by Amarie Avant
He glares at me. An imaginary shield keeps him from jumping on me and forcing me to shut my mouth. Like I’m possessed, I continue with, “What are you doing? You tell me that I need to be safe from Danny! I don’t know shit—Yuri knows even less! What are you really up to? Preparing for the throne? You’ll become your father’s successor! Is that what you’re—”
Vassili is off the chaise and on top of me in seconds. My wrists are above my head. He places his hand firmly over my mouth. He growls, “I need you to calm down. Do you got that?”
Once he removes his hand from my mouth, I whimper. “Yesterday, those requirements of yours came with an apology. Not today? Fuck you a thousand times, Vassili.”
“Why you mad?” His Russian accent amplifies and transforms into broken English.
“You said we were a team. That Anatoly was a fail-safe—not the fucking plan, Vassili. You were supposed to go to your father last! Then you—then you send me home before we—”
His palm claims my lips again. “You said this last night, Zariah. If you don’t stop crying right now, I will leave. You make me leave and you won’t know anything at all.”
I swing out. My arm hasn’t even hit a trajectory of a few degrees before his hand clamps down on my wrists. I’m sinking right before my husband’s eyes, and he doesn’t even offer a hand. Vassili Karo Resnov has always saved me.
He’s saved me from the torture of murdering my best friend’s ex, Sergio.
He’s saved me from spending years as an attorney with a life of monotony.
He’s saved me from the belief that love wasn’t worth it.
Or is it?
15
Vassili
My cock is swollen between us. While Zariah cries, I remind myself that I’m not the mudak who will fuck her as tears stream down her face. I shove one part of my genetic make-up to the background and attempt to cling to rationality.
“Talk to me,” I clip out the words.
“You don’t care what I have to say,” she sniffles.
I lean on my elbow, pinching the bridge of my nose. You aren’t your father’s son, I tell myself. You’re better than that piz’da, a billion times better. There’s a rage in my soul. I need obedience. I need her to shut the fuck up and listen to what I have to tell her. Her cooperation is of utmost importance. Zariah’s compliance means Danushka wouldn’t find out I fucked her over for my pops. Of course, I fucked that bitch over for Anatoly. He means nothing to me. My existence comes from him, so Danushka means less than nothing.
The only woman I’ve ever let hold my heart breathes softly in my arms. Too many weeks have gone without her. I concentrate on gathering all the patience I can muster. “Talk to me, baby.”
“You wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts.”
“We had this chat, Zariah, while I fucked you in Italy. No calls, no texts. Nothing.”
My weight crushes her luscious body, clamping her arms down at her sides. It helps me feel her muscles, know when she might attempt to flee. I ask, “Anything else you’d like to tell me?”
“Will you tell me everything? Keep me in the loop?” At my lack of response, Zariah’s bottom lip protrudes, compelling me to have a taste of her mouth. I kiss my wife, and her body is putty beneath me. When she’s about to run out of air, I let up.
She mumbles, “I missed you . . .”
“Me too, girl,” I snap. C’mon, Vassili, I tell myself. My hand skims across her face. “Okay, I know, I know. I miss you and Natasha. I miss our life. When this shit is all over, I’ll make it up to you. Now, I have to leave before everyone wakes up.”
I start to kiss her, and she turns her head. “No, Vassili. I want you. I want you right here. Mad. Happy. Fucking me. Making love to me. If I can’t have that, then I need space. If I wanted ‘Disappearing Acts,’ I’d pick up the book by Terri McMillan. Tell me your plan, Vassili.”
“Zar—”
Her breath strokes across my face. “This isn’t a typical situation, Vassili.”
“Alright, we discussed that the night in Italy, too.”
“Yes, you had my back slamming against the wall. You hurt me—"
Guilt burns in my veins, I cut in, “I’m—"
“I loved it,” she groans. “The pain also solidified the fact that you can’t always be with me.”
“Nyet. Fuck that. I could be a million miles away and still be with you. I’m with you, Zar.” I sit up from on top of her, bringing her with me. “You have to get that through your head. While we’re apart, I am for you, with you.”
