Fearless III

by Amarie Avant

  His words are hard. His Russian accent. It’s all enough to kill me. I clasp at my hair that’s in dire need of a conditioning treatment. With my legs pressed tight, all the action he gives leaves me clawing into a plush couch.

  He settles back on his haunches and offers one of those smiles, the rare ones that I would beg a lifetime to see. With his index finger, he gestures for me to turn around.

  “All that ass is about to bless my face,” Vassili groans.

  My pussy lips quiver in ways that they’ve never done. Thick, wet inner and outer folds convulsing. I’m tempted to go Hulk on my jeans as they restrain my ankles. The dynamic is all a mind fuck in itself.

  I grip the top of the couch, press my knees against the edge of the seat and arch my lower back. The salt air tantalizes my wet folds until Vassili’s warm breath trickles in.

  His mouth sinks against my asshole, giving it a good Frenching. I reach between my legs and assault my clit, needing a little hurt to offset the scream of desire.

  He eats the cake, and I grip at the couch until my nails tear straight through. I rock my ass back, and his tongue fucks that hole so well that I clutch tighter. Vassili grabs an ass cheek and rams his cock into my pussy. His girth stretches me so tight that I go beast mode on the couch. The scratches from my talon-like fingernails have nothing on my teeth gripping tight.

  “Fuck,” I hold in another scream.

  With a hand on my ass, Vassili rockets in and out of me.

  “Girl, you’re so motherfucking tight. You want Daddy to cum.” He beats my pussy until my back sags. “You want Daddy to cum all over you.”

  “Cum all over me,” I groan, taking each pounding from his hard cock into my pussy with another bite of the couch.

  Vassili slams into me like I’m his rag doll. The fighter’s shaft assaults my insides. A wet sound becomes louder than the wind blowing in the background. It becomes music in my ears.

  Vassili yanks my pant leg off. He flips me over until my back is against the couch, but I’m on top of him as he thrusts me up and down. He clamps his teeth down onto my throat as his cock burrows into the bottom of my stomach. His hot seed flushes into my pussy. Our heartbeats rock together.

  “Shhhh….” he tells me. “You were screaming so loud.”

  A dizzy, little laugh floats through me. He kisses the heady smile from my face then asks if I’m cold.

  I look up into Vassili’s eyes. Those obsidian gems aren’t their usual darkness, they’re almost light. I love how he knows how to put me first at the precise second I need it.

  “I’m not cold, Vassili. I have you.”

  We climb back onto the couch after I put back on my jeans and shoes. Hell, I understand how much strength Vassili has. He is able to yank off my boots with my ultra-tight pants. We lay on the couch, with the throw blanket over us.

  Sleep claims us as we return to the beginning.

  Our first night together, I was safe between Vassili’s tattooed arms. We slept together, and nothing was ever the same. Seagulls squawk overhead. A rose-gold sun is beginning to rise. With my husband snoring, I decide to savor the moment.

  Well, until . . . let’s just call her Neighborhood Nelly, a middle-aged woman dressed in workout attire, stands on the opposite side of the gate. “I’m calling the police,” she sneers. “You people are trespassing!”

  I awaken Vassili, pawing at his massive chest. “Babe, wake up, we have to go.”

  He pops forward. Like two teenagers, we giggle and get up. Neighborhood Nelly steps back a few paces, eyes wide as she speaks into the phone.

  “Oh, now you drifters want to get up! Just you wait. It’s people like you who—”

  Vassili roars at her in Russian. He hops over the fence, helping me over. I take off running, but he’s not behind me. I glance back. He’s moving at a leisure pace, with Neighborhood Nelly holding out her phone to record him. Fortunately, she doesn’t follow.

  “Why didn’t you run?” I ask, a giddy smile on my face as he catches up.

  “Run from a girl? Nyet.”

  “Hello, she was recording you, Killer Karo.” I push at his chest, softly.

  “And I’ll deny, deny, deny.”

  I laugh as he takes me in his arms then hauls me over the side of his shoulder.

  “Put me down, crazy!”

