by Nicole Fox
He nods slowly.
“Good man. Now, let’s step inside so none of the neighbors will be disturbed.”
He backs into the house. I follow and slam the door shut behind me. A quick scan reveals he’s unarmed and unprepared.
Fucking fool.
“Sorry to drop by unannounced,” I say politely. “Just had a couple of quick questions for you.”
“You’re supposed to be dead,” he rasps.
He looks more awed than anything else at the moment.
“I know,” I agree. “And I’m keen to stay dead. At least in my uncle’s eyes.”
“I had no choice,” he tells me, even though I have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about. “I had to swear fealty to him or risk my wife, my daughter.”
I pause for a moment, studying his expression. He’s not lying to me. That’s what my intuition is telling me.
Still, trusting him would be a mistake too.
“Isn’t that convenient?”
“I swear to you,” he pleads. “That’s how he convinced so many to back his claim to the Bratva. He had files on their families, their parents, siblings, their wives, their kids.”
“You expect me to believe that?” I snap. It’s all a front, though. I just want him to keep talking. To give me more information. There’s no telling what will be useful in the end.
“Half the men that follow Budimir follow him because they want to,” Anton admits. “Probably more than half, in fact. But there’s still a large number that were forced into the whole shit. It’s a fucking mess.”
I stay quiet. Sometimes, silence is the best interrogator.
“Oblonsky,” he goes on, as though desperate to make me understand. “You know the man? He served your father for twenty-three years.”
“Alexander Oblonsky?” I ask.
I know the name, though my interactions with the man have been few and far between. He was a part of Stanislav’s security team for decades.
Anton nods fervently. “He had a wife,” he tells me. “A son and a pregnant daughter. When Oblonsky opposed your uncle’s claim to the Bratva, Budimir had his family brought in.”
I tighten my grip on the gun. I have a nasty feeling that I’m not going to like what Anton says next.
He swallows and continues. “We stood there and watched as he killed Oblonsky’s wife first. Then his son. And lastly, the daughter. She… she was at least seven months into her pregnancy…”
He shudders a little, as though the memory is a poison he was trying to shake off.
It doesn’t take a genius to know why it affected him so much.
He’s substituting the victim’s faces with his own loved ones.
“And Oblonsky?” I prod.
“He had to be held back, restrained. Budimir wanted him to see what his defiance cost,” Anton replies. “Make an example out of him, you know? The man was screaming, Kill me now, you bastard! But Budimir wanted to keep him alive. So that he could live with the pain of knowing that he had caused the death of his family.”
I clench my jaw so hard I’m afraid my teeth my shatter. That son of a bitch. That murderous, traitorous son of a bitch.
Anton shakes his head, still engrossed in the memory. “Oblonsky had a knife on him.”
“He tried to kill Budimir?”
“No,” Anton sighs. “No, not Budimir. He killed himself. Slit his own fucking throat before anyone could stop him. Budimir was furious.”
Of course. Of course he was. Sick, sadistic motherfucker.
He loved the suffering. Reveled in it. Hadn’t he left me to bleed out in the woods on my own?
Hadn’t he dragged Cillian away to finish the job on my best friend?
Budimir Kovalyov doesn’t like quick, clean deaths.
When the time comes, I’ll make sure he’s repaid in kind.
I focus back on Anton, who’s staring at me with wide eyes.
He is scared of death, like any reasonable man. But he’s more scared of Budimir. Of the immediate threat to his family.
“I am not my uncle,” I tell him quietly. “I do not plan on earning loyalty with fear.”
“I may not have wanted to follow your uncle,” Anton says. “But I still cannot help you.”
I pause and look the man in the eye. He’s frightened, of course, but still proud. Still strong. He is not yet a lost cause.
So I take a chance.
I make a decision.
I lower my gun and put it away.
Somewhere in the afterlife, my father smiles proudly.
Put away the gun and use your brain, he once told me. I thought that was dumb advice then. And yet here I am.
“Listen to me, Anton,” I tell him. “Once I take back the Bratva, I will look after my men. That protection extends to their families.”
Anton tilts his head. Still cautious, but curious. Starting to sway, I think.
“I am no angel,” I continue. “When a man betrays me, he will pay for it. But I will not exact revenge on his family. On the innocent. That is not how I intend to lead.”
Anton closes his eyes for a moment. Weighing what I’m saying and what it means for him and his family.
“Fuck,” he says as he opens them.
That’s all it takes to tell me he’s made his choice. He’s chosen to follow the true don.
He’s chosen to follow me.
“I am not a part of the big meetings, the important ones,” Anton sighs, confirming what Maxim has already told me. “But I do know one thing that might be useful to you.”
“Go on.”
“He’s planning on initiating a don’s council meeting soon,” Anton tells me. “He wants to legitimize his claim, and to do that—”
“He needs to be recognized by the other dons as a don in his own right,” I finish.
Anton nods.
“When is this meeting?” I ask.
“A week from tomorrow,” he replies. “I don’t know when or where.”
“No, but I might.” I nod and tuck my gun away. “Thank you for this information.”
