Scarred: A Russian Mob Romance (Anosov Family Mafia) (Scars and Sins Collection Book 1)

by Vivian Gray

  When I opened my eyes the next morning, it took me a few seconds to realize where I was. Not only had I fallen asleep in a new place, but the curtains had been pulled open, letting in a piercing white light. I squinted against it and rolled over, dragging the silky bedding over my head.

  “I’ve laid out an outfit for you, miss.”

  The unfamiliar voice startled me, and I shot up, smacking my head against the headboard. I was wrapped up in the sheets, and I threw an arm over my chest, even though I was still fully clothed.

  “I’m sorry to startle you, miss.”

  The woman stood at the end of the bed, her small hands folded across her stomach. She had pale blonde hair pulled into a low bun and a starched black dress on.

  “Uhh… that’s okay,” I said hesitantly, suddenly self-conscious of my bed head and morning breath.

  She pointed to the foot of the bed where a black pencil skirt and red blouse had been thrown over the mussed bedding. “Mr. Anasov chose this outfit for you and asked me to deliver it. He also asked me to wake you, as you will need to leave in an hour.”

  “Leave where?” Anton hadn’t been specific the night before, and I wanted to know what my day would hold.

  The woman smiled at me, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “He did not say, miss.”

  “You can call me Bailey.”

  “Thank you, miss.”

  With that, the woman swooped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

  I slid out of bed, wincing as my feet hit the cold hardwood floor, and tiptoed into the separate bathroom. It was nearly the same size as Brendan’s kitchen, with a massive Jacuzzi tub, a glass-enclosed shower, and double sinks. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and thanked the heavens Anton hadn’t come to wake me up himself. I needed a serious shower.

  Having only an hour before we apparently needed to leave, I rushed through my shower; though, I took time to lather my hair with the lavender soap provided and shave my legs. The pencil skirt Anton had picked out for me fit like it had been made for me, clinging to my curves in the best way possible. The red blouse revealed a bit more cleavage than I would have wanted for a meeting with my boss, but Anton couldn’t fire me for wearing a shirt he’d chosen.

  I twisted my still damp hair into a loose bun and walked into the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” he said, holding up a cup of coffee in greeting, though he didn’t look up at me.

  I’d had a hope that I would walk into the kitchen and see Anton flipping pancakes and frying eggs, but instead, he sat at the kitchen island with a newspaper and a cup of coffee.

  “Who still reads a newspaper?” I asked, breezing by him to grab a mug from an exposed shelf in the kitchen and pour myself some coffee. The goal was to look more confident than I felt.

  “People who want to stay informed,” he replied, shuffling the pages and focusing back on an article in the business section.

  “It’s a dying industry.”

  “Then be quiet and let me enjoy it while it lasts.”

  I listened to him for a few seconds, but then curiosity got the better of me. “Where are we going today?”

  He lifted the paper an inch off the table and widened his eyes, silently asking me to leave him alone.

  “Thanks for the clothes,” I added, my words dripping with sarcasm. I actually quite liked the outfit, but I would never tell Anton that.

  He sighed and folded the paper, resigning himself to our conversation. He looked up at me, and I noticed his eyes trail down my body, hesitating briefly at my breasts and my hips before drinking in my legs. He made me feel exposed. I crossed my arms.

  “There’s more where that came from.” He tipped his head towards me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he said, standing up and reaching across the table for his wallet, “today we are going shopping.”

  Chapter Six

  Anton

  The store I took Bailey to was open by appointment only on weekdays, so I’d had to call in a shit-ton of favors to get someone to unlock the doors for us so early in the morning. The associate who had been sent to help us smiled at me as we walked in, pushing her chest out to more fully expose her cleavage, but I noticed her shooting jealous glances at Bailey.

  “Please let me know if you need anything,” she purred out, running a finger down my arm. “Absolutely anything.”

  I wrapped an arm around Bailey’s waist and smiled at the woman. “We will. Thank you.”

  “Do women always throw themselves at you like that?” Bailey asked once we were out of earshot of the associate.

  I shrugged. “It’s not unusual, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  She clicked her tongue in annoyance.

  “Do you mean to say you don’t receive similar treatment from men?” I couldn’t imagine a world in where Bailey wasn’t hit on at least a few times every day. What man could see her and resist the chance to get to know her?

  She looked at me, her eyebrows so high they were practically lost in her hairline. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean to say. Not all of us look like we were scientifically engineered to attract the opposite sex.” Before I could say anything, she began rifling through a rack of clothes. “What am I shopping for?”

  “Work clothes,” I replied.

  As soon as I’d answered her, Bailey moved to the opposite end of the store, putting as much space between us as the store would allow. I didn’t know her well enough to be able to tell whether she was angry with me or not. If she was, I couldn’t imagine what for. Was it for being good looking? For being hit on by the associate? For suggesting she was beautiful, as well?