  Vassili tickles my sides then place me down. “If there aren’t bullets flying at your ass, you don’t run, Mrs. Resnov.”

  I shy away from him as he pats the top of my head. I chortle, “Ha! I’m a Resnov, meaning too bad, too bold for bullets to go flying toward me—period.”

  “You make a good point,” my husband retorts.

  We walk hand in hand. Samuel’s house comes into view. The serious chat we never had comes to the forefront of my mind.

  “How are things?” I murmur. “Any idea where Horace is? I’d like to come home soon?”

  “Dah. He’s in the desert. Danny and the crew they were running with are all—”

  “Six feet under.” I sigh. Shit, because of Simeon, I have firsthand experience with a trip to the desert. Prior to that, it meant visiting Temecula, the worthiest orchards aside from the much further wine country. Or could mean a spa visit in Palm Springs. Now, with Grigor dead, it means a permanent stay.

  Vassili adds, “Grigor too. They’ve all been put down.”

  I glance at him, a vein in my brain is on the verge of busting. Simeon hasn’t told him . . .

  “We go to Moscow this weekend. Me, you, Natasha.”

  I gulp. “Will we be safe?”

  He stops in front of me. A runner glides by us. Vassili clasps the back of my neck, massaging it. “Don’t ask me shit like that, Zariah. Don’t you ever wonder shit like that.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re having a meeting with the seven. We will be together throughout that meeting, Zar. When we’re done with the meet and greet, me, you, my children are out of this life for good.”

  It sounds like a dream come true. Torn, I bite my tongue from the flood of questions.

  “Let’s go get her dressed. Take your mom and Sammy to breakfast, then we go home.”

  His words are heaven to my ears, though I don’t follow him as he starts walking again. Since I’m rooted to the same spot. He stops and turns around. My husband’s eyes wash over me. “Zariah, we need to put this all behind us. The day after the meeting, we’ll head back. I prepare for Rhy.”

  “I… we… after we eat breakfast here,” I stop stuttering and gulp. We set the entire scene for my father. I can’t just douse water over the fire we started. I need to follow through. Blood or not, Maxwell Washington has to pay.

  “Is there something you’re keeping from me?” Vassili asks. When someone massive as a brick building asks such a question, it’s only appropriate to look away. Terror courses through my soul.

  I can’t tell him about my angle with my father. Not yet. Vassili had this knack for grilling me on the background of all my previous clients. He calculates the threat of me defending any new potential clients. With Mrs. Noriega, it was all deception that helped me keep her case.

  I can’t tell him.

  I look up at my husband. “Vassili, what are you talking about? Hello . . . Did you forget the entire reason we took a ride on your Harley last night? What do you mean is there something I’m not telling you? You should have an idea!”

  “Shit. Your dad.” His eyes blaze with sincerity, mine fall with guilt.

  “Yeah. You say we leave this weekend. I can’t come home with you tonight.” I shift on my shoes. “Natasha can. I know you’ve missed her. On my end, can we let my father… can we let Maxwell stay in the dark for a little while longer?”

  34

  Vassili

  I’d asked my wife the very question my father never failed to demand of my mother. He’d have a million secrets. Too many to count. Too many to make heads or fucking tails from. His eyes would be enraged, paranoid. And he’d ask what she was keeping from him. His
hands were at the ready, leveled out to strike her.

  Now I feel like shit. Even as I recall the paternity test, something wrestles inside of me. The distrust drowning Anatoly has a hold on me.

  My thoughts are on one thing. Zariah is going back to that other world. The one she had before me. The one she returned to after our first night. The one she tried to hold onto even though seven years have passed.

  Fuck. I’m the one who can’t live without her. I’m the one who had to have her. If I hadn’t gone after her, would we be together?

  Zariah’s in my arms, asking me, “Can we let Maxwell stay in the dark for a little while longer?”

  My fingers tangle in her hair. Her face is against my chest. In a split second, the ocean is a thousand miles away. Darkness surrounds us. I’m holding her, and she’s crying into my chest. It’s so fucking dark that all I see is the shape of the top of her head. I smell her lush scent and know that she belonged to me. Music is playing. An old Russian song about anti-love. Zariah starts pushing away. Fuck, she’s not pushing but trying to, trying with all her might. My massive arms encase her. Her breath is warm against the inside of my chest. The sounds of her suffocating grow louder than the song. My love holds her there. I hug her so tight. The only thought in my mind is that I’d rather have her like this . . .

  Still and dead, between my arms, than breathing and far away from me.

  I cleave to her until the warmth of her breath at my chest runs cold, and she’s limp within my arms.

  The premonition fades right before my eyes. The darkness is gone. Early morning on Venice Beach surrounds us. I step back a few paces, my hand zipping from Zariah’s hair. I’m no longer tangling her tresses with my fingers, no longer holding her, no longer a threat to her life.

  Another runner zips past us.

  I stare at my wife. She stares back in sorrow. “You’re mad at me, Vassili?”

  “Nyet.” I stand there. After a beat, I take a few steps forward. The image flashes before my eyes as I hold her again. My body is the fucking weapon, my brain is the traitor. This time, I embrace my wife. I love her. “I’m not mad. I miss you. So, you want to spend a little more time with him while waiting for the test results?”

  She looks up at me. “Yes. Not that long, Samuel says it may take a week or so. Though, I won’t be there the entire time. All I need is a few days. Is . . . is that okay?”

  “Dah.” I let her go. My fingers are now tangling with hers, and we resume walking. Five minutes later, I hop over the ledge to the inside of Samuel’s area. His isn’t as elaborate as the one we’d slept at. As a matter of fact, there are bags of cement-like he’s been preparing to update it all, but life got in the way. I pick up Zariah and help her over.

  “Thank you.” She’s smiling at me, but I’m already looking away. I clutch a hand against the cross at my neck. Usually, I do this when I’m praying, right before a match. Now I need a moment with God, need Him to save me.

  Zariah knocks on the sliding glass. Zamora comes down the stairs; she’s all smiles. My daughter is in her arms. I set aside the fucked over, confused thought I had about her mother. I miss my baby. Unlike anyone else in this world, Natasha Resnov is my seed. She won’t fail me.

  35

  Zariah

  I held tight to Natasha and Vassili two days ago. I got the best hug of my entire life. Natasha was pawing at my face with her thumb, wet from her gnawing on it. I cleaved to them in that moment. I miss them with a vengeance. Though I concentrate on my mother’s beautiful face and all the times it was marred by bruises, a few images of Ronisha’s abuse urge me on as well. This is not for me. This is for them, women who have endured pain at the hands of men.

  Now, I’m in the lion’s den. Candlelight flickers in my father’s eyes as he holds up a glass of Pinot. “Too bad my other little princess isn’t here celebrating with us.”

  I click my glass against his. A piano plays softly in the background. High-class, French food is set before us on a white linen table.

  We are . . . celebrating. At first, it was us celebrating a Tuesday evening because nobody felt like cooking. It all wrapped back around to my failing marriage.

  With a murmur, I offer another lie. “My mom is leaving for ATL at the end of the week. So, she wanted a little more time with Natasha.”

  That’s one of a horde of lies. My mom isn’t leaving. Martin will be the one making that flight soon because our mom has all but moved in with Samuel.

  “Ah, yes.” Maxwell nods. “That mother of yours. Is she still enjoying her girls?”

  “Yup.” I also mention the friend that she had been staying at.

  “Alright, she can have our princess for a few more nights. Then I’ll have my daughter, my two favorite girls under one roof. Safe and sound.”

  Trying not to set off warning signs by sounding too agreeable, I steer the conversation to one of our differences. “Ha. Your woman was over this weekend. I’m sure since she’s back in town I can expect that. Maybe Natasha and I should start looking for a place.”

  “Nonsense. I’m your father.” He smiles.

  My spine goes rigid. Is he?

  Maxwell doesn’t miss a beat with adding. “You’re the angel from heaven I never deserved, still as innocent as you were when you met that Resnov. I believe the day you started seeing him, you wanted to move out. My casa is su casa. It will always be su casa. Far as I’m concerned, I want him good and out of your system before you and Natasha venture out into the world again.”

