by Claire Marta
She was so fucking tense, she was nearly tempted to schedule a deep-tissue massage. With Morgan gone... again... still… and the whole apartment to herself, she could do whatever she damn well pleased.
And so she did. She watched her favorite movie and took a much-needed nap. Climbing into bed, she slept with the plastic bag of what remained of her brother’s bat in her arms. The feel of it gave her a modicum of comfort. A reminder of what she was fighting for. Justice. Closure.
She woke up an hour later, in time to bathe, shave, and dress. Ivan’s favorite heels came out but went back in. She chose instead to wear her agency-issued heels with the tracker and a red dress the same shade as her dyed hair. It was more demure than sexy. A slick of gloss across her lips and a smoky eye shadow finished the look.
Ivan picked her up at seven-fifteen that evening, allowing plenty of time to reach Popov’s home by eight. Nerves coiled in her stomach. After what happened the night before, she was expecting his anger. Yet he remained cool and aloof. If he was upset at being thrown out of The Secret Garden Club, he didn’t show it.
Casey sat tensely, clutching her coat tightly around her until she’d warmed up from the winter chill.
“I wish to apologize for the other night,” Ivan rumbled, breaking the uneasy silence that had stretched out between them. “I went too far. I am sorry. The rage I have buried for so long is close to the surface and I directed it toward you when we were together. Popov deserves a bullet in the head. It should be him cold in the ground, not your brother. Not my wife and little girl. Two years is a long time to wait for vengeance. You must want Popov dead as much as I do. Tell me you do not.”
Casey clasped her fingers in her lap and heaved a breath. “I would love to see Popov dead, but that won’t bring back my brother. I’d rather be the one to arrest his ass and bring him to justice than end it all too soon. I want to watch him sit and rot in prison—and be someone’s fucktoy for the rest of his damn days.”
They pulled through Alexei Popov’s gates with five minutes to spare. She expected the driveway to be packed with cars. Instead, it held Ivan’s and Ivan’s alone.
What the fuck?
Her left hand itched, missing her gun. The tracker in her shoe was small consolation for having to leave her service revolver at home.
“What’s going on, Ivan?” she asked, confused by the lack of guests.
“The others will come later,” he promised. “Alexei requested that I bring you early.”
Casey felt a slither of foreboding. She’d shown interest in his collection of artwork last time they’d visited. Maybe Popov had something new.
Ivan parked the car. Rounding the vehicle, he opened the door for her and offered Casey his arm. Knowing she had to play the loving girlfriend, she dutifully took it.
There was no sign of the valet or maid. Alexei himself answered the door to let them in. He was smartly dressed in a white shirt rolled up at the forearms and tailored trousers.
Gaze crawling from her heeled feet to the top of her head with appreciation, he smiled. “I am happy you are here. Come, come. We celebrate with a drink.”
Casey stepped inside, noting his excited mood. Those steely gray eyes gleamed with delight.
Ivan’s large palm flattened against the small of her back. “Alexei has more art to show you.”
Forcing a smile on her lips, she followed the older man dutifully into the living room. A bottle of champagne was already open, nestled in an ice bucket. Three crystal flutes had been left beside it.
“Da.” Alexei flashed them a grin. “It is very special. Not many get to see it. I think you will appreciate it.”
Retrieving the bottle, Alexei filled the glasses before offering her the first one. “Is good. Best.”
Accepting it, Casey raised it to her lips and allowed herself a sip. Crisp and bubbly, it slid deliciously down her throat.
Ivan took his own, cradling it to his chest, watching her with dark, fathomless eyes. “Drink,” he insisted, gesturing toward her.
Knowing she had no choice, Casey drank deeply, finishing half of the contents in one go. When they weren’t watching her, she’d find a place to get rid of the rest. She needed to keep clear-headed.
Alexei nodded in approval, topping off her drink before tucking the bottle in the ice bucket. Striding across the room, he moved to a bookcase. Reaching for a leather-bound volume, he pulled it towards him. A click sounded. Swinging outward, the whole thing shifted revealing a secret room.