She sits back against the headboard, clasping my pillow in front of her, and then she huffs. “At least you get to play the savior. I’m an attorney; I fight in the court, you fight in the cage. Vassili,” she groans, “I won’t be able to relive what happened the day Natasha and I left you last. Please, let me into the loop. “
“You are,” I reply.
“I’m not. Yuri came to my office,” she pauses to bite her lip. “He’s taking it bad. This is the worst ‘new normal’ ever. What do you want from me? Can’t we tell Yuri?”
I tell her how Yuri and Mikhail parted ways with me.
Zariah sinks back against the pillows. “This is too much, Vassili.”
“It is what it is. Malich knows. Mikhail knows too, sweetheart. Yuri, he’s too soft, wears his emotions on his sleeve. Not Mikhail. My cousin would’ve tried to fucking kill me if he knew I fought Yuri and chose Danushka. Mikhail knows, and Yuri can’t play the game.”
“You could’ve told Yuri,” she replies. “He’s miserable. He’s your best friend, your brother.”
I groan. My cousin definitely got to her. When Yuri growled about being my brat before I took him down, shit almost broke me. Out of all my half-siblings, I could deny having a brother my entire life. Not Yuri. He is my brat.
“Look, baby, it sounds bad. The fat fuck doesn’t have it in him to have a role. Zariah, now I need you to pack your things. Natasha’s too. My father has agreed to keep you safe, but you won’t be around him alone. He refused to help unless I allowed him to meet you on his terms. That’s the single reason I allowed him and Simeon to pick you up from work.”
“I get it. Everyone’s showing their balls.”
“Unless I tell you that Anatoly is coming around, you run. You won’t be around him alone,” I parrot like a fucking idiot. I connect gazes with her, needing my words to penetrate. “Got that?”
“Yes.”
Feeling my abdominals tangle into knots, I ask, “Did Anatoly treat you right?”
“Yes,” she growls.
“You sure?”
“Ha,” she chortles. “If I’m to be around another sperm donor, you’ll have to believe me, won’t you?”
I stare at her for a few beats, recalling how I’d forced her to respond to me yesterday. Would she have a do-over for her life?
It didn’t matter what she said. Change the past, not change the past. It all meant nothing.
In no world in which we’ve crossed paths would I have let her go. I feel myself clinging to the dysfunctional reasoning that drove my father mad in the past. I’ll have to believe in her while she’s with that mudak, Maxwell Washington.
16
Zariah
For a second, my husband had become tense during our discussion. After which, I welcome the cocky bastard that I’d grown to love as we have, what I assume would be, one last quickie. Vassili fucks my body, directs his own porno, and has me laughing as he talks to Pretty Pussy.
And then he’s gone.
After a shower, I wrap a terry cloth towel around my frame. In the bedroom, I stare at a black, willowy dress that I’ve picked out. Tears form in my eyes and not for the reason that they should. The secretary Grigor murdered with a sniper rifle would be laid to rest today. Her body has been held in the morgue for three weeks. Samuel has pulled a few strings to have the murder investigated. Though it’s still labeled as a freak accident. The odd circumstances surround a .50 caliber bullet and
a 1.3-mile distance. Tears burn my eyes, and the black dress burns a hole into my soul, darkening it.
Loud arguing ensues. My ears perk up, and I grab the silk robe draped around the back of my chaise, slipping it over my naked body, I hardly have it tied when I open the door and start down the stairs. At the bottom of the steps, my mom stands at the towering front door.
Hand on her hip, Zamora growls, “Who do you think you are?”
“Mom!” I shout, rounding the bend where the double staircase meets toward the bottom.
An authoritarian voice that strikes me as almost familiar reaches out to me. “Ma’am, I am here to complete a safety check—”
“Safety check for who?” I gasp, flying toward the door. The mornings are beginning to cool off for fall, so I wrap my arms around my chest as the air chills at my nipples.
