by K. Webster
I smirk as I leave the bathroom, my towel still in place around my body. When I enter the room, I nearly choke to see Yegor Vetrov sitting on my bed with my panties in his fist. His rather large belly strains against the buttons of his dress shirt. I’m disgusted by him. I have been since I was twelve years old and he leered at me in my swimsuit at Ven’s sixteenth birthday party. If it wouldn’t have angered Father, I’d have flipped off the pervert. Luckily, Yuri Vasiliev distracted him with business. Per usual.
“What are you doing in here?” I demand, my voice low and deadly as I clutch the towel tight.
He glowers at me. “This is my house, girl. I can go wherever I please.” When he rises to his feet, his face turning red from the effort, I have to clench my teeth to keep from fleeing from him, or throat punching him and letting him throttle me to death. I smirk. It would be worth it to see the look on his face.
He waddles over to me and stares me dead in the eyes. Yegor may be a fat bastard, but he’s still bigger than me. He has the same towering height as Ven, and the same broad shoulders. His hands alone are as big as my face. I’ve seen him backhand a maid or two in my day to know if he hits you, you’ll sport bruises for weeks. I’m weaponless, so I have to play the game.
“How is Ven?” I ask, changing the subject and trying not to gag on the smell of whiskey on his breath.
“My son is well. I think he wishes for a match between you and him,” he admits, his tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip.
My heart rushes at his words—a feeling I didn’t think I’d ever sense again.
Images of Ven and I walking down an aisle with him to give me his last name are nothing but a tease. If it were easy, Ven and I would have been matched by our fathers before Anton ever had a chance to shake up my world. Bitterly, I allow more hate to bleed into my heart at the old men in the powerful First Families. They could have pushed us together like we belonged and avoided an underage girl seeing unthinkable horrors.
I swallow down the disgust. Now that Anton’s gone, my mind isn’t so murky and convoluted. I see it for what it was. He abused his power over me and ultimately conditioned me to accept the abuse—even crave it.
“I’m very fond of Ven,” I admit. “Unlike Vlad Vasiliev, I actually like your son.”
Yegor’s eyes narrow at me. “I’m going to let my son decide his fate for the time being. He’s always remained cool, but when it regards you, fire blazes in his eyes. It reminds me of how he annihilated in The V Games when he was younger. That is the son I want to pass on my empire to. Not the one who fucks whores every time he visits Moscow. Not the one who stands in the background silently. Not the one who despises his family name and everything we stand for.” He grips the towel and tugs it from my body. He’s stronger than me and it falls away, leaving me naked to this bastard. But I don’t falter. To show fear is to feed him, and the fucker is already fat enough. “I can use you, little girl.” His finger and thumb grip my nipple, and he twists just hard enough that a gasp of pain slips past my lips. “I can use you to mold him into the beast that lives within him. Play your cards right, and you’ll land yourself a Vetrov. He can fill your cunt with his seed and bring more Vetrov children into the fray. You should consider yourself so lucky after the dishonor you brought your father.”
I start to open my mouth to argue with him, but he twists harder, making me cry out.
“If you do the opposite, though, and turn my eldest son into a fucking pussy like his younger brother, I will take you for myself, little girl. I will make you my walking, talking, breathing baby-making machine. I’ll force you to wear my ring and last name while I put baby after baby into your used cunt. Your father should only be so lucky that you have…” he grins evilly at me, “options.”
“Fuck you,” I snarl, my spittle spraying his face. Who the hell does he think he is? I’m not anyone’s to command. Not anymore.
His fat tongue darts out, and he licks some of the wetness I’d spit on his skin. “In due time, little girl, we may get our wish.”
He releases my nipple and waddles out of the room, leaving me on the verge of tears. I will not bow or break for a man like Yegor.
We’re all playing a game here.
I’ll just play mine better.
I have to.
“You look handsome,” Vika purrs as she waltzes into the dining room.
We’re the first two here, and I already hate my decision to show up early. I’d hoped Diana would make it and that we could talk. Instead, I gave myself a free moment with my brother’s soon-to-be wife. She’s beautiful, no doubt. Tonight, she wears a short, silvery dress that hugs all her curves. Had I not known her my entire life, I’d probably fuck her. With my cock between her lips. Keep her big mouth quiet. But I do know her. I know she drips with hate and venom and distaste for the entire human race. And it makes her ugly despite all that pretty in her features.
She is vile.
But thank fucking God, next weekend, she’ll belong to my brother in every sense of the word. Once the wedding is over, maybe she’ll calm the fuck down.
Ignoring her as she approaches, I toss back my tumbler of vodka and relish in the burn as it surges down my throat. She smiles as she plucks the empty glass from my grip. With her amber orbs on mine, she licks the glass where my lips once were.
“Mmmm,” she moans. “So delicious.”
Desperate whores are such a turn off.
I shake my head at her. “You’re playing a dangerous game, woman,” I warn, my eyes lifting to see Ruslan enter the dining room.
Most often, he’s a goofy fucker. Tall and wiry. Whereas Niko and I resembled our mother more, God rest their souls, Rus looks just like Father, minus the gut. He hasn’t perfected Father’s signature scowl, but he’s getting there. Now that he’s betrothed to a Vasiliev, a certain cockiness that reminds me of dear old dad emanates from him. It won’t be long before Father has him molded into a mean ass like him. If I didn’t loathe Vika so badly, I’d feel sorry for her. She doesn’t realize just how cruel the Vetrov family can be. Our family crest isn’t a noble falcon like the Volkov’s, or a fierce eagle like the Vasiliev’s. Our crest is a bearded vulture. Vicious claws. Hateful scowl. Flesh dangling from its beak. Little Vika won’t last long as a woman in this house with a mouth like hers. Father simply won’t have it. Ironic really, since she resembles such a creature.
“Hi, my beautiful fiancée,” Rus greets as he hugs her from behind.
She’s stiff in his grip, and violent hate flares in her eyes. “Hello.”
I smirk at her. “She was just telling me how she’s looking forward to the wedding,” I lie, loving the glare she shoots at me.
Rus grins. “I’m looking forward to the wedding night.”
At this, I laugh. “Saving yourself for marriage, huh?”
Vika pries herself away from him and crosses her arms over her chest, bringing attention to her breasts. Rus licks his lips. I look away.
“Yes,” Vika snips. “I’m saving myself for marriage.”
I don’t call her out on the fact that I know she was fucking Niko when they were dating. