Fearless III

by Amarie Avant

  Simeon starts in a taunting tone, “Last night—”

  My cousin’s steely voice breaks off. He rubs a hand across his forehead; his middle finger begins to lift. He holds it out.

  “Keep at it, I’ll break that motherfucker off.”

  “Try.” He tilts his hand until his middle finger is perfectly pointed in my direction. “Last night, I . . .”

  “Simeon . . .” Anatoly stresses. I’m not sure if it’s a threat to him for threatening me, or it has something to do with last night. Shit, I have no clue.

  “Last night, I took a fucking life, but I did not enjoy a single second of it.” He puts his middle finger down but holds up both his hands. “Blood, warm, beautiful blood is my life. I didn’t delight in it, last night, Vassili.”

  “Whatever,” I shake my head, though interested in what occurred last night? I stop myself from asking, fuck it!

  “I killed your brat.” With fire in his eyes, Simeon glares at me as if there’s more to the story.

  I chortle. “Oh, that’s why ‘last night’ was the bomb you kept tossing? You murdered Grigor?”

  “Dah! Your brother,” he snarls.

  “Good for you, because last night I was with my brother. Yuri. Mikhail. Those are brothers. Whoever you took out, good for you.”

  “You want to know why I had no fun?” Simeon stops wriggling his fingers around.

  My father clears his throat.

  For a second, I’m wondering what he’s done that could’ve topped the whacked-out time I had. I snort. “You murdered Grigor, and I didn’t so much as blink. The sperm donor of the idiot you murdered is more interested in reading a bedtime-story than reacting to you too. So, what makes you think I give half a fuck about what you’re going to say?” I move away from the island as my father continues to flip pages, mumbling how much Chak-Chak will love her new book. With my now empty glass in the dishwasher, I glare at the both of them. “When is this meeting with the seven? Let’s get it over with.”

  Anatoly places the illustrated book onto the table. He stands up. “There’s no such thing as the seven.”

  I cast a glance at Simeon. His mother, who is also my father’s sister, has a stake in their secret society.

  “People are sitting at a table. Seven chairs. Sometimes more, sometimes less, that is how the world goes, my son,” Anatoly grits.

  “Then give me a fucking date, Anatoly. I have a belt that I want to get back.” I huff. The second the light flickered out of Danushka’s life, my love for MMA was returned. “I have a life with my wife and daughter!”

  I start past him, but my father blocks my path. “Vassili Karo . . . You have my middle name, my son. You have your grandfather’s middle name. Anatoly Karo! You took your first breath of air, and I vowed to God that you’d be safe. Simeon here, he loves you. We love you so much!”

  “You love me?” I smile at my cousin. Mighty crazy how half my family is telling me they love me these days when we never said those types of words. Danushka was running around, crazy enough to believe she loved me. Anatoly is no better. I grit out, “You love me, huh?”

  Anatoly replies, “Of course.”

  I stare at Simeon again. The flicker in his gaze tells me nothing. Aside from us fighting or him mentioning his love for blood every once in a while, I can’t read Simeon. He’d make the perfect opponent in the cage, a fucking wild card.

  Anatoly pokes at my chest. “You are my legacy. In 1 Samuel 8, the people begged and begged God for a king. They had God, but they wanted a mere man to rule. In another verse of the Bible, again, Israelites were divided about being ruled by the King of Egypt.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” I pound a fist at my chest.

  Ignoring me, he laughs. “They preferred to stay under the thumb of an Egyptian king than venture into the unknown—venture into the freedom that God had for them. Throughout history, humans craved someone to rule over them. Not four, not five. Not seven. They craved a king!”

  “I-am-not-interested,” I growl. My eyelid twitches hard as I stare into Anatoly’s eyes. If only he knew, Malich has come alive again. My uncle and Yuri want this. I don’t.

  “I’ve been that king, and you will be that king, Vassili. Fuck the seven, the only person who ever ruled was me. Now it will be you.”

  31

  Zariah

  Venice Beach

  Out of habit, I attach a few photos of Natasha to a text message. It isn’t until my thumb is hovering over send when reality dawns on me. Vassili isn’t away from us while preparing for promotions. Danushka is gone. His story of how she’d pulled that move with the woman sucking my husband’s cock hurts, but I have to believe it. Now, he’s associating with Anatoly.