I turn to leave. My back is exposed and if there was ever a time to strike me down and rid himself of the anxiety of picking sides, it’s now.
But I have a feeling that his decision is firm.
Anton says nothing as I stride away. My hand is on the doorknob when I hear him call after me.
“You’re just going to leave?”
I turn to him, smirking. “Do you want to offer me tea?”
“I… You don’t know what I’ll do after you leave,” he points out in disbelief. “What if I call Budimir and tell him that you’re alive? That you’re coming after him?”
I shrug. “Sometimes to gain trust, you have to give it,” I tell him. I look directly at him and our eyes meet. “Time to choose a side, Anton.”
Then I walk out of his house and leave him to his decision. I know I’ve just taken a huge risk, but I feel good about it.
Even if Anton betrays me to Budimir, they don’t know where I am or where I’m operating from. My men are careful and all are on high alert.
I’ve got my spies in well-placed positions. I’m confident in the risk I’ve taken.
I did what a don must do.
Stanislav would be proud.
Once I’ve driven back into the main town, I make another call. It takes a while before I hear a silky voice on the other line.
“Well, well, look who it is.”
“Svetlana,” I reply. “How are things?”
She chuckles. “I think you’ll be pleased,” she says. “Budimir has engaged my services for tonight. It’ll be the third time this week.”
I try to control my excitement. “Fucking perfect,” I growl. “Has he given anything away?”
“Not a thing,” Svetlana says. “He’s still tight-lipped around me. All I know is that he has an important meeting coming up next week. He gets hard every time he talks about it.”
“With you?”
“He gets
hard with me all the time. Most men do.”
I can’t help but chuckle at that. “I meant who does he talk about the meeting with, ‘Lana.”
“With his men,” she replies. “But I’m around.”
Hell fucking yes. Things are coming together.
“Any info on this meeting he’s so excited about?” I press.
“Not yet, but tonight I’m accompanying him to a business event.”
“A business event?” I repeat.
“That’s what he called it,” she says. “I imagine I’ll have more information for you tomorrow.”
I clench my fist, thrilled by a day of positive progress. “Good job, Svetlana. I knew I made the right decision with you.”
“You bet your ass you did,” she says. I notice the new confidence in her tone. “Oh, and Artem?”
“Yes?”
“I want a raise.”
I raise my eyebrows. “The amount I’ve offered you is pretty fucking generous.”
“The last time we were together, I sucked Budimir’s cock twice,” she says matter-of-factly.
I cringe. “Jesus. Fine. You’ll get what you want.”
I can practically see the smile of triumph on her face. “Thanks, boss,” she says sweetly.
Then the line goes silent.
Whatever. It was fucking worth it. Clearly, Budimir has no idea that Svetlana is a plant. But he will soon enough.
If the information I’ve been given pans out, the don’s council meeting is only a week away.
The perfect fucking time to make my move.
34
Esme
At The Beach, Later That Afternoon
“Wow, it’s nice out here,” Artem says, looking out at the ocean, sprawled out before us like a meadow made of blues and greens.
“Nice?” I exclaim in astonishment. “It’s much more than nice, you Neanderthal.”
He laughs. “I forget how much you love the sea.”
I breathe in the fresh ocean air. I can taste the salt on my tongue.
“It makes you feel like you’re in another world,” I explain. “Like, for as long as you’re standing in the sand with water at your feet, you’re free.”
“Do you feel so trapped?” he asks.
I take his hand. “Not anymore.”
He leans in and presses his lips against mine. So soft that, for a moment, I can barely feel him.
Then the kiss deepens and my only desire is to press myself against him.
But Phoenix gurgles between us, strapped to my chest with the yellow blanket that is so sentimental to me now.
I break away and look down at our son. Artem runs his hand through Phoenix’s dark hair. It’s starting to curl at the edges a little and neither of us can stop touching the tiny ringlets.
“There’s no one around,” Artem says, looking around the abandoned beach.
“There are bigger ocean towns that attract the tourists,” I explain. “The locals are used to the ocean. They’re only out here when it’s warm enough to swim in.”
“I’m not complaining,” he says. “I like having this place all to ourselves.”
“Me too. Just the three of us.”
We hold hands as we continue on down the beach. We walk a few feet away from the shoreline, but I can feel the chill of the Pacific soaking into the soft sand.
As we walk further, we lose sight of the boardwalk, and the buildings gives way to trees. Once we’ve cleared the town, it really does feel like the ocean belongs to us.
“You could swim by the beach every day if we lived here,” I tell him with a nudge.
Artem doesn’t react to that at all. I know enough to know that that means he doesn’t want me to know what he’s feeling.
We fall into silence. I try to picture him living in this town with me.
And I can’t see it.
The picture is hazy at best. None of it feels natural.
Because Artem is not meant for a quiet life by the ocean.
Because you’re trying to make him something he’s not.
The thoughts are uncomfortable. I shove them away.
“How’s the little solnishka?” Artem asks after a while. He gazes fondly at Phoenix’s dark head of hair.
