by Bella Rose
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 for 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.
“What is wrong with you?” Daisy demanded. “One of my students said you’re acting like you have PTSD.”
I shrugged. I didn’t really want to talk about it. I wasn’t even sure where I would start if I did. I couldn’t even be totally certain what my problem was. Was I jumpy because I was frightened that Orlov would send men to my work and I would wind up trapped with a bunch of kids to try and protect while assassins attempted to murder me?
That seemed way too dramatic. I needed to go with something a little less Hollywood. “My father is having some—issues.”
“Oh my God.” Daisy came the rest of the way into my classroom and shut the door behind her. “Don’t tell me. Your idiot father has somehow put your life in danger with his criminal activities.”
“Sort of, yes.”
“Sort of?” She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. “There is no ‘sort of’ when it comes to mafia violence. Is your father doing anything to protect you?”
“I didn’t want him locking me up in my old bedroom for the rest of my life,” I mumbled. I picked up a red pen and scribbled a comment on one of the papers I was grading. “You know that’s what he would do. He tried it.”
“And you left and told him you’d just handle it on your own. Am I right?” She snatched my red pen and pointed it at me. “That’s idiotic! He should provide you with some kind of security. He has thugs, right?”
“I guess, but I don’t want my life affected like that!” I protested. Then I thought of Vasily. “Besides, that guy I met has been sort of taking care of things for me. Sort of.”
“Sort of?” Daisy tossed my pen back to my paper and rested her hip against the corner of the desktop. “How does one sort of handle security issues?”
“I’m just saying that he’s been hanging around at night, so I’m pretty sure that’s a deterrent to anyone trying to bother me.”
I kept waiting for Daisy to comment, but nothing came out of her mouth. I hesitantly glanced up. She was staring down at me as though I’d grown a second head. Of course, that’s kind of how I felt so I suppose her reaction should not have been a huge surprise.
Her tone and expression were dead serious. Gone was the fetching smile and warm welcoming expression. “What is wrong with you? I’m not kidding here, Anya. I’m concerned. You don’t do this kind of thing. You don’t date guys you don’t know. You never bring them home with you. And this whole thing about a total stranger protecting you from a mafia threat? Really? That’s not even fair to him! Much less the rampant stupidity of trusting your personal safety to some biker guy you met on the street outside your house.”
“It’s not like that exactly,” I muttered. “His name is Vasily. He’s—” Then it occurred to me that I still couldn’t answer that question.
Fear trickled down my spine. My mouth snapped shut, and I couldn’t bring myself to say more. Every word I came up with would just bring on more and more condemnation of my behavior. And why wouldn’t it? We talked to kids all the time about engaging in risky behavior. Was there anything about what I was doing that was not risky?
I put my face in my hands, feeling horror wash over me. Then there was the shame. What was I doing?
“Anya,” Daisy whispered. She lightly touched my shoulder. “You need to stay away from this guy. Okay? Why don’t you come over to my house tonight? You can spend the night, and we’ll have a regular girlfest. We’ll make junk food and watch chick flicks on TV. It’ll be fun.”
“Okay?” I swallowed back the lump in my throat. This whole thing felt so surreal.
A bead of sweat rolled down my spine. What was wrong with me? Daisy’s offer was exactly what a normal friend should say. I should accept with no reservations. So why was my brain immediately balking at the notion? Why was I worrying about what Vasily would think if I wasn’t at home tonight? Would he be angry that I stayed away from my home all night long? Would he think I was with another man? Would that make him angry? And what would happen if he did get angry?
“What?” Daisy pressed. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I’ll come over after work. You’re right. It’s exactly what I need. Thank you so much for the offer.”
“It’s what friends do,” she told me quickly. Then she wrapped her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
I tried to believe her. But the vise that seemed to be squeezing my insides said differently. I felt as though I could not breathe. Would Vasily be gone to me forever if I chose to go to Daisy’s? What would happen? And why was I so scared of the unknown consequences of making that man mad?
Chapter Eleven
Vasily
I parked my bike in Anya’s driveway and waited. The sense of anticipation I felt was completely disproportionate to this job. Although if I were going to be honest with mysel
f, I would have to admit that this wasn’t just a job anymore. Anya wasn’t just a job. She was not just a protection detail, and I was far too invested in her safety and happiness than was probably wise.
The night breeze ruffled my hair. I pulled up my collar and shifted impatiently on my seat. Impatient. I was never impatient, but I could recognize the sensation just like anyone else. I wanted Anya to hurry up. I wanted to see her smile and hear her voice right before I ordered her to strip off her clothes so that I could scratch this itch that had been plaguing me all day long.
What was it about her that got so far under my skin that I could not even make rational decisions? All I had to do was close my eyes and imagine all that soft skin under my fingertips and my cock was hard and ready. The way she submitted so sweetly to me was the ultimate aphrodisiac.
I had to shift on my seat once again, this time because my erection was pressing painfully against the fly of my jeans. My boots scuffed against the concrete, and I wondered why she was so late. The scent of smoke was on the breeze. No doubt someone was enjoying a cozy fire in their nearby home. I thought of building a fire inside Anya’s little grate and enjoying the sight of her beautiful body by firelight.
I heard other cars coming home. Their garage doors made whirring sounds as they parked and retreated inside their homes to warm dinners and conversations with loved ones. I could see why Anya had chosen this neighborhood. It was quaint and the houses were close together, but there was a certain sense of a time long past here between these houses. As if a person could pretend that they were as blessedly normal as a fifties sitcom. In other words, it was as far from a mafiya stronghold or mansion as Anya could possibly get.
I could not help but wonder what she might think of my taking over her father’s position. Would she like moving back into the big house and running it as her own? Would she like being the lady of a rich and powerful man? What woman would not? Except I had not told her that I was in any way connected to her family. That could be problematic in its own way. Women tended to be overly dramatic when it came to the idea that someone had lied to them. Especially when that someone was male.