  Instead of sending the photos of our daughter’s recent vacation, I toss the phone into my purse. I look up at Samuel, who just might be staring at me. He clears his throat, eyes flitting across the spacious living room of his home and asks about a case.

  We’ve had this conversation a thousand times over, based on my then client’s needs. Yet, right now, something is between us, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. I mention a psychological examination that my client’s husband is forcing her to obtain. It’s all about proving that your ex-wife is crazy when you’ve been cheating, and you want to keep the house, the cars, the kids.

  “But she does have a few marks against her,” I finish off, giving him the rundown on my latest case. Still, a plethora of uncanny feelings overwhelm me. I stare out the floor-to-ceiling window across at the choppy waters.

  Vassili owned a beachfront home a few lots down from here when we first met. I begin to wonder if I’m projecting the jumble of confusion from my marriage onto us when Samuel clears his throat.

  He asks, “What sort of marks?”

  “Well, arson. My client found her husband and two other women in bed. She crept out of the house, took her rage out on his Porsche.”

  My mom starts into the living room, a bright beam on her face. She’s carrying a silver tray with a tea kettle and tiny cups in her hand. Damn, my mom has the domesticated lifestyle down and this place fits her perfectly. Samuel’s place, that is.

  “So, you guys are talking work? We just returned from vacation,” she says, voice all sing-song. “That reminds me, Zariah. I went to this boutique tea store. I have your gift somewhere. A few teas for calmness and peace.”

  Disregarding her concern about my Zen, I nudge my chin to Natasha. “Good thing Cutie Pie is sleeping, or she’ll think we’re playing teacups.”

  “She sure would, sweetheart.”

  My mom settles down onto the very chair Vassili sat when he glared at me while I questioned her over the phone. I’d been so concerned about the media’s portrayal of Vassili the very day I’d learned she was being slapped around again.

  Zamora adds, “Vassili was always big on teatime with her.”

  “Mom,” I groan, scooting forward in my seat. With restless hands, I help pull apart the teacups. “Why are we . . . what’s with teatime? I’m not a baby anymore.”

  The two of them exchange glances.

  “Like you said, Momma, the three of you all are home from a vacation together. Let’s forgo teatime and,” I stop myself from saying ‘anything revolving around happy.’ Tension lines my shoulders and a dose of irritability tightens my lips. I glance at Natasha sleeping in the stroller since nobody was bold enough to take her out. With one look at her peaceful face, I decide that I need a happy moment. She’s my happy. “Do you have more vacation photos, Mom? Because I know good and well that the ones you just Air Dropped aren’t all of them.”

  She continues with the process of pouring us all tea. A gruesome amount of seconds past, and I bite my tongue. Momma didn’t raise no fool. The only card I have left is patience.

  “These past few weeks,” Samuel begins taking his teacup from her, “have reminded me to slow down, to live a little.”

  Does he mean these past few days while on vacation? Or does he
honestly mean weeks? Those thoughts pop into my head, then I wonder why I’m wondering about the validity of Samuel’s words.

  “Good. I’m happy for you,” I say and smile. “You too, Mom.”

  “We have something that we need you to do for us, Zariah,” he says.

  Plucking up my tea, I forget that it’s not a shocking dose of alcohol. Fire scorches my throat. Eyes wide, I gulp the little in my mouth.

  “Are you okay?” Mom stutters.

  Placing a hand at my throat, I nod. “Ye-yeah. That was very good.”

  “Better be, it wasn’t cheap.” She smiles. “Ahem, I got a few of your favorite loose-leaf teas and some toys for Natasha in Washington. Nevertheless, Sammy and I also purchased something else. It’s not a tourist gift.”

  The two of them glance at each other. Samuel clears his throat and adds, “It’s something I’ve been hoping your mother would allow us to do for some time now.”

  My eyebrows rise in confusion at the riddles they’ve tossed me. I’m livid with Vassili, regardless of my love for him and my intuition that Danny placed him in a compromising situation. So, I shrug. “Well, if it’s a gift, I’ll take it.”