Two officers are standing in the doorway. On is white with a smattering of blond hair and uneasy blue eyes. The other is light-skinned with a broad nose and lips. I’ve seen him before.
“Officer Jackson,” I murmur. Images from the night when Vassili and I went to dinner flood my mind. This had idiot stopped us to ensure I was safe.
The narrowing of his eyes lessens and becomes a smoldering brown as he glances me over. “You remember me?” The blood underneath his chiseled features is highlighted with embarrassment.
“I do,” I grit out.
“Well, what do you know, she’s safe!” My mother snaps.
“Can we chat?” he starts to gesture for me to follow him across the fragmented stone.
I stay put. “Not necessary.”
Jackson licks his lips, and then he stares at my mother before returning his attention to me.
“Who is this man?” my mom argues. “I have your badge number too.”
He smiles at her. “Like mother, like daughter.”
“What’s the reason for the safety check, Officer?” I ask as he appears to be interested in carrying on a full-blown conversation.
“Your father sent me. Do you need any help packing your things?”
“So, you’re the movers, huh?” my mom chortles. “Wait, did he say father? What?”
“You can tell him that Natasha and I should arrive this evening, thank you.” I slam the door in his face. Forcing a deep inhale, I spin around to give my mother my attention. “Unfortunately, mama, I have to spend a few—”
“You’re going to your dad’s house, Zariah? Why?” she replies, flustered.
“I heard Vassili’s in town,” I offer the rote response he gave me. “He has press coverage at Vadim’s Gym to—”
“Good, let’s go get your man.”
“To discuss Kong’s coma and another anticipated fight if he won. Also, I have a funeral to attend. I’m dressing for it now.”
She looks me up and down. “This is what’s wrong with young people today, not willing to fight for their relationship. You tell me right now, Zar. Has he hurt you in any way? Because either, we are going to pray together that God blesses the two of you, or we will pray that God blesses me not to try and murder that man!”
“Mom!”
“Well, I’ve gone three weeks under the assumption that your marriage is dissolving for no reason. Tell me,” Zamora implores, reaching out to rub my arms. Her palms are warm through my silk robe, and I sigh.
Dammit, Vassili, I contemplate. He told me to be believable, say whatever is necessary. I bite my tongue, unable to sell out my husband.
“Then I’ll see you for church tomorrow. Lord knows that Maxwell won’t fight for Natasha to have a stable childhood home. After, we can catch up with Vassili. He will give you some sort of explanation, I can promise you that.”
The black dress is a fraction from dragging across the lush green grass as I stand toward the back of the crowd. Tyrese is standing at my side; he pulls an arm around my waist.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m alright, Ty—Tyrese,” I murmur. If that’s his nickname, I sure as hell don’t need to be saying it. The scent of him was so welcoming for my bruised heart.
“You can call me Ty,” his voice dips a little deeper.
With my sunglasses on, my focus is on the soulful sound of “Take Me To The King.” The weight on my chest lifts momentarily as I praise God. Then it’s over, and I notice that Tyrese hasn’t removed his arm from around me.
He says, “So, wherever we go after here, let’s skip out a little early.”
“Can’t.”
“Zar, I need to talk to you outside of the confines of our job. Will you let me? You have my cell, yet you don’t answer my calls or texts.”
I chuckle quietly at the thought of how I’d mentioned the same words to Vassili earlier. Nodding, I reply, “I will. Not today, though. I’m moving back in with my dad.”
He starts to hold me tighter, but I start into the crowd of people before us. Tyrese is on my heels. I stand next to Connie. Samuel is on her opposite side.
“Hey guys,” she whispers to us. She’s not wearing glasses, and her light face is puffy red.
I offer her a one-arm hug. Tyrese offers her a head nod, edging his way between me and another person who might be family. If memory serves me correctly, I’ve seen a picture of the young guy on the secretary’s desk.
“You’re moving back with your dad.” Tyrese’s lips almost graze my earlobe. “You’re afraid.”
“I’m not,” I mutter under my breath.