“Fast asleep,” I tell him.
“Good,” he says. “I’ve been waiting for that.”
I laugh. “Why?”
“Because,” Artem says, with a very familiar glint in his eye, “his mother looks so fucking sexy right now, and I need a little one-on-one time with her.”
I can’t help the blush that flushes onto my cheeks. “Here?” I ask.
“What are you worried about?” Artem pokes. “All the people that might see us?”
I laugh. “Fair point.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve taken you on the beach either.”
His words trigger the memory, as well as the heat between my legs.
Within seconds, I’m wet, and the idea of having Artem inside me is titillating as hell.
“Get the blanket,” I tell him in a deep, husky voice.
We find a shady spot under an abandoned pier and pull out the large beach blanket that Artem’s been carrying around in the basket I packed for our beach outing.
Then I ease Phoenix into the portable bassinet. He doesn’t even twitch, still deeply asleep.
Before I can even turn around, I feel Artem’s hands on my hips.
I turn into him and his lips are on my neck, his hand cupping my breast and massaging gently. I push him down onto the beach blanket and unzip his pants.
I pull them off him, followed by his shirt, until he’s stretched out before me, naked and magnificent. He looks so fucking sexy that it just makes me wetter.
I sit up next to him, my hands exploring his defined pecs and his steel abs. He plays with my hair as I continue staring at him with longing.
As my fingers drift over his body, Artem’s hand pulls up the flimsy white dress I’m wearing. He slips his fingers in sideways under my panties and starts exploring my wetness.
I feel his finger slides inside me as I bend down and kiss his neck, my hand stroking his cock slowly.
“Mmm… I’ve missed this,” I whisper to him.
“I’ve missed you,” he answers, his tone thick with lust.
I keep stroking his cock, while he fingers me with increasing speed. Once my body is rolling with waves of desire and I can’t stand it anymore, I hike my dress up around my waist and get on top of him.
I straddle him, my thighs tightening around his waist and my hands on his chest. His tattoos peer back at me, dark and glinting slightly in the lattice of shade and sun.
“How many of these do you have?” I ask as I slowly trace the outline of his chest ink, grinding my hips against him slowly.
His cock is pressed up between my legs, teasing my pussy lips without yet entering me. I graze him with one hand as my other hand continues to caress his chest.
“I’ve lost count,” he groans.
“Are you done?”
He smiles. “No, I’ve got at least two more to get.”
“Oh?”
He nods, his hands squeezing my thighs as his cock twitches with need. “Yeah,” he says. “One for you. One for Phoenix.”
For such a simple gesture, I’m surprised by how warm it makes me. “I like that idea,” I say. “Maybe I’ll get one, too. Maybe right… here?”
I trace a teasing fingertip around the outline of my hardened nipple. Artem’s groan deepens, expands.
“How about, first, you fuck me,” he growls. His hand closes over mine and together, we squeeze my breast and send sensation surging through me.
But as he tries to sit up, I put both hands back on his chest and push him down to the earth again.
“Patience,” I whisper to him. He laughs—probably because he knows the truth as well as I do.
That neither of us can wait a single fucking second longer.
I bend down and kiss him hard, entwini
ng my tongue in his. His hands open and close on my thighs, but he doesn’t force me down on him. Not yet.
He lets me make the final move.
I lift my hips and line up the head of his cock with my pussy. Then I inch down on top of him.
An instant later, he fills me up.
“Oh God,” I gasp involuntarily.
I wind up and down on his length. Hips meeting hips. The friction, pure and beautiful and so fucking intense that I feel it from head to toe.
He holds me tightly in place, but he lets me take the lead. He doesn’t push into me. He just lies there, allowing me to take this at the pace I want.
I move on top of him slowly, taking the time to kiss his lips, his neck, and his chest.
My breasts spill out into his face and his tongue laps at my nipples for a few moments before I put my hands on his chest and start riding him a little faster. Then he throws his head back and groans, a masculine sound that rumbles from him and through me and just takes everything one notch higher.
I press deep onto him. Rise up and slide down again. There’s so much of him to ride on. So much cock parting me, splitting me. And as the first orgasm starts to build up deep in my core, my muscles tremble and give way.
That’s when Artem takes the reins.
He grips my hips and forces me to balance on my knees. Then he starts ramming into me from below. I can feel his balls slap against my ass and I moan, my breasts bouncing wildly.
I don’t care, though. There’s something intensely animalistic about being taken out in the open, under the sky, surrounded by the elements.
But then, there’s something intensely animalistic about just having sex with Artem.
His cock is a fucking weapon and he impales me over and over again, until my cheeks are flushed from exertion and my body is shivering with jolts of my coming orgasm.
I’m moaning so wildly that Phoenix starts to stir in his bassinet.
He smiles indulgently at me. “You might have to be a little quieter, kukolka,” he tells me.
But I can tell he loves what he does to me. How he makes me shred all my inhibitions to pieces.
“I don’t know if I can,” I answer breathlessly. “Not when you’re fucking me like that.”