by Raven Scott
Butterflies fluttered in my abdomen as I drew back, and Sascha reached to wrap his arm around me once again. He didn’t have to do this— stick by me when everything was going so catastrophically wrong. His life could be in danger, but his faith in me was so absolute that he didn’t even care. To him, I could fix anything…
That was exactly what I was going to do. So many times, I’d thought to myself— next time. Next time, I would do it right. Next time, I wouldn’t crack under the pressure. Next time, I’d get the better of Aleksander Makovich.
But there was no next time… because if I failed, I wouldn’t get another chance.
33
Ophelia
“I’m gonna miss this sofa.” Flopping onto the couch, Sascha spread out his arms as a huge sigh burst from his mouth. “We should get another one…one that’s smaller and not so obnoxious.”
“I’d have to find the order somewhere. It’s not an old purchase, so…” Pulling his shirt over my head, I straddled Sascha’s waist as I trailed off. Rolling my lips between my teeth, my tongue tingled with the urge to just blurt out that I was keeping this sofa. I hadn’t told him as I wanted it to be a surprise.
Palming my waist, Sascha arched his body slightly before his eyes found mine, and everything around him started to blur and fade.
Blood drummed louder and louder in my ears as I caressed up along Sascha’s chest. His heart beat strong under my hand, and my own stuttered from the sudden surge of affection that sloshed against my ribs. My eyes stung fiercely, reminding my brain that I needed to blink as he overtook all my thoughts— even the unconscious ones. “When we went out to Bruv’s for your birthday… do you remember? We walked down the Moskva afterwards, and I told you about my family and who I worked for.” I popped open the top button of his shirt, my gaze never wavering as he nodded. Sascha’s orbs filled with memories; it’d taken me a lot to actually explain my job to him. “I told you… you could walk away, and you said you had to think about it.”
Another button slipped from its fastening. Goosebumps blanketed my back as Sascha’s fingers crept up, and my lungs sputtered in my chest.
“I hoped that the good would vastly outweigh the bad and I wasn’t wrong.” His smile ruffled his beard, his voice thick with his conviction that he’d made the right choice back then.
Four and a half years ago, I’d been adamant to work up the courage to give him the option, to explain my life wasn’t one I would’ve chosen for myself. Before we’d gotten together, before I’d even moved out from under my parents’ thumbs, I told Sascha about the family business. So he could turn around and walk away, and I wouldn’t begrudge him. After a few, maddening days, Sascha texted me to meet up at Red Square. At the time, I’d been so sure he’d tell me he didn’t want to go further. I was nearly 18 years younger than him; what did I have to contribute to a relationship when he’d experienced so much?
“Ophelia—”
I blinked, training my eyes on the Sascha of the present even though the past still clung to the backs of my eyelids. He’d always had a beard, but it was a few strands greyer, now. Gingerly peeling back his shirt, I scraped my teeth along my bottom lip as heat pooled in my abdomen. Sascha had a nice, comfortable body. He inhaled a deep, slow breath to push against my palm. Deftly unfastening the rest of his buttons with my one working hand, I sat back when he arched his back to shuffle out of the fabric. “I’m so in love with you. So… why do I feel so disgusting?”
His brows furrowed, lips thinning in concern, Sascha sat up to wrap both his arms around me. “When bad things happen to us, it’s natural not to want to get someone you love involved, Ophelia. This wasn’t unexpected or even that shocking to me, honestly. To be honest, everything was going so well for so long that we both became complacent.” Somehow, he managed to touch all of me at the same time, his cheek resting firmly on my crown.
Hoovering up as big a breath as I could, I took his smell deep down into my being. I held my breath.
Sascha sighed, squeezing me a little tighter. “When you told me about who you were, I almost did cut things off. Bratva… you’re on the edge and it affected you so much. Your parents didn’t love each other or you and no one saw you as a child, a teenager, a young woman… They saw your last name and heaped responsibility on you because you’re good at it. All those reasons I shouldn’t have stayed were what made me want to.”
