Fearless III

by Amarie Avant

  The gun goes off . . .

  36

  Vassili

  For the past few days, I’ve had these dreams. One where I’m plunged into the pitch. A darkness so thick I can fucking taste it. Zariah’s there too. She’s hugging me and kissing me. She’s promised that she hasn’t changed.

  But things aren’t the same, and I give her the same treatment my father gave my mother. Right before I can claim her entire life, I lunge into a seated position in bed. I run in my home gym, waiting for the sun to come up and for Natasha to wake up. After that, we hit Vadim’s gym hard. A couple of times, he reminds me not to be so good, not to be the beast who left Kong in a coma.

  Today, sweat glides over my tattoos and muscles. Natasha is on the sideline with Yuri. Every time he takes a call, she clamors over to the cage. Even with vicious thoughts on my mind, I’m able to pull out of them just to keep my kid safe.

  “Little girl,” I argue with her, heading from the door to the cage. After hustling down the steps, I yank up my daughter. Upon lifting her high in the sky, all of her few, tiny teeth come into view as she cackles. I sit her back in the folding chair. “Sit your little ass over here. No French fries later.”

  My one-year-old puffs her cheeks and shakes her head.

  “Oh, you don’t have words for Daddy?” I cock a brow. “I said no French fries.”

  “She doesn’t believe the hype.” Yuri grunts, settling back at Natasha’s side. “Your pop is in Moscow. All of our aunts and uncles are en route.”

  “You’ve mentioned this.” I nod.

  “Dah. I know.” Yuri waits for a beat as if doing so will give me psychic abilities. Rubbing the back of his neck, he asks, “Well, is Zariah coming? I chartered a jet for us all. I …”

  I bite a hangnail from my thumb. Malich and the rest of the family are still in shock that Zariah’s at her father’s and not here, with Natasha and me. I’ll tell them of her concern about the paternity, pending the outcome. “Zar felt sorry for her dad. You sent that group text, Yuri. Of course, she will meet us before we leave— like she said.”

  “I’m saying…” his voice trails off. The same concern he had for me in Italy begins to cloud his face.

  “What the fuck are you saying?” I glare at him and almost laugh. We haven’t had a chat about how he’ll be king. That’s a statement that they’ll all present this weekend, to Anatoly and the rest of the seven. I can appreciate Yuri not backing down.

  Waving him off, I move back toward the cage and another man is inside. Nestor vetted a new fighter for me to go head to head with. I’ve seen him around a time or two. Luckily, he was not here the few times I showed the locals my ass. The guy has a good head on his shoulders and all the patience I never had as a rookie. He knocks his wrapped knuckles together, deep in thought.

  Vadim clings to the opposite side of the cage. “I want a good, clean fight. Vassili, Dima has an undercard in a couple of weeks. Go hard but be easy on him. Dima asked for this, and I appreciate the initiative. Dima, Vassili is old as fuck in the MMA world. Go hard but be easy on his grandfather knee.”

  I laugh at the old man. Dima has tunnel vision; his face is zeroed in with concentration that he doesn’t respond.

  Since Dima hasn’t fought outside of a basement, Vadim had it all set up. The old man is good at preparing his team. We touch gloves, and a flash of adrenaline rushes through my ears. On my toes, I reach in to knock his teeth lose by way of his chin. Dima ducks just in time. I give a nod. He punches toward my nose. My wife has to kiss this face. Only the air from his powerful hands catch me. For the first half-minute, Dima and I test each other. He’s got my kind of speed. Good for him. I’d tell him to reach back through his shoulder, but that’s some shit I’ll hold off on. I like his style enough to give him advice once I’m on my way out of the game.

  I fake the takedown and come back with a right hook. Dima’s fist slams in my side as his body is shaken from my hook. Fuck it; we’re both on one. The rookie extends his arm in a cross. I spin around; the force drives through my knee, and the front of my foot batters his rib.

  “You’re a shit head,” Vadim shouts at me in Russia for the move, which used my ‘bad’ knee.