  Samuel reaches over the side of his seat and grabs a brown paper bag. He, then, places the mysterious gift onto the coffee table. An eyebrow lifted, I reach inside and touch a box with bubble-wrap paper around it. I pull it out.

  My very own words echo in my ears, “This is . . . this is a paternity exam.”

  “All these years, I never said a thing to Sammy,” my mom shares. “He suspected, but I never said a word. Not until my heart began to break for Natasha. I want her around her father, and I-I want you around yours.”

  The truth slams into me. Samuel seemed nervous, staring at me earlier. He’d take subtle glances. Hell, our entire past comes to fruition in my mind. I can almost hear me telling Vassili that he’s a father figure and to try to make friends with him.

  The man who could be my father.

  32

  Vassili

  I told them. The second the text message comes through from Zariah, I set aside this dark, traitorous world I’ve been living in. All the vindictive antics. All the bullshit. None of it means a thing because she told Ms. Zamora and Samuel that we are in the crosshairs of my father. The sea-salted air slaps against my face. Across PCH, the lights are blaring green in the dark of night. I open this bitch up. Had I no concerns about my wife, I’d enjoy this ride. I’ve taken it a million times before I sold the home I owned in the area.

  After a while, I turn into the tiny alleyway behind the houses that line the ocean. Samuel’s garage is open. I pull in beside his car. Fuck, I’m on alert. Maxwell might have someone on his team watching. Anatoly doesn’t count at the moment. As long as I feign interest in becoming his successor until the meeting in a few days, we’re good.

  I climb off my ride, my eyes on the door as it opens. Zariah’s chocolate brown orbs are wide; her tiny, curvaceous body seems to tremble like a leaf.

  “The fuck happened?” I growl, ready to pounce on anyone who caused her harm.

  “My dad . . . my dad . . .” she chokes on the words, fanning her face.

  “Dah? Dah? What!” Her cheeks are between my hands. I crush her body against the door. “What happened?”

  She gasps, “Samuel might be my dad.”

  “Shit,” I mumble. It sounds like a good thing to me. Although my wife is too emotional to see the good in this revelation. I nod, reach down, kiss her lips and pull her up into my arms. I move toward the motorcycle, grabbing the extra helmet. I push her long strands from in front of her face and gingerly place them over her head. After shoving on my helmet, my leg swings over the side of the ride.

  “Let’s go, girl.” I cock my head. “Hold tight. We have to keep my son safe.”

  She climbs on the back, and we ride. The freeway stretches before me as Zariah’s arms squeeze tighter around my waist. Time passes by, and I can tell when she’s calmed down. I zip back onto the onramp and return to Venice. Not ready for our time to end, I park at a dead-end a few blocks away from Samuel’s place. When I remove Zariah’s helmet, her eyes search mine. Again, I won’t ask her any questions. We have time to catch up because though we’ve been worlds apart, she still belongs to be.

  Another hour passes as we walk along the shore. I stop before her, look down and press my lips to her mouth. My hand clasps the back of her neck, tightening as my dick hardens. The kiss deepens.

  Zariah steps back, breathless. She forks a hand through her fly away hair.

  “You good?” I search her gaze. After I’d left the voicemail about Danushka, Horace and the cocktail drug they’d given me, I expected her to hate me. Hate me for the situation I put us into. She had to know I’d never cheat. The video looked bad. Now the woman I never deserved smiles at me.

  With a grin, Zariah shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

  I rub a hand over my face. Shit, I guess if my Harley doesn’t help me blow off steam then working out does. Sex does us both in too. Something in me doesn’t want to fuck her happy tonight. Sure, I want to fuck. The big difference is, I’ve been so long without Zariah. The times we have been together all I’m doing is cutting deep into that pretty pussy. Tonight, I want her to smile at me because I’ve been there, not because my dick has been slamming through her body.

  I rub the back of my neck. “How you feel?”

  My wife chortles, sidestepping the waves that are coming in a little too strong.