  I decided my best recourse was to keep my distance and buy whatever clothes she picked out. That was usually enough to nullify arguments with other women I’d dated.

  That all went out the window, however, when Bailey came back with her arms full of clothes. She had wandered the store for half an hour, and I could tell the associate was impatient. As soon as we left, she would be done for the day. But somehow Bailey had managed to grab every drab, oversized, formless piece of clothing the store offered.

  “What is that?” I asked, using my thumb and forefinger to pick up a particularly heinous beige dress that had ruffled sleeves, a high collar, and a knee-length skirt.

  Her eyebrows pulled together, and she yanked the dress out of my grasp. “It’s a dress.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “It looks like a nun’s swimsuit.”

  “It’s for work. I can’t wear a cocktail dress to the office,” she snapped.

  “Agreed, but what kind of business do you think I run? It looks like you want to be one of those inflatable men who wave in the wind outside of car dealerships. Except earth-toned.”

  “Are you done now?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. I could tell she was annoyed, but her lips twitched toward a smile, betraying her amusement.

  I picked up the next few items in her arms and then let them drop, shaking my head. “None of this is going to work.” I turned towards where the woman who had opened the shop for us stood leaning against a wall in the back. “Hey… ummm.” I fumbled, having forgotten her name entirely. This didn’t seem to matter. She looked up at me anyway, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

  “Sasha,” she said, lifting herself off the wall and slithering towards us, her eyes locked on mine like she was trying to hypnotize me.

  “Could you help me, Sasha?” I asked, not waiting for her reply. She was paid to help, so of course she would. “I need you to grab every form-fitting dress you have in a size two, three pairs of jeans in a twenty-five inch-waist, and whatever tops you think would look good with those. Throw in a few pairs of shoes in a size seven and have it delivered to my apartment.”

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t want to pick out anything yourself?”

  I looked back at Bailey whose face had reddened in embarrassment at being overridden, but I wouldn’t allow my money to pay for her to look
like a grocery store bag. “No, we trust you to do it.”

  I grabbed the clothes Bailey was holding and handed them to Sasha. “And we won’t be needing any of these.”

  Sasha pursed her lips and cast a sidelong glance at Bailey, appraising her. Then she turned to me, took the clothes out of my hands, and stepped closer, filling the space between us with the smell of her overbearing floral perfume. “Why are you doing this?”

  I leaned back, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”

  She whispered, though it was obvious Bailey was still close enough to hear her. “Is she some kind of charity case? Like, a ‘Pretty Woman’ situation?”

  I wanted to inform Sasha that not only was Bailey not a charity case but that Bailey was also infinitely more beautiful than she would ever be. I wanted to tell her that her yellow dress made her constantly seasick and she had on too much eyeliner. I wanted to grab Bailey and bend her backward in a kiss so deep it would shake the foundation of the store, splitting open the cement floor, and swallowing Sasha whole.

  Instead, I turned around to the rack of lingerie behind us, grabbed a see-through black lace camisole and matching panties and tossed them on top of the pile of clothes in Sasha’s arms.

  “We will definitely be needing this, as well,” I added with a smile. “I’ll write my address on the pad at the front desk.

  Sasha’s face turned a violent shade of red, but she didn’t say anything else. She simply nodded and stared down at the floor, waiting for us to leave.

  I extended an elbow to Bailey, and she only stared at me for a second before taking it. When we got outside, however, she dropped my arm and reared back to look up at me.

  “I can dress myself, you know?” she snapped, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms like a petulant teenager.

  “I know you can. The question is whether or not you should.”

  She slapped my shoulder and clenched her jaw. “You’re a jerk.”

  I laughed, unable to stop myself. “I’m sorry, but I refuse to pay for you to dress like my grandmother.”

  “What do you have against your grandmother? I’m going to tell her you don’t like her clothes.”

  “My grandmother looks great for being eighty. Fortunately, however, you do not have the body of an eighty-year-old; therefore, you should not dress as if you do.”

  She stared up at me, eyes narrowed. I could tell she was trying to decide whether I had insulted or complimented her, but I grabbed her arm just above the elbow and pulled her to the car, not giving her a chance to respond.

  Bailey stayed resolutely quiet during the drive until curiosity won out, and she asked where we were going.

  “I want to introduce you to my employees and show you around the office,” I replied.

  She nodded, but when we pulled up to the building, she leaned out the window and looked up, squinting against the sun. “Your office is in here?”

  The building rivaled those near it, reaching up until it disappeared into the sky. I nodded. “Just the top ten floors.”

  She turned to me, mouth open. “Top ten floors?”