  I grunt. The blow left his teeth clattering. Yeah, that’s the type of power the youngster has yet to garner. My hook claims the side of his ear. Dima comes back with a forearm that resets my entire jaw. I catch him with a left, right, left. That’s the fucking thing. He takes the hits but needs a second to let that shit sink in. I’ve always dealt with the pain later. My motto is: if it cannot stop you, don’t let it. Blood squirts from his nose. My fist hits the cage as Dima drops to the mat. I step back.

  Dima jumps back up. He nods at me in approval.

  His eyes are a little spacey. I look toward Vadim as to if I should proceed. Shit, I know good and fucking well that the hothead in me is always at bay.

  “Chin down, eyes open, Vassili,” Vadim shouts out.

  I duck in the nick of time. Dima issues a cross hook that vaults out right over my head. Now, I nod at him in approval. That’s some shit I would do. We go blow for blow. I take hits, he takes them too. When Dima becomes tired, he gives me space. He offers a kick to my shin, I jump it. I’m the fucking beast whose lungs don’t drain of oxygen. Not anymore. Vadim called me old. I’m a vet in the cage and my belt is calling for me. Calling like it once did.

  I slaughter his liver with bricks for punches. Dima’s forearms come tight at his sides until one tosses up. I don’t have a fucking machine gun on my forearm for nothing. I jump back, a hit that would’ve annihilated me is enough to remind me of Natasha’s swats. My eyes spark, telling the rookie to come harder.

  He does.

  My mouth splits, I lick the blood. I’m in my fucking element the second Dima realizes that our bodies are falling. He grapples at the canvas, but the clinch isn’t on his side. I flip Dima, pinning him in one of the most beautiful OG moves ever.

  The rear-naked choke.

  In this exact second, I know my life is back. My cousin and I aren’t on the oust, as he shouts for Dima to offer a solid, tiny tap. My daughter is always in my sight, and I can ensure her safety. My wife promised to come home today . . .

  37

  Zariah

  I sigh. The blanks in my father’s gun has all the sound effects. My bones are rattling damn near out of my body. A half-second later, the Feds are swarming up the stairs, along with their ringleader, Tyrese.

  In a dark blue suit, Tyrese removes the gun from Maxwell’s hand.

  Although nerves buzz in my body, I offer a cold shrug. A second later, I hijack the conversation while he’s being cuffed. “So, Dad, I knew Berenice spent the night. While you two were downstairs for a late-night drink, I changed out your bullets. Thanks, Dad, for teaching me how to reload a Glock. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  He begins to lunge at me, but my momma’s blood runs deep in my bones. The time to gloat is now. There are too many agents around us for Maxwell to take the few paces he needs to put me in my place.

  With a hand at my hip, I snap, “Oh and I never needed to get in your safe. All I needed was to plant this seed, make you wonder. Now, you’ve attempted to murder me. Scratch that, sounds a bit premeditated when you included Berenice into the fold.”

  He glares.

  Tyrese is behind him, hiding half a smile.

  “Since you taught me so well, I have a bit of advice for you too, Mr. Washington. I may not have lived up to your standards but FYI, you want an attorney that you can tell everything to. Not the one who does well on the contingency that he does not want to know. Nah, Pops,” I roll my neck. “Your best bet is the litigator whom you can talk with, for hours about all your dirty deeds. As you can see a warrant to search this entire house is coming up soon. And that greasy fucking lawyer needs to not be blindsided by none other than you.”

  Two agents pull Maxwell away as I lean against the post to the bed. All the sinew connected to my legs has shrun
k. I place my head back onto the post to breathe. Damn, I don’t have the slightest idea how my mom can mouth off under pressure, but I gave it my all.

  Tyrese stands before me, patting my shoulder. “That was pretty good advice you gave.”

  “Thanks.” I smile wearily. “Once I stop shaking inside, I’ll pat my own back.”

  “So, I’m probably going to have fun opening Pandora’s box.” Tyrese glances around the house. In addition to changing out my father’s bullets last night, I’d bugged his room. The agent and I had a really good chat after I came to him again. I boldly told Tyrese that I’d never sell out a Resnov.

  I’m a fucking Resnov. He understands. I’ve told him everything, even shared how Samuel could be my father. Tyrese and I orchestrated this plan. As an agent, one accolade is as good as another. My father is the leader of a gang. Tyrese is about to start the process of bringing him and his cronies down.