  Mouth hard, I say, “I said…”

  She holds up her hands. “I’m sorry. Vassili, in the past, I’ve had to remove your teeth surgically. No anesthetic. When it comes to how you feel about your family, I’m an open book. Well, I guess I haven’t always been the open book.” Her eyes take on a faraway look as she mumbles about how I should’ve been a few good fucks when we met the second time.

  “Zariah, girl.” I clasp her shoulders and pull her out of an endless musing. “How do you feel?”

  She sniffles. “Good. Happy. Sammy was all jitters when he walked out of the room, so Mom and I could figure out the test kit. He wants to be happy. I’ll be his first and only child.”

  I sniff. “That is good.”

  “Yeah, although I started to feel guilty as she read the instructions. My dad . . . My dad is still my dad. Then my mom mentioned the first time she met,” Zariah’s voice starts to break, “the back of a man’s hand, I was in her arms. That bastard hit her while I was a baby. That bastard will pay.”

  My hands shift into fists. I don’t quite hear the last bit of Zariah’s voice. It’s carried off by the wind. The God honest truth is, I want Maxwell dead. I tell myself not to ask my wife to let me know the instant she finds out if Maxwell is her blood. She’ll tell me. But my interest in that mudak would be too much of an implication if I ask her now.

  Given the outcome, that piz’da is dead. I won’t have the heart to tell her that he died by my hand. With her tiny hand in mine, we walk away from the shore. My wife shivers, and I’m out of my leather jacket in half-second. I tug it over the one she’s wearing.

  “Thank you, my Russian knight.”

  On the bicycle trail, I pull Zariah before me.

  “It doesn’t matter who’s your dad, baby girl. We all know who’s been there for you. Sammy. Your mom.” When I look down at her, lust rises inside my chest. “Me.”

  I feel good about myself. I was there for my wife, and I didn’t fuck her.

  Now I can.

  “Vassili . . . We,” her voice trails off as she glances around her. I pull her up into my arms. I had noticed that one of these house’s motion lights were out.

  “Boy, what are you doing?” Zariah gasps, clasping at my biceps as I remember exactly which one. The four-story home doesn’t have a single light on inside. Maybe they’re saving energy. Shit, maybe they’re out of town. I place Zariah over the waist-high fencing as she mentions the penal code for trespassing. I grab the ledge and hop over. There�
��s a long, crystal hearth in the center of the area. I step over it. Arm around Zariah, I pull her toward one of the couches. It has a throw blanket on it.

  “Vassili…” She tugs back on her heels.

  “You were cold.” I gesture toward the water. The sliding glass doors to the house are a fraction away from us. With the cove-like structure of the house, we’re out of the wind. I grab both her hands, planting her fat ass on the wicker couch before me. I get on my knees. Zariah comes out of my jacket. The flurry of questions and anxiousness evaporates.

  Moments like this are what life is made of. My hands claim her dark skin, fingers skimming up and down ample curves. Her thick, little frame no longer trembles beneath my touch. Those thighs, those hips, are sturdy perfection. I press my mouth against her forehead, tasting the salted sea. My mouth travels down to her nose and falls against her lips. Out of all the quickies, all the time I gave her hell and pain, tonight I want to give her nothing but goodness. Our tongues twine. I reach around, gripping more ass than is legal and pull her until the bubble of her ass is at the edge of the seat. Tongue gliding over her navel, I unbutton her jeans. This is going to be tricky—me fucking her with these jeans on. I push them down to her ankles.

  “You still cold?”

  “Hell, no,” she purrs, trying to kick off one tight jean leg.

  “Nyet, leave it.” I claw at the flesh of her ass, then flick my tongue over her clit. I envelop that tiny bulb, letting my teeth rake over it. My thumb slams into her pussy to an instant gush. My cock roars against my jeans. Time for me to give her the world.

  33

  Zariah

  A whimper rushes through me. Although Vassili is digging in, the walls of my pussy are strained against his thumb, aching for more. My brain had lost all rationale for a second until I decide to try and use my big toe to kick off my other pant leg.

  “Nyet, leave it,” he growls. His lips press kisses against my tiny pearl that leaves the rest of me scorching. “I’m fucking with your legs closed. I want that pussy to choke the fuck out of my cock.”