  It pains me to transform into the ‘dummy putty’ he prefers. “I guess I could save a little before Natasha, and I get a new place.”

  “Precisely.” He holds up the glass again. “Save money. That firm you’re working with won’t have you anywhere near as safe as you need to be, with regard to location.”

  “Hey, LA is doing a lot better than…”

  “Of course, I’m Chief. Listen, my beautiful daughter. If things go my way, the next time you move, it will be with a worthy husband.”

  I blink a few times. How barbaric. My father refuses to let me take care of myself. He’d prefer I run from one man to the next. There’s a big difference from the past, that if the world were tossing him favors, it would be to a man of his choosing. All those favors he banked in have been cashed out.

  The next day, I can hear the garage door gliding shut when I slide off the stool in the kitchen. My heart starts to hammer in my ears.

  This is the day.

  Momma can stop with her attitude for me being at my father’s house. I can get another good hug from my family; I can sleep in my bed with my man. I can argue with Natasha as she spills vegetables on the floors that I waxed and then love her.

  This is the day. In fuzzy pajama pants and a camisole, I slip my phone from my pocket and dial Tyrese.

  “I’m ready to check his safe,” I share as soon as the call connects.

  “Good morning to you too. Nervous?”

  “Yeah.” I start up the stairs, placing the call on the speaker. “He just left. Now, he’s off to work, and I’ll get a chance to check it.”

  “You think it’s your birth date?” Tyrese chuckles through the receiver.

  “Ha. I know Bernice’s birthday. I’ll start there. Thanks for the jokes, though. They kind of loosened me up.” I open the double doors to my father’s bedroom. The bed is made. I would be able to bounce a dime off the center of it. Everything is meticulous.

  “Zariah, are you sure the evidence needed is in your father’s safe?”

  “I hope so. I’m checking now. Can you stay on while I do?” I ask.

  “Hey, I don’t mind sitting on the phone with you, Zar.”

  “Thanks,” I gasp. “We already talked about me getting my head into the game but… thanks for being here. Give me a few.”

  “Roger that.”

  I set the phone down onto the dresser and move toward an acrylic painting that’s hanging on the wall. With ease, I lift it. When my hands go over my head, m
y thoughts go straight to the baby in my womb. I smile at the notion of if my mom could see me now. She is a firm believer in old wives tells about pregnant mothers not raising their hands too high. I mutter a quick, silent prayer that’s all thanks to God for keeping me safe so far. A nanosecond later, I hear footsteps at the walk-in closet.

  The oxygen in my chest evaporates as I slowly turn on my heels.

  Maxwell leans against the closet doorframe, a Glock in his hands leveled at my forehead. His dark face is dashed in anger. “Berenice came over late last night. I told her to catch an Uber here. She drove off in my car while you were plotting and waiting.”

  Hands trembling, I lean the painting on the floor.

  With an authoritarian voice, Maxwell orders, “Step forward. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  I hold my hands out and take a few paces. My vision is on him and the double doors. “So, are you going to shoot your daughter in cold blood?”

  “Who was that on the phone? Nah, it doesn’t matter.” He gestures with the gun. “Didn’t sounds like Russian hooligans. The cops are on their way. I’ll tell them it was an accident while I was securing my own home. I live alone, and maybe I’ve had a slight case of PTSD in the past. At any old sound, I’m on high alert.”

  “Hmmm, I doubt any attorney worth their salt won’t use your career for other reasons. Oh, such as you being a seasoned veteran. What about all the officers who were here?” I stutter. “They’re aware that I’ve moved back in? What about my casa is your fucking casa!”

  “C’mon, they’re all on my payroll, my beautiful daughter.” He begins to cackle. “Awesome poker face. A minute ago, you didn’t so much as fucking blink with my mention that you’re my daughter. I’ll have you know that I’m aware of Sammy’s clout with the LAPD paternity unit. He had a rush order done on the test you took. You are not my child!”