Casey took in the hidden space with surprise. Christ on a cracker. She’d had no clue it was here. How many more of these did he have?
She was aware of Ivan stepping behind her. “Come, you’ll see Alexei’s work. He’s very proud of his photographs.”
She remembered the Bratva leader mentioning them before. Sauntering to the opening, she followed him inside. An odd warmth was flowing through Casey’s veins. The nerves she’d experienced in the car were melting away.
Frames lined the walls, displaying black-and-white photos for viewers to admire. It was a pornographic wet dream. Different couples engaged in sex. Naked bodies captured in moments of pleasure. Men and women masturbating, urinating, ejaculating. Men with men. Women with women.
And there were groups, people writhing in an orgy of pleasure.
Casey downed another mouthful of champagne to wet her suddenly dry throat.
“You like?” Alexei questioned. He was standing close beside her, his breath stirring the hair against her cheek. “I take them. They are all mine.”
Examining them one by one, her gaze froze on a familiar figure. Ivan. Naked, he was caught in the moment of thrusting into a woman. She was bent over a table, her hair fisted in his hand. His nostrils were flared, his expression savage.
Alexei hummed, his hand touching her elbow gently. “Elena. Pretty girl. Tight little cunt. I liked her very much. So did Ivan.”
Casey glanced at the Russian Dom. His expression was stoic. No emotion glimmered, but he was staring at the picture with a fierce intensity.
She didn’t know what to say. Most of the male models she recognized as Bratva members.
“And him,” he said, moving to stand in front of one of the orgy scenes.
He looked like...
Ben?
The glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor.
Alexei clucked at the waste.
“Your brother,” he sighed, a sound of regret.
A wave of dizziness swept over Casey and her knees buckled. Ivan caught her before she fell to the floor.
“Ivan, Ivan,” Alexei murmured. “I must thank you for your gift. First the brother. Now the sister. Eventually, she will join him but not yet. You get her ready. I get my camera. We will have fun with her, like before. Make more memories and add to my collection, da?”
Ivan didn’t say a word when he lifted Casey in his arms. Head spinning, a strange lethargy was stealing the strength from her limbs. A mattress met her back.
“Please…” The word came out in a whimper.
Casey’s mind was heavy, her thoughts weighed down and dulled.
Hands stripped off her heels, peeled off her dress, removed her underwear. Awareness ebbed. A period of darkness followed. When it returned, she found herself pinned to the bed. A hard, muscled body was moving over and in her. She could hear the male grunt every time he thrust forward, filling her. The sound of a camera shutter clicking filtered in. A glare of light made her blink.
“Fist her hair.” A voice instructed. “I want her face.”
Fingers twisted in her locks, tilting her head in another direction. Another hand wrapped around the delicate column of her throat and squeezed. The pressure had her wheezing to breathe.
“Da,” Alexei approved. “Squeeze. More. Harder. You know how to do this. I show you how it looks when we are done.”
Casey didn’t understand why she couldn’t move. Weak, helpless, all she could do was feel what was being done to her.
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she felt him pulse before groaning his release. Casey could feel the hot tide of his cum inside her, filling her to overflowing. Even though he’d climaxed, he was still semi-hard.
“I have my pictures.” Alexei was gleeful. “Now I get taste of her. Good thing I keep pills separate. But then, it might be worth it to see her on mine. I know you can go for hours. Now we match, da? Take turns fucking her. You think we can fuck her to death, Ivan? Something different for my birthday. I would like to try.”
“Whatever you want,” Ivan agreed.
“Roll over with her,” Alexei decided.
Casey felt a wave of vertigo, the sensation of flying, coolness on her back and warmth on her chest, vaguely aware that she was lying stretched out on Ivan’s front.
He was already hard for her again.
Alexei caught her wrists and pinned her arms behind her back. “Hold her still,” he ordered Ivan. “I do not think she will like what is coming.”