“Let me be there for you,” he pleads.
I look at him intently for a second. A soft wind bristles past, sending a splay of my freshly pressed hair into my face. I push the tresses back, still staring at him. He eyes me curiously as I murmur, “I know who you are now, Tyrese Nicks.”
His head cocks a little.
“I know,” I mouth to him again, letting it sink in. We met at the beginning of the summer. Tyrese Nicks couldn’t hide his revulsion of my last name, though he insisted that we knew each other. He had the perfect cover story.
Lt. Sullivan was a serial killer cop my father refused to assist the then DA Samuel Billingslea with collecting enough evidence to prosecute. Although my father wasn’t Chief of Police then, he, along with the rest of the LAPD community, were of no help to the prosecution. That day Sammy became my mentor. Tyrese chose that pivotal point in history to pretend that he knew me. Like Danushka, who hid in plain sight, he used me. He said he knew me.
He did not.
Maybe he’s IA. Internal Affairs should’ve been sniffing at my father’s door years ago.
Maybe he’s a Federal Agent.
It doesn’t matter because my husband needs my help, and Tyrese is the man to do it.
17
Vassili
The speed bag torpedoes, zipping in circles at the speed of light. My knuckles continue to drum across the leather, sending it volleying around. I’m running on fumes. I didn’t have a second of sleep last night. The images from my nightmare past threaten to spill over into reality. The shit I told Zariah so she could understand my history pales in comparison to the thoughts that torment my mind. Crap that I haven’t even recalled comes swarming back into my thoughts. I’d held Zariah tighter, focusing on her soft body and how at peace she was with my arms around her. When that’s not enough, I’ve spent a few hours in the nursery, watching the slight rise and fall of Natasha’s back as she sleeps.
Sweat drenches down my back and chest as I offer the speed bag one last slam. The chain breaks, and the damn ball zips across Vadim’s Gym. Across from me, the fatheads at the weight station stare. They don’t show me the love that they once did when I was a hotheaded fighter. To be truthful, that love Vadim’s crew showed dwindled the second I walked into the room this morning. Just like earlier, gazes follow me as I start to retrieve the ball.
The Three-Headed Monster plucks it up from the ground. He’s still terrified of my wife. She’s still afraid of how she embarrassed herself with our Sergy, who wasn’t the Sergio that needed his life snatched away.
&n
bsp; “You good, brat?” Sergy asks.
“Khorosho,” I mumble, taking the ball.
“Nyet, no fucking khorosho,” Vadim’s strained voice zips out in a steely tone.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath and turn around.
He pulls a cup of coffee to his lips, eyeing me like an enemy as he looks over the top of the rim. Nestor, the Ukrainian, is at his side. My sparring trainer chews on his bottom lip, eyes everywhere but on mine.
“You want to talk?” I gesture toward the stairs. “Nestor, you too. Let’s all talk.”
Vadim points a stiff finger. “Nyet. You’re done here, Vassili. Kick rocks.”
Hostility and lack of sleep roar through me. “What do you mean, I’m done here?”
“Last I saw you, Mr. Resnov, was almost a month ago in Australia. First, I assumed you were done, now I insist you’re done here.”
“Okay, I see. You want to have your cunt wide open.” I stalk past him. “See you in your office.”
Vadim chuckles. “Nyet. Everything I say, everyone can hear.”
I spin around as he slowly does as well. Only, he’s addressing everyone in the gym. “This little shit here bucked up on me after a fight—”
“The fuck I did!”
“You did.” Vadim pauses from staring at the men who’ve worked out here for ages. Half of them are too afraid to give us all their attention. The others eye me warily.
“Vassili got right in my fucking face like this after the match with Kong.” Vadim’s wrinkled hand is pressed an inch away from his nose. “I’ve known the shit’s grandfather, Anatoly Senior, since I was sucking on my mother’s tit as a wee babe. This Shit who put a mudak in a coma gets in my face. He disappears. My gym doesn’t stand for shit like that. Vassili Karo Resnov, you are dismissed.”