by Bella Rose
She was already trembling. I cocked my head, studying her. “Are you going to break your word already?” I let a harsh note creep into my voice. “I told you not to come.”
She was poised on the edge of orgasm. I could feel it. Lifting one hand, I slapped her open pussy once—sharply. She cried out, the shocked sound echoing around her bedroom. Her eyes shot open, and she looked at me in obvious surprise.
“I told you not to come until I allowed it,” I reminded her.
She opened her mouth as though she were going to argue. Then she thought better of it and pressed her lips together instead. I rewarded her by circling her clit with my fingers. I plucked at the swollen nub and rubbed it until she was panting and whining with the strain of holding back. Finally. Finally, I knew she had had all she could take.
“Come for me, sweet girl,” I crooned.
And just like that she melted around my fingers. Her whole body was convulsing, her buttocks flexing as her inner muscles rolled and shuddered with the pleasure of her climax. Her lips parted and she panted as she came until her body simply shut down and her eyes slid shut.
Moments later, she was dozing in a lethargy of endorphins, and I was ready to do some investigating.
Chapter Nine
Vasily
Now. With Anya safely asleep in her bed, my next task was to take care of the unwanted visitors skulking around across the street. I was practically whistling by the time I exited the side door. I stepped into the alley behind her house and inhaled deeply of the night air. The scents of fuel, exhaust, and damp fall leaves sharpened my senses. I had never felt so awake or so alive.
I paused at the mouth of the alley and gazed into the darkness surrounding an outbuilding directly across the narrow street from Anya’s driveway. Adrenaline surged through my veins, but I forced myself to wait. The exercise in control sharpened my senses. I heard tiny animals rustling in the leaves scattered about the lawns. I heard a car one street over. A dog barked. And then finally I caught the faint sound of something large moving in the bushes.
I waited again, my gaze riveted to a point several feet away from the outbuilding’s ghostly white door. Then a tiny pinprick of light flared to life. I considered myself lucky. It was chilly tonight. Someone had finally lit a cigarette in the darkness. I had a position and a goal.
Sinking down, I planned my route. From the trees to a car, the car to a clump of garbage cans, across the openness of the street, and then into the darkness so I could find a way to sneak up behind the uninvited guests.
The wind puffed down the street. Leaves blew and tumbled, and the tree branches shivered. I moved out fast, letting the sounds of the night mask my movements. I took my path, executing a perfect plan and melting into the dark just feet away from the unknown stalkers.
I could not help but wonder in the back of my mind who they might be. The Orlovs I understood. These men were something different. A tingle of awareness shot up my spine as I pitted myself against a threat I could not yet anticipate.
I caught the scent of the cigarette on the air. I heard the man shift. I waited. There seemed to be only one. Last night there had been two. I was sure of it. Why the shift? What was their purpose? The questions plagued me, and still I waited until I could be certain I knew as much as I could.
Moving quickly, I slunk in behind the stalker and wrapped my arm around his neck. I could smell his fear and feel surprise in every tense muscle of his body. He was a big man, taller than I. His height made it awkward to maintain control. With this in mind, I used the heel of my boot to take him out at his knees.
He sank to the ground, and I twisted his neck at such an angle that I felt his life in my hands. One more twist and I would end his life. One less human in the world. One more life on my tab. It was so very tempting, and yet I stopped.
“Why?” I hissed in his ear. “Why are you stalking her? What reason could you possibly have? Talk fast or die.”
“Die.”
To my shock, he whipped a gun out of his jacket. The small-caliber weapon had a silencer on the end of the barrel. I deflected the attempt automatically, tightening my bicep and wrenching my arm in order to twist the man’s neck sideways. I felt the crackle of bone on bone and the ripping of cartilage. Life seeped from the man’s body, dissipating until there was nothing left inside the corpse I now held against my body.
“What. The. Hell?” I muttered.
I hastily dropped the body, suddenly afraid there was a partner sneaking up behind me. I pressed my back to the wall of the outbuilding. Clinging vines scratched my neck, digging tiny thorns into my skin and sending chills down my spine. I felt the trickle of blood sliding down the outside of my throat. It pooled in the hollow beneath my Adam’s apple and soaked into my dark T-shirt.
I inhaled sharply, trying to find a scent. I listened for a sound. If there was an accomplice and this man was bait, surely I would have seen or heard the attacker by now. I felt the powerful battle reflexes kick in. My insides were coated in ice. I was ready.
Nothing happened.
The breeze blew, riffling through my short hair and making my eyes water. I listened, but the sounds of the neighborhood were the same. Nothing had changed. Nothing except the dead body at my feet, which was unfortunately going to make me improvise on my plans for tonight. I couldn’t very well leave it lying around and risk someone calling the police. In all my years of being an assassin, I had never been caught. There was no way in hell I was going to start now.
With a grumble and a sigh, I stooped down to sling the man’s hefty body over my shoulder. I lugged him toward the alley in the back of Anya’s house. I’d have to store him there and hope nobody saw him. Since I couldn’t very well toss the corpse over the seat of my bike and ride him out of the neighborhood, I’d need to come back with a car—or perhaps a delivery van. I had a few of those hanging about. They came in handy more often than not.