Oh god oh god oh god.
Panic pierced the fog that Casey was mired in.
Ivan manacled her arms in his grip and hooked his ankles around her calves, pulling apart her legs and holding them open. Below, she felt fingers shoving into her pussy, sloppy from Ivan’s finish. His semen acted as a lubricant for the digits she felt invading her channel, fucking her, gathering ejaculate and slathering it on her anus.
“Fuck her,” Alexei ordered, guiding Ivan’s cock into her opening. He surged inside and started pumping. “Now wait,” he crooned, probing her rectum, adding a second finger... and a third... and a fourth.
“I want picture,” Alexei growled abruptly. Seconds later, he was back… with five fingers and a fist.
With her mouth opened in a silent scream, Casey passed out to the sound of the camera capturing it all.
She had no concept of time. No idea how long they kept her there. Used her for their perverted pleasures. No idea when they’d finally had enough.
Someone screamed, waking Casey up in the wee hours of the morning to the smell of sex and blood. Musk and metal and the telltale stench of ammonia, like someone had wet the bed.
Someone had. The ashen-gray body of Alexei Popov lay beside her. The once-white sheets were stained yellow and red. There was a gun by her hand between them. His eyes were vacant, his mouth parted in surprise, possibly caused by the neat hole in his forehead. Judging from the number of entry wounds in his body, the clip had been emptied into him. A maid was standing in the doorway of the bedroom Casey had no recollection of entering, still screaming at the top of her lungs.
Jesus Christ. What the hell had happened?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Malik and Iosefa watched Casey exit the car and enter the house on Ivan Michalov’s arm. Her unease had been palpable today, shifting from fear to trepidation to concern like a pendulum swing before the fear kicked in a few hours ago.
They felt torn. Helpless. Forced to watch from a distance while their mate put her life in peril. Surely she knew how dangerous it was. Why she continued on her present course was a mystery to them. Someone needed to talk some sense into her, get her out of the field and into an office, solving crimes from a safe distance without the risk of working undercover.
Her anxiety level increased after she entered the building. A quick call to Zana confirmed that it was the home of Alexei Popov, head of the Russian Bratva and Ivan’s boss.
They had to do something, but what?
“Precious Pet,” Iosefa said. “Helena Braxton is her godmother. Casey might be pissed at Morgan and at us—well, the real us—but she might listen to Precious. Casey’s fear has eased. Maybe Zana could cover for us, keep watch here while we talk to Precious Pet and enlist her aid. See if she can talk some sense into our mate.”
“It’s worth a try,” Malik agreed, willing to do anything to keep her safe. Fifteen minutes later, Zana was watching the Popov estate and they were at the reception desk in The Secret Garden Club.
“We need to speak to Precious Pet,” Malik told the submissive on duty.
Behind her feathered mask, her lavender eyes welled with tears. “I guess you haven’t heard. Precious Pet is in the hospital. There was a hit-and-run accident on the way into the city today. Her driver got the worst of it. He’s still in surgery, the last we heard.”
Malik felt a growl swelling in his chest, ready to unleash divine wrath. It was too much of a coincidence, banning Master S from the club last night and being run off the road today. She could have been killed. More than likely, that had been Ivan’s plan. One more person removed from Casey’s life. One less thing to stop him from having her.
And she was with him now.
But not fearful. Perhaps the fear that they felt earlier had been worry for Precious Pet. That made sense. If she was concerned about Ivan, they would still be feeling it, and they weren’t.
“We should warn Zac and Aiden,” Iosefa advised. “Ivan was having Casey watched. Morgan could also be in danger.”
Malik nodded grimly. “Agreed.”
A quick phone call had Aiden and Zac on alert. Morgan was still recovering at the Citadel and was safe behind its walls. Aiden promised to inform their leader, Tobias, what was happening.
Tucking his phone away, Malik slid his gaze to his partner’s. “We need to return to Casey. I have a bad feeling.”
