silk frames her all the way to the floor. For every second of it, she stands in awe. Asya gapes at the sight, and I stare with abandon at her belly. Fuck, the first time she shouted that the baby had kicked, I was at her side. The movement was too tiny to feel. Now, my son packs a punch. My eyes glue to her as she does a 360 turn, slow, eyes roaming over a furnished nursery.

  Voice teaming in sentiment, Asya speaks, “You gave me flowers after you returned from Mexico. I remember being livid because your flight was delayed. One day, you promised to exchange the flowers for our baby.”

  “True.” I focus on my realized dream, and the endless love destined for us so soon.

  “After we made up,” she blushes, memories of sex in her eyes, “while we were laying together, I told you about the nursery. All the things I probably never had, not that anyone can recall that at such a young age. All the possessions I wanted for our child just because I had no mementos for myself. That conversation was years ago, Sim. You remembered.”

  “Dah. I remember everything about you.” The backs of my fingers roam across her cheeks. “The bad because I won’t take you for granted anymore, moya milaya. The good because I don’t give a fuck how old we get. I’ll go senile and won’t forget you.”

  “Oh, Simeon.” Tears shine in Anastasiya’s eyes as she comes into my arms.

  The meeting came together in a secret room, encased in marble. My half-brat, Vassili, sat at the opposite head of the table across from me. Uncle Malich is to his side. Around
the table were the rest of our uncles. I reach over, mouth brushing Anastasiya’s earlobe, and prompt, “Breathe.”

  Underneath the table, she grips my thigh, a not-so-subtle reminder of the argument we just had. We were content, yet late to the meeting. Then the second we stood outside of the doors, she became the wrecking ball. I told her to ‘fuck the Seven.’ And she reminded me to use my advanced degrees. We aren’t perfect. I squeeze the meat of her thigh, too.

  I rise to my feet, calling the meeting to order. First, we discuss the Colombian cartel, whom I assisted in accessing Dominicci’s territory. Then I mention other successes from my reign, my gaze landing on my woman. Enough to ask if I’m using my genius.

  She hides a smile, delicately rolling her eyes away. I’m fucking winning if I do say so myself.

  “Profits are up,” Vassili edges into the conversation. “You’ve done well, brat.”

  “Thank you, Coach Karo.”

  “Dah,” Malich nods his head. “You all toast. I’m outta here. Let’s call this meeting adjourned.”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic, Uncle. Join us.” Vassili pats his shoulder.

  “We have a few concerns, Tsar,” calls another voice as Malich starts up.

  The Seven is down a member since I stripped my mother of her Bratva rights and assets. She still had a voice in the form of Kirill and Luca’s father. The snarky growl I offer Linden grows tighter. Malich huffs, reclaiming his seat. Uncle Linden, my mother’s youngest brat, who took it upon himself to shelter her, clears his throat.

  “By all means,” I reply, as Anastasiya gives me a nervous pinch. This is day one. She’s going to fucking slaughter me while listening to Linden bumble around.

  Linden sits forward in his seat, glancing around to ensure he has all his brats’ attention. He does. Except for Malich, whom I’m astonished decided to grace us with his presence from Los Angeles. My favorite uncle leans back in his seat, head to the mural-encased ceiling.

  Linden begins, “Chutin’s stand-in has done an impeccable job guiding our beloved Russia. The candidate we set in motion has grown more influential for the next vote.”

  “Sounds like a win?” Malich mutters.

  “Malich,” another of my uncles clicks his tongue. I glare at him. While I was Anatoly’s right hand, he never spoke, not a single word. He continues, “We’re still concerned. Chutin is legally dead. What if—”

  “He won’t be found,” I grit out. Then I sit back. The air is thick with division. Once they finish exercising their mouths, I will shut this motherfucking conversation down. Although patient, chatter assaults my ears. I’ll allow my irritation to rise, collect, then I’ll strike.

  Malich raises a hand, stalling the shifting tide of the argument. “Well, there you have it. We all agree with Simeon’s expertise. Irek Chutin won’t be found. Meeting adj—”

  Linden snaps, “Speak for yourself, Malich.”

  Vassili cuts in. “I’m also in agreement with Simeon’s competence. Are we ready for the next topic or . . . ?”

  “Nyet,” Malich holds up a hand. “Our brotherhood is making more progress in the last two years than it has in ages. All you old farts, take heed. Simeon has—”

  Linden gasps. “Aren’t we all curious about what happened to Chutin?!”

  A chair scraps against the ground. Anastasiya arises. I hide a smile, confident my woman would handle this.

  Linden shoots her a glare, urging me to jump across this table and squeeze his throat. I blink away thoughts of watching his pupils turn to bloodied jelly.

  “Listen up,” she says. “Chutin received due punishment. I don’t mind sharing; however, I know how fragile the male stomach is. Shall I proceed, Linden?”

  “You can’t be serious, Tsarina.”

  I slide a knife onto the table. “I advise you not to address your Tsarina, in such an informal manner, Uncle Linden. Adding her title, after utilizing an improper tone, will prompt me to have your fucking tongue.”

  “Sim,” Anastasiya groans. Her honey eyes swim around the room. She’s badass, but frozen in intimidation

  I bark at her, “Then you correct him!”

  “I meant no harm.” Linden licks his lips. “Please, moya Tsarina, your reference to the male stomach? Is it any worse than the bomb planted in that Italian by our Tsar?”

  I slide my knife back into my belt.

  “You’d have to be the judge. The Italian is dead.” Her shoulders square. A cool smile teases the corners of her lips.

  That’s right, moya milaya, I think, be fearless. We’re lawless, not them.

  “As for your president,” she says, “Chutin’s rectum fell out about two months ago. I instructed the supervising doctor to reattach it and tighten things up a bit. Every morning, noon, night, upon completion of his meal, or not, he gets a different sized cock stuffed in his ass. And I’ll tell you, most of the time he needs a good stitching afterward. I have a few friends. They’re worse. Shall I continue detailing their requests, which are crueler than sodomy, nyet jelly?”

  Choked gasps invade the room. She holds up her slender fingers, recounting other suggestions. Her use of the Russian language is flawless.

  Anastasiya glares through my uncle. “The mudak has yet to die. He’s no murderer, so I’m not obligated to pass such a judgment. Oh, also, my friend Loni likes to—”

  “That-that will be all,” Vassili gags.

  “Jesus,” Malich mutters. “I was an ER doctor for almost thirty years—”

  “Will it suffice? I doubt Irek has the physical mobility to run, let alone hold his shit! Most of you attended my coronation. I said it then, I am the Just Tsarina. If you’ll excuse me.”

  I smile, glancing around the room. “She’s more vicious than me, dah?”

  Chapter 54

  Anastasiya

  Blood runs along my fingertips. I snap, letting go of the rose bush where I had intended to hurl breakfast.

  “Ginger?” an all-too-familiar voice asks as I gulp the bile down. I turn toward Uncle Malich. With a genuine smile, I hold out my arms. He embraces me in a way that I’d presume a biological father would. Squeezing me, swaying a little, then smiling at me as he lets go.

  “You showed those mudaks.” Malich grins.

  I look into his sincere gaze, seeing Mikhail through him, and my heart squeezes a little for the first time in a while. It’s crazy how I thought about him more after he left. “Thank you, I tried.”

  “Nyet, don’t speak Russian, Anastasiya.” He winks. “You’ve preferred speaking English since your return. Truth be told, I slipped into our native tongue as a young doctor on a few occasions. But if English is your preference, then don’t get me in trouble with Simeon.”

  “I—”

  He wags a finger at me. “You walked into the meeting, ready to keel over, let them rule. Then you remembered the girl I met on your thirteenth birthday! Gorgeous, all the boys in love with you. You’ve grown into the Just Tsarina. Mikhail told me so the night of your coronation. You’ll have to forgive an old, depressed mudak for not attending.”

  I chew my lip. Had Mikhail told him about my coronation speech and my disdain for using our language? Attempting to shovel away thoughts of him, I ask, “Uncle Malich, is it too cheesy? Just Tsarina?”

  “Nyet.”

  I pause a beat. My eyes keep falling from his gaze. I glance across the quiet courtyard, then ask, “How is everyone?”

  Malich begins with his grandchildren from his departed son, Igor. He’s still snarky about Yuri.

  “Oh goodness,” I laugh a little, holding the underside of my belly. “One day, he will come around.”

  Grunting, Malich takes my hand and leads me to a wrought iron bench, carved in the shape of roses. “If Yuri gains back a few pounds and removes his head from his ass, that’s the day he’ll come around.”

  “Uncle,” I chide. “He’s our sweet Yuri, maybe not so cuddleable. What of Mikhail?”

  Internally, I’m shaking like a spindle. Is it
wrong to ask of Simeon’s older cousin? Yes! The guilt floods in at the thought of our time at the cabin. Can a woman have room in her heart for two extremely different men? Most certainly not in her life. I know that now. After telling myself a thousand times he needed a crutch because of Igor, I know it was true. I was this crazy ball of mystery, guns blazing where I went, danger, and he clung to that. And I clung to the warped mindset that I’m still learning to get over.

  Oh, hell, yes, I’m over Volk. His torture is my therapy. I only saw him the one night but reading updates on how he’s faring suffices.

  It feels like I wait forever before Malich responds. “Haven’t seen my son.”

  “Since when?”

  “Last time you saw him, Anastasiya.” Malich pats my knee then stands up. He holds out a hand for me. “I have a request to make of you and Simeon.”

  I glance where Malich nudges his chin, and the man who stole my heart at the beginning of time is sauntering over. As we begin to walk, Malich mumbles about how Mikhail travels through South Africa via Doctors Without Borders.

  My tender giant meets us halfway. He wraps me in his arms, pressing his lips to my forehead. “You good?”

  “Yes, Sim.” I cling to his massive chest.

  “Uncle,” Simeon begins, hooking his arm around my waist. Though ready to burst, I still feel small in his arms. “Did you give moya Tsarina one of those encouraging chats?”

  Malich tsks. “After Linden’s whining? You know I did. But Anastasiya doesn’t need an old man like me for motivation. You’re a courageous young lady, the better half of this beast.”

  Simeon gestures toward an envelope in his hand. With my mind still ruminating on Mikhail, I only hear him mention Mother. “I’m not ready to learn about . . .” I bite my tongue, seeing the familiar handwriting as Simeon tears the envelope in half.

  Simeon cups my cheek. “When you’re ready, Anastasiya, we will cross that bridge. But this is from Sofiya. Linden gave me the letter after his audacity in the meeting.”