  Tyrese licks his lips, asking, “Guess this is it then?”

  I offer a two-finger salute. “It better be it.”

  More agents come up and down the stairs, and they don’t need to be included in our sidebar conversation about the Bratva.

  Maybe Tyrese will leave my husband’s family alone. Maybe he’ll give it a rest after putting my father away, then come back years from now. I give his hand a firm shake and then head out of the master suite. I round the ledge, glancing down the stairs where Vassili is so close to me, yet so far. All of my father’s antics are against protocol, yet I have to believe that his actions today have left him wide open. There are secrets in this home. I can recall the exact step my mom busted a tooth on. The agents will find the rest of those secrets and hit him where it counts.

  “Zariah,” Samuel looks up at me from the bottom step. “Thank God, your momma would…”

  “You’re supposed to say my momma would murder you if something were to happen to me.” I wink, taking the last few steps. He wraps an arm around me, and we head to the door, meandering around more agents who clutter the scene.

  Outside, another notch to my father’s psychotic ways comes to mind. Vassili had been arguing with my ex when Maxwell invited him over. We hadn’t even gone a month into our honeymoon, and my father tried to test our love. I skip down the last few steps and turn around.

  “So, is it true? Did the paternity test come back already?” I ask, heart slamming in my throat. My father was wrapped up with keeping tabs on Samuel. When he inquired about my mom leaving dinner the other day, he knew she shared the bed of his ex-best friend. That, coupled with the DNA possibility, blew his mind. He didn’t consider that Billingslea firm utilizes a different DNA Testing location, not affiliated with the LAPD. We still had the test run through the company we outsource with. Samuel helped provide another variable by reaching out to a DNA technician at the LAPD. All the moves were made to blind, anger and further agitate Maxwell.

  Samuel and my mom promised to call me in Russia once the results are back, and only open them at my insistence. However, I’m too antsy to wait. “Are you-you my dad?”

  He takes a deep breath, then pats both my shoulders. “Too bad this isn’t a crime show on CBS. We still have a couple of days.”

  I nod.

  “Test results aside, Zar, I’ve always thought you were mine.”

  A bright beam breaks across my face.

  “Albeit, it doesn’t matter.” His voice breaks a little. “What matters most to me is how you perceive our relationship.”

  Throat clogged, I reply, “You’ve always, always been there for me, Sammy. I love you, regardless.”

  Today has turned out to be a good, blessed day. After Samuel and I called my mom so she could have proof that I was safe, she hollered on the phone. She did a few freak nasty dances, elated about Maxwell’s current predicament.

  Now, I’m at the hospital to meet with my obstetrician. Vassili and Natasha are supposed to meet me here. He’d texted earlier, like around the same time I put our unborn child in danger.

  I sit on the examination table, ass-out and cold by the way, and clinging to the thin material of my clothing. There’s a knock at the door. Chewing my lip, I pray that it’s not the doctor. Please be late and let my family come in her stead. These past 72 hours, I’ve never felt so alone in my life.

  I huff, “Come in.”

  The door opens. The same smile I offered Samuel earlier, illuminates across my face.

  “You came,” I murmur as Vassili enters with Natasha on his forearm.

  “Of course.” He kisses me. Natasha quickly pushes her way into the center of our universe. Her fat cheeks puff out, and she purées out a juicy kiss.

  “Okay, little bully, I saw you!” I kiss her. “How will you act when you have a little sis—”

  “Brother,” Vassili corrects.

  “Hey, you’re late, so I’m not believing it until I see it.”

  “I’m not late.” He brushes a kiss on my forehead again. “Well, I wasn’t. The second I started to get out of the car, there was an update on Kong on the sports radio.”

  “Did he wake up?”

  My husband’s heavy shoulders fall. “Nyet. He may have moved a finger, or his wife thinks he moved.”

  I clasp Vassili’s bristled jaw. “We just have to keep praying for him.”

  “Dah. It’s been a long time since I prayed with my wife.”

  “Well, it’s in our best interest to appeal to God before we leave for Russia . . . Joking,” I try.