My heart stuttered when Sascha uttered that phrase— Bratva. The Russian Mob. Makovich Industries was a pseudonym, the safer thing to call what we were, but when the dust settled, nothing could hide it. My family were criminals. I was a criminal. I fixed messes, made legal repercussions go away— kept this criminal enterprise from being exposed. Aleksander Makovich was the worst criminal of us all, and I answered when he whistled.
Soaking in Sascha’s unfathomable warmth, I closed my eyes as our skin on skin shored up my wavering soul. Despite bullying the Ukrainian Prime Minister ‒ among other, worse things ‒ Sascha was still by my side. Knowing I had suggested removing people that posed a danger, or needed to be dealt with, and those people had been removed… he was still by my side. Sascha didn’t see me as a criminal.
Sascha saw me as the person I could’ve been if I wasn’t born a Cherinivsky.
“It shouldn’t have been a question of weight.” I sighed. Still… Ever since my parents were murdered, my own turmoil might’ve been great, but the situation was rather calm. I was a mess, but everything around me was still standing, tall, proud and strong. Inside this eye of the storm, everything was reversed. “Even though it’ll hurt… if you’re not happy, you can walk away, Sascha.”
“I know, Ophelia.” Pulling back to cup my cheek, Sascha’s eyes danced with earnestness. His breath rolled down the bridge of my nose and through my eyelashes before he spoke softly, “I believe with all my heart that you can make Aleksander Makovich look stupid.”
Tentatively lifting my lips to his, my eyelids fluttered closed. Sascha’s kiss was firm, his mouth gentle— his tongue considerate as it asked so politely for entry. Behind my shuttered lids, the memory of our first kiss played, but this one was better. Somehow, my fingers found their way into his hair as the base of his skull, and I opened my mouth willingly.
Holding our bodies tightly together, Sascha laid down on his back and rolled us onto our sides. Slinging my knee over his waist, I simply enjoyed his closeness, the purity of our kiss despite being half-naked. His heartbeat in sync to mine, his fingers grappling my ass in a perfect fit to draw us even closer. The heat drew sweet sweat from my skin.
“I love you, Oppie. I can never say it enough— but I believe in you. I’ll support you. I’ll stand by you.” Murmuring against my lips, Sascha inhaled deeply through his nose to sick the heat from my face. Not once did he ever say ‘always’ or ‘forever’ when he talked about us. He was pragmatic, and this was incredibly comforting. There would never not be the chance he’d want to turn his back on me— when things would simply become too much.
But it wouldn’t be today.
“I love you so much, Sascha.”
He smiled so beautifully.
My mouth and eyes dried as I struggled to take it in. “All I want is to be with you and be happy— and make you happy.”
“You’re the smartest person I know and you know what they say- work smarter, not harder.”
This brought a small smile to my own face, and I worked my arm under Sascha’s head to press my forehead against his. His handsome face distorted from how close we were. Twirling his hair around my finger, I hummed softly at the pure bliss of this moment. Even though everything around me tilted backwards and upside down, Sascha was the same— we were the same. “I thought I could do this without you, but I can’t. I thought— if I can’t handle one meeting on my own. Like if there’s no autonomy, and I can’t do my job without you…” Trailing off as my words failed me, shamed clawed up the back of my throat and flooded my cheeks. “I don’t want you to suffer because of me, Sascha.”
“Well, we’re going to figure out what we want. What we can endure…together. That’s the only way to do things, Ophelia. Being your own person is great, but being a separate person is wrong.”
My brows twitched in confusion at this. I honestly didn’t see the difference.
Sascha slung his arm heavily around my waist to sigh through his nose. “This episode of grief and upset isn’t your whole life…it’s not our whole life. We’ll get past this. When things start looking up, we’ll cherish those moments, and when things are rough, we’ll weather through. Who knows? You’re going to meet my brother. I haven’t seen him in over a decade. He’s a very successful doctor, now. Maybe we’re so different after so long apart that we’re strangers…”
“Are you worried about seeing him?”
Sascha inhaled deeply before pulling back to prop his elbow on the sofa cushion. Gazing down at me with glimmering, brown eyes, he slowly shook his head.