No matter how many times I had disposed of a body, it was always a surreal experience. The dead hand hanging down by my waist, and the head lolling about as though it were no longer fully attached. It was creepy. But this time even more so. Because when I went to throw this man down behind Anya’s garbage cans, I realized that he was wearing a gold medallion around his neck.
Once he was on the ground, I pulled the medallion over his head and took a closer look in the automatic lights above Anya’s back gate. St. Nicholas of Myra. I rocked back on my heels and nearly dropped the medallion in shock. Nicholas was the patron saint of children. Each child in the orphanage where I had been raised had been given this medallion to wear. I still carried mine with me because old habits die very, very hard. But why would this man have one? Was it a coincidence?
I don’t believe in coincidence.
Anya
I blinked in the darkness, suddenly realizing that I was utterly alone. There was almost no light coming through the blinds. Perhaps there were clouds covering the moon. It left me with a vaguely unsettled feeling. And then I remembered that Vasily had been in the bed when I fell asleep.
Where was he now?
Uncertainty crept over me like an insidious disease. I felt exposed in my solitary bed. I had been tied up and told when to climax. It was shocking. It should have been appalling. My chest began to heave up and down as I considered all of the ramifications of what I had done.
Dirty.
That word came almost immediately to mind. Only dirty, low women with no morals allowed such a thing to occur in their bedrooms with a near stranger! I felt the pressure of tears and squeezed my eyes shut to block out the shame that threatened to overtake me. How could I have been so foolish! And now he was gone, and I was alone in my silliness. Perhaps Vasily was whistling his way to the home of his next conquest. He’d gotten what he wanted from me. He had seen how low I would stoop to gain his attention.
I curled up in the bed, pulling my knees up to my chest and burrowing beneath the covers to hide like a child. My skin prickled. He had spanked me�
��slapped my privates to keep me from coming. I didn’t understand how that could work. Confusion seeped in and I could not make sense of the emotions I was experiencing. How could it have felt so good to be so bad? What was happening to me? It was almost as if I had never known myself before. I was not this person. I was not dark like my father. I was a middle school history teacher. I was boring and simple and as normal as the day was long.
Tears rolled down my cheeks and soaked my pillow. I thought of all the women throughout the history of the world who had been ruined. They were soiled doves or fallen women. Perhaps they had thought it was fun at first, but only at first.
There was a sound—like footsteps.
I froze beneath the covers. A creeping fear snuck up my spine. It was like being a child hiding from the bogeyman. Were those men back for more? I was all alone now. Vulnerable and naked in my fear and degradation. I strained my ears to try and hear more. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe something had fallen over in the kitchen sink—but no. I heard it again. The telltale creak of the floorboards as someone stepped lightly down my hallway. There was no pause at the bathroom. Only the sound of a person entering my bedroom.
I inhaled quickly and held it. Perhaps if I was very quiet they would not see me here. The bed was rumpled. I could be missed altogether. I made myself invisible, squeezing my eyes shut and praying that nothing bad would happen. Fear trickled through my veins, and cold dread knotted my belly. Any second the man with the knife would be back. He would slice my throat with his blade and leave me to bleed out where nobody would find me for days.
Something touch my ankle. I shrieked and twisted into a sitting position. I clutched a pillow to my chest, staring wildly into the darkness while I tried to make sense of what was happening.
“Hush now. You’re all right.”
Vasily’s low voice soothed my fears just as quickly as they had come. I exhaled long and slow. I’d been close to hyperventilating. What was wrong with me? I was never this jumpy or insecure, but then I’d never been in this situation before either. Perhaps I was reacting rationally.
“Where did you go?” I whispered.
“I had to run an errand.”
My brain stuck on that and would not let go. “Errand? What errand do you need to run at two in the morning? You scared the crap out of me.”
He was shedding his clothes. I could hear it. Soon enough his warm, hard body slid between the sheets to rest against mine. He was delightfully warm. I could not resist the urge to snuggle in close and soak up the security he seemed to provide with almost no effort. I could not turn down the chance to be near him, not even when I should have been running the other way.
“Don’t worry about it,” he whispered. He wrapped his arm around me and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “It doesn’t concern you.”
I yawned. My eyes were suddenly so heavy that I could hardly stay awake one second longer. “I’m concerned,” I insisted, wiping my eyes.
“You should go back to sleep,” he told me.
I felt him turn in the bed then. He lay on his side facing me, with his arm flung over my body. I was on my back, and he was snuggled in close as though I was the one giving comfort. It made me wonder—what was this guy’s story and why did I feel like it was very, very important?
Chapter Ten
Vasily
I kicked back in my chair and looked at Boris over the top of his desk. Sometimes I forgot just how old he was. The man looked tired. Usually there was something I would call fight in his eyes. Right now he just looked like an old man ready to retire, which begged an interesting question. Daughters did not inherit leadership positions within the Bratva. Generally a man had a son he could train up to follow in his footsteps. Boris had none. What was the old guy going to do when he retired?
“So you say he forced you to kill him?” Boris steepled his fingers in front of his mouth and leaned back in his seat. The old leather chair creaked as if it wanted to retire too.