  He doesn’t smile back at me. Not a second later, the door opens, and the doctor enters.

  “Mr. And Mrs. Resnov, oh and Baby Girl Resnov,” the doctor grins at each of us. “Sorry for the wait.”

  “Do we get to know if I’m having a son?” Vassili asks.

  “Well, that’s too soon. You’re just shy of sixteen weeks. However,” she honkers down to Natasha’s level, “Do you want to hear your little sibling’s heartbeat? Let’s make sure it’s loud and strong.”

  With all eyes on my daughter, I pull in a gulp of air. Vassili holds Natasha as the doctor explains the contraption to her. He casts a glance at me, his lips then press the side of my mouth. A bright smile warms my cheeks.

  “Ready Mom?” the doctor says. Vassili helps Natasha guide the microphone-like contraption against my stomach.

  A big, strong heartbeat blasts through the speaker. It’s loud enough for Natasha to jump.

  Vassili’s whisper caresses my earlobe, “Nobody can tell me that’s not my son. We made a beast.”

  I gasp, laughing too hard. “No, we made a baby. We made your son.”

  38

  Vassili

  We touch down in Moscow two days later. Anna, who has been a walking zombie on anti-depressants, begged to take Natasha with Albina to a Russian tea room. Being in our home country seems to have done some good for Igor’s widow.

  So, it’s the first thing we do upon arrival. My little girl is dressed for royalty in a tweed dress that Zariah fussed over, red pea coat, and matching cap. My wife had even tried to put a puffer jacket on my child before we got off the jet.

  Now, we stand just inside of the tea room. Golden walls, red tapestries, all the air of richness surrounds us as I place Natasha on her own feet.

  “See, she would have toppled over and bust her head in that jacket,” I tell my wife.

  “Whatever, Vassili. I’ll give you that, it’s not as cold as last year. It could be warmer.” She pretends to shake in her boots. Albina clasps our daughter’s hand. Anna walks them toward an area where they can view even more expensive antiques.

  I cup my wife’s ass. “Nyet, you’re not cold. You, also, have sturdy legs with hips that can and will give me ten kids. Most of them will be sons.”

  “Ha,” Zariah presses away from me. “I might give you one more, Vassili. You’re also in the wrong sport to demand an entire basketball team of children.”

  I nip her ear. “One can go pro NBA.”

  My arms dash around her body before she can flee.


  “Not fair, Vassili. You should have gone to the drinking room with the guys.” She presses her lips against mine. “This place is for uppity Europeans. You didn’t make the cut.”

  My hard abdomen crushes against hers as I laugh. “All I needed was a fucking tie to play the part.”

  “Lies.” Her gaze dances down my slacks and bomber jacket.

  “Okay, so I can’t wear a tie with this. I feel stuffy as fuck already,” I growl, nipping her bottom lip. “But I’m wearing one tomorrow. If I had to do so two days in a row, you’d be in trouble.”

  “Why me?” She chortles.

  “Because I like punishing you regardless.” I start toward the table that Anna and the kids have claimed.

  “I’ll consent to that,” Zariah murmurs, threading her fingers through mine.

  A bejeweled highchair is placed at the table for my little girl.

  “Look, Cutie Pie, you got the throne.” I kiss her butterscotch cheek before claiming a seat. There are enough servants around us to imply that I’ll be handing bricks of money over before we leave. I’m good with that. I’m home. Really fucking home. My beloved Russia, wife, and daughter—fuck this is the dream I always prayed for as a child. Nobody knows that aside from my mother’s safety, I begged God for this.

  Though Anatoly has ample room at his home, we all chose to stay at a hotel. The room is lavish as I kick off my shoes, bringing Zariah inside of the darkroom with me. I kick the door closed with my foot and the sound of the automated lock is enough for me. I haven’t taken my eyes off her—my realized dream since we left the tea room. We’d also made sure that Natasha had enough clothing and essentials to stay with Albina.

  Zariah moans in my mouth, then her twirling tongue pulls away from mine. “I want to see the room.”

  “It’s expensive as fuck, like Anna’s.”

  “But we have a view of the Kremlin and it’s night and . . .”