My confusion intensified while I rolled onto my back, holding my injured wrist between my breasts.
“That’s something that just comes with age and life experience, Oppie. Things are never going to be the way they were. There’s no such thing as static when it comes to people. We change a little bit every day until we’re unrecognizable. My brother isn’t the 15-year-old he was when he left, and I’m not 21. Our parents aren’t together and we’re not as miserable anymore. You can’t base your hopes on the past. You’ll only end up disappointed.” Reaching his free hand to stroke my cheek, Sascha smiled small and tender. Taking my injured hand, he tugged gingerly, insistently.
My breath hitched. Flames licked my arm and to my fingertips, but he was so gentle that my wrist didn’t hurt.
“Let me take care of you. For once, don’t think about me or what I may be feeling.” He kissed my fingertips.
34
Sascha
“O-oh— yeah-h-h…” Ophelia’s guttural, euphoric moan echoed through the room. Flopping her head down, she shivered as goosebumps coated every inch of her porcelain skin. “Harder…” She fell onto the sofa fully, her elbows pulled out from underneath her by invisible hands.
I smirked as my hands worked leisurely, and her toes flexed out of the corner of my eye. “Just enjoy it, Oppie.” Massaging up either side of her spine, it didn’t take long for my smirk to morph into a frown. Ophelia was so damn tense everywhere. She hadn’t been so bad before going to Saint Petersburg and being tackled onto marble.
Of course, Ophelia was under a lot of stress and she felt like she couldn’t rely on me to help her… which only darkened my frown. If she couldn’t trust me, lean on me, when things got bad, why were we together? I would be there for her, but I couldn’t force her to talk to me. Being as we could literally die as a result of all this crap swirling around us, I didn’t blame her in the least for being hesitant, but… “You know, Oppie—” My phone buzzed, halting my words on the tip of my tongue. For a second, I almost decided not to answer, but I reached for it anyway. I’d left class without warning, and a particular anxiety gnawed away at my gut as I answered the call. “Hello? Sascha Matheson.”
“Are you with Ophelia? Do you think she’d want to see me?”
I physically gagged in surprise, tensing as the woman in question tilted her head quizzically at me. Malda sounded tentative— uncertain, even— and my brows nearly flew off my face in shock. She’d never called before, let alone asked to come in. I gulped down the dense lump in my throat roughly. “Uh- Malda… I am. I’ll ask— just a second.” Arching a brow at Ophelia, I pursed my lips when she simply nodded.
Ophelia’s face fell a little, as if she felt bad that Malda had taken such an extreme step when nothing was really her fault.
“Are you outside? I’ll come let you in.”
“Thanks, Sascha.”
Hanging up, I sluggishly lowered my phone as Ophelia and I met eyes. Her confusion bounced off the backs of my eye sockets. Sliding off the sofa, I hiked up my pants before raking my hand through my hair roughly.
Nothing could be said and anything that could be said had to be said to Malda. As bad as I felt for her feeling like she’d stepped over a line somehow, I didn’t think it’d culminate in her actually asking to stop by. Not once in the months that we’d known each other did Malda ever announce when she was coming over. Most of the time, she didn’t even knock on the door before letting herself in.
Leaving the living room, I glanced around the house with a strange feeling burrowing deep in my chest. In a week, this place would be torn down. When Ophelia and I got back from America, a whole new house would stand in its place. Every terrible memory she had here would hopefully, be wiped clean, replaced with the potential of all we were and wanted to be. She’d been pretty lax in designing the new house, and we hadn’t really talked about the interior.
But Ophelia did want to paint everything herself. According to the construction firm, that would be the only thing left to do— paint and furnish. I really am gonna miss that couch, though.
Entering the foyer, I turned my gaze to the high ceiling and beige, ugly walls. This house wasn’t a home…it had been a place to be in the same vicinity of people she despised. Even now, weeks and weeks later, Ophelia’s ghosts clung to the corners and in the shadows of the staircases. The very architecture of this house felt forbidding and distant.
Opening the door, I smiled welcomingly.