“If we breach the house she’s in, we could be putting her in more danger,” Iosefa pointed out.
“We wait until she leaves, then.”
Pushing the doors of the club open, they stepped out into the chilly night. They’d come by bike and left them parked up the street at the church. Halfway to them, a sharp ringing sound cut through the darkness.
Malik jerked forward, pain radiating through his shoulder. A split second later, another followed. Iosefa stumbled, dropping to his knees just in time. Self-preservation initiated a partial shift. Instincts took over. Energy sparked through their cells transforming skin, creating an armor of sorts, thickening the flesh and hardening it into the toughness of stone. A third and fourth shot came quickly. Both men took a hit to the chest, a killing wound that sent them hurtling to the ground. Instead of penetrating their bodies, the bullets barely left a bruise. Malik realized, though, he could not let the sniper know that. Blood flowed from the wound in his shoulder. Although they couldn’t be harmed now, the first bullet had hit before he’d had time to react.
Sprawling on the cold concrete, he slowed his breathing until it was barely detectable. Iosefa copied. Tuning his sensitive hearing in the direction the shots had come, Malik listened intently for any signs of their would-be assassin.
“It’s done. I’m heading back.” The words were murmured but the Russian accent was unmistakable.
They waited, prone, lying still as death until they were certain the sniper had left. People streamed from the club, voices high, frightened and panicked. Footsteps hurried towards them, hesitant hands examining them.
Wincing from the pain in his shoulder, Malik sat up, causing a gasp from those gathered around them. Iosefa rose smoothly up onto his feet.
“How bad is it?” he asked, offering Malik his hand and hauling him up by his good arm.
Malik grimaced at the bloody hole in his favorite leather jacket. “This will need to be seen to.”
Questions were directed their way. People demanding to know what was happening. Were they safe? Someone had called the police. Knowing they couldn’t hang around, Malik and Iosefa assured them everything would be okay.
“Go watch over Casey,” Malik told his partner the second they were able to extricate themselves. “I’ll return to the Citadel and have Cayden clean this up.”
Iosefa scowled. “Are you sure you can ride?”
“Ride, yes.” Malik hoped that his injury hadn’t impaired his ability to
fly. As soon as he could, he’d unfurl his wings and make certain everything still functioned.
Iosefa waited for Malik to put on his helmet, start his engine, and pop his kickstand. Giving him a two-finger salute, Malik sped away and Iosefa headed for the nearby church parking lot to leave his bike and take to the sky, headed for the Bratva leader’s estate.
Malik had never done a walk of shame but it certainly felt like it, dragging his wounded ass into the Citadel, having to report to Cayden for treatment and submit to Tobias’s questions. Lukas, their other member with medical training was gone, having flown off with Zana to keep watch for them.
“No exit wound,” their Scottish medic told him. “We can leave it in or I can try and take it out.”
“Try?” Malik narrowed his eyes, trying to see if he was joking.
Cayden didn’t grin. “It appears stable, but where it is, we run the risk of a nicked artery. If it moves, you could bleed to death.”
“If it stays, I’ll be setting off metal detectors for the rest of my unnatural life. Take it out,” he said, glancing at Tobias. “With your permission.”
Their superior nodded, ready to step in and assist if Cayden needed it.
While the medic worked, Malik recapped their day. Casey’s tumult of emotions, the fear that they’d felt, her arrival at the Popov estate with Ivan, the easing of her trepidation. Breaking the rules, he told him about The Secret Garden Club, Master S’s ejection, and Precious Pet’s accident. “She was probably afraid for her godmother,” Malik told Tobias, “but we won’t know for certain until someone’s had a chance to speak to her.”
Maybe Morgan could call her. Double-check to see how things were going.
Maybe she could talk her into coming home.
Not the apartment. Here.
She belonged with them. Last night, it was possible that they had left her with child. Given her their babies.
In nine months, they could be a family.
The first in the Next Genesis Project.
Malik smiled a sappy grin, thinking about it.