I shrugged. “In a manner of speaking, yes. The man gave me no choice. I was sitting on him trying to get answers. When I told him he had to tell me or die, he chose die.”
“He actually said that?” Boris raised both bushy eyebrows. Then he reached for the bottle of vodka on his desk with a shaking hand. It was early in the day yet for drinking, but Boris had stopped paying attention to clocks a long time ago.
“Yes.”
I wondered where this was going. So I waited. I’d grown accustomed to waiting long ago. I was patient. It was that patience that had eventually made me the successful assassin that I was. Behind me, I heard the door open. Antonin’s familiar tread entered the office. He sat down in the chair beside me and offered me a nod.
I figured now was as good a time as any to drop my next bombshell. I shot Antonin a sideways glance. “There’s one more thing.”
“Oh?” Boris looked up from his drink.
I nodded. “Yeah. The man was wearing a St. Nicholas of Myra medallion.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Antonin very carefully making no noise and no movement. He looked as if he had been carved from granite. Boris was sputtering. He downed his vodka and then poured another.
“What does this mean?” Boris demanded hoarsely. “Are you suggesting one of our own is working with the Orlovs to threaten Anya?”
“No.” I wasn’t. I was actually suggesting that one of our own had gone completely rogue. I just wanted to know if Antonin was aware of it.
Antonin shrugged. “It’s a fucking medallion. There are millions of them worldwide, I’m sure. You can’t try to pinpoint the loyalties of a loser like that using such a method.” He turned to me and curled his lip. “I’m surprised at you. Or have your investigative skills gone to shit since you’re so used to people just handing you a list of names?”
He wanted me riled. Why? What purpose did it serve? No matter. I wasn’t taking the bait. I stretched a little and laced my hands together behind my head. “Maybe I have lost my touch. Or perhaps one of your men has left the fold.”
“One of my men?” Antonin spat. “Because there are no other Avtoritet who might have discontented men within their ranks?”
“I’m not accusing you,” I told him, narrowing my gaze. “Why are you so sensitive? Did I hit a nerve?”
“You’re such a bastard!” Antonin leaped to his feet. “It isn’t enough that you get the assassin job, or that you are practically legendary to our soldiers and the rest of the competition on the streets. You have to accuse me of incompetency too!”
I remained sitting, gazing up at him with intentional insolence. “I am a bastard. It’s why I have one of those St. Nicolas medallions, much like yourself.”
“Fuck. Off!”
“Enough!”
Antonin and I stared at Boris. I think we had both forgotten he was in the room. I know I had. He was staring back and forth between us, probably trying to figure out what was going on. I could not shake the feeling that Antonin was doing something behind my back—behind Boris’s back.
Boris pointed at Antonin. “Sit down. Now.”
Antonin dropped into his seat, casting a glare in my direction that could have peeled paint. “He is accusing me of being a traitor, Pekhan! How can you allow such a thing to happen to one of your most loyal soldiers?”
It was interesting that Antonin referred to himself as a soldier and nothing more. He was much more than a soldier. He was a commander of men. The distinction was a big one. Yet Antonin was choosing to make himself look humble. Interesting. The manipulation was plain to see, but I could not help but wonder if Boris saw it.
Boris waved his hand in my direction. “He will soon be your Pekhan.”
Now Antonin and I both leaped to our feet. I stared at Boris and tried to reconcile what I had just heard. “There must be some mistake.”
“No.” Boris shook his head and then addressed Antonin once again. “You must respect him and try to respect and understand his judgments as well. He has a brilliant mind fo
r strategy and a nose for loyalty. Those are things that will make him a good leader for the Romanovs.”
“I cannot believe you would choose him over me!” Antonin growled. “Have you lost your mind, old man?”
“You had better watch yourself, whelp,” Boris growled right back. He pulled a gun out of his top drawer and set it on the desktop. It was a blatant order to stand down, but Antonin did not seem inclined to give in.
“This is preposterous!” Antonin hissed. “The men will never stand for it.” Then he waved his hand at me. “This man has never led. He is a lone wolf. He works along and has no taste for working as a team. How can you even consider it?”
“He is wise beyond his years and loyal to a fault,” Boris said quietly. “I have trusted him with my daughter’s life, just as I will trust him with the lives of my men when I step down at the end of this year and hand over leadership to Vasily.”
“I will not support this decision,” Antonin said quietly before leaving the room.
Boris watched him go. I was still reeling over the knowledge that Boris Romanov wanted me—an orphan from Moscow—to be his heir. I glanced back at my Pekhan and waited to see what he would say.
“He will get over it,” Boris speculated. “Or you may have to kill him.”
Anya
I could not settle down to my routine. I was jumpy and overly sensitive to loud noises or people sneaking up behind me. That most definitely does not work well when your job is to teach a bunch of unruly middle-school-aged kids. There are loud noises aplenty. But every time a student dropped a book on the floor or snuck up behind me while I sat at my desk, I jumped a mile.
By midday they had started looking at me as though I was a little unhinged. And to be honest, I felt it. When Daisy popped her head into my classroom around lunchtime, I nearly came out of my chair.