Malda ducked her head. Her normal, striking beauty replaced with a meekness that didn’t fit her at all. Face drawn in dismay and regret, she cast me a tiny, noncommittal smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“You know that nothing that happened today is your fault, Malda.”
Nodding dully, Malda raked her long fingers through her hair as her smile turned rueful.
Gesturing her in, I pursed my lips thinly as sympathies wrapped around my heart and lungs. “You’re a messenger. You shouldn’t be upset about doing your job.”
“You two are rational peas in a pod…”
I reached to squeeze her arm reassuringly.
Malda took a stabilizing breath. By no means did she seem like she’d just burst into tears or anything, but she was obviously tormented by the day. “I still feel guilty.”
“Did you know this whole time that you were coming to America with us, or…?” Changing the subject none-too-subtly, I headed back towards the living room. “Why the sudden addition?”
“Lyov’s got a new bodyguard, so Aleksander ordered me to come with you so that nothing happens to Ophelia while you’re over there.”
I heard the words Malda didn’t want to say—Aleksander was afraid Ophelia might kill herself if she didn’t have a friend with her. Which was… odd, because Malda and Ophelia weren’t friends, exactly. Either way, I kept quiet.
She released a sigh through her lips. “I wanted to go, anyway. We’ll be in New York City…I’ve always wanted to go to New York City.”
“Do you speak English?”
She shook her head, lifting her hand to wobble in a ‘so-so’ gesture.
Nearing the living room, I paused so Malda could walk ahead of me, and she straightened. Someone’s taking this a bad way. I had a feeling Malda was taking this so personally because something had happened between her and Ophelia— something I didn’t know about. Something I wasn’t supposed to know about.
“Hey.” Ophelia patted the sofa next to her, her chirp happy and excited.
Watching the scene play out warmed my heart, and I crossed my arms to lean against the archway.
“We were gonna watch some movies,” Ophelia said. “You wanna join? I wanted to talk to you about America, too.”
“… How’s your wrist?” Wandering hesitantly into the room, Malda climbed into the sofa; even with her long legs, her heels didn’t touch the edge.
Ophelia held up her bandaged arm casually, with a little shrug. In the time it took to traverse the winding hallways, she’d put my shirt back on. Tugging the fabric higher onto her shoulder, sh
e huffed softly as she snatched the controller. “She didn’t have to tackle me like that. I’m not stupid. Throwing myself down the stairs is better for a lawsuit than suicide. With all that drama, I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Are you hungry? Sascha, would you mind making a trip?” Narrowed, insistent eyes met mine.
I didn’t hesitate to nod. Girls needed girl time, after all; who was I to get between what may be a fragile, budding friendship? While it was true, Malda was ultimately Vyachaslav’s puppet, the fact she was here and genuine… It made me hopeful that America would be more a success than if Ophelia only had me to rely on. With Malda there as a guard, they’d be spending a lot of time together. Whether or not Malda reported every word to her superiors would ultimately determine what happened when we returned.
Now, we three were locked in an arduous waiting game.
The Runaway
1
Joci
Wheezing loudly, I glared with all the venom I could fit in my eyes, but it just spilled over to twist my face ugly. Sweat dripped down my bare back and off my toes, struggling to stretch and reach the ground. Clenching my hands into weak fists, goosebumps washed my cold body as Anatoly Makovich ominously shut the cell door with a horrific click.
“Are you going to tell me why, or are you going to need another pin or plate put in that sexy body? You know— guys don’t like fake parts.” Sauntering across the small, concrete box, Anatoly grabbed my face and squeezed. Pain shot down my neck, flames engulfing my bruised eye socket as it leaked tears. His own blazed with pleasure as he craned my neck to draw me closer. The searing hot needles of bone jabbing muscle was so intense it numbed me— not enough that I didn’t feel Anatoly trailing two fingertips down the valley between my breasts. “Especially tits. You have beautiful ones, Joci. How awful would it be if I just… cut them off? I have a knife big enough— I, personally, think there’s such a thing as too big, and if I look at this angle…”