  I smiled and looked down at my phone. It was mid-morning, so almost everyone would be in the office. “I have some paperwork you need to sign and some finer details to talk through.”

  “What exactly do you do?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

  “That is what we are here to talk about. But we should wait to discuss it until we are inside. I don’t like to mix business with pleasure.”

  I tipped my head towards the driver, and Bailey looked between us, concern flashing across her face for only a moment before she hid it and went back to looking out the window. She already knew I did something illegal so she couldn’t be too surprised that I didn’t want to discuss it in front of the driver.

  We walked into the building and turned immediately towards the bank of elevators on the right. We rode up together, and I tried not to think about how close she was to me. About how few buttons I would need to undo to expose her breasts. About how easy it would be to slide the zipper down her leg, toss her skirt in the corner, and take her right there.

  I bit my lower lip, the pain giving me some mental clarity. I prided myself on self-control. My diet and exercise routine was strict and regimented. I never indulged in too much of any good thing, beautiful women included. But Bailey, for some unknown reason, made me feel animalistic. As if tearing off her clothes and plunging into her was not only a normal, natural thing to do but also the right thing to do.

  I wanted her.

  One look at her was enough for any person to realize she was beautiful, but that still didn’t explain the level of attraction I felt for her. I’d been around plenty of beautiful women before. Being rich meant sexy women were throwing themselves at me all the time. Gold diggers and wannabe trophy wives looking for a sugar daddy rubbed their goods on me and gave me whatever I asked for in bed, hoping I’d choose them.

  I never did, of course. But Bailey was different. She didn’t want to be with me – at least not openly. If she did harbor similar feelings for me, she was hiding them under thick layers of repulsion. Perhaps it was simply a case of wanting what I couldn’t have?

  Bailey crossed her arms next to me, pressing her breasts up so I could see the clear line that separated them. I wanted to bury my face between them, kiss the pale skin beneath her bra until she wrapped her legs around me and begged me to kiss her somewhere else.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Yes, it had to be that. As soon as Bailey and I did finally sleep together – and I knew we absolutely would – my feelings would fade. She would be just like any other beautiful woman in my life. “A fuck and fade”, as I liked to call them. We’d fuck a few times, and then the pleasure would fade and that would be it. I just needed Bailey to tell me she wanted me. I just needed her to spread her legs and put me out of my misery.

  The elevator doors opened and a balding man in a suit walked in. I slid closer to Bailey to give him room, my chest brushing against her shoulder, and she inhaled the moment our bodies touched. I looked down at her, watching the way her chest heaved with the effort of catching her breath. Her cheeks flushed and she looked away from me, staring at the wall.

  I smiled. Oh, she wanted me all right. Now, I just needed her to say it.

  Chapter Seven

  Bailey

  Anton’s office was much bigger than I’d been expecting. In my mind, he had made his fortune by peddling prescription drugs to minors or dealing in pirated movies. But based on the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows in his office that looked out on the skyline and the ten floors of employees he had working below him, I realized I would need to dig deep in my imagination. Anton was not a petty criminal. He was the real thing. The kind of crime boss I thought only existed in movies.

  “Do you like it?” Anton asked, moving to stand behind me, his hand a feather on my waist. My heart beat against my rib cage as though trying to break through and throw itself out the window.

  I’d been standing in his office by myself for several minutes while he “took care of a few things”.

  Why was he always so cryptic? Why couldn’t he just say, “I need to go talk to Tony in accounting about the weekly numbers?” Or “Sorry, Shelia is a snitch, and I need to send her to swim with the fishes. Give me a few minutes?” Regardless, I’d waited for him, enjoying the view and trying to prepare myself for whatever the next few hours would hold. Though, I was beginning to understand it was impossible to prepare yourself for Anton. He was a tornado, stretching across the horizon, consuming everything in his path. You either joined him and began to spin or you were destroyed. I intended to spin.

  “It’s not bad,” I said, doing a terrible job of sounding aloof. Of course it was an incredible view. He knew it. I knew it. Everyone in the building knew it. You don’t have an office on the top floor of a building in Manhattan without realizing you have a great view. Still, I couldn’t allow myself to fall all over him the way women se
emed to. The way the sales associate at the clothes store had that morning.

  I turned away from the window, sliding past him, doing my best not to touch him, and began to survey the rest of his office. He had a large wooden desk in the center of the room, and a tall black leather chair sitting behind it. The desk looked like it belonged in a catalog. Everything was perfectly organized and squared, not a single piece of paper out of place.

  “Do you even use this office or is it just for appearances?” I asked, running my finger along the large desk calendar he had sitting in the top right corner. It was blank.

  “I work from home when I can,” he said, moving to stand next to me. I took a step away from him, and he countered with another step closer. Why wouldn’t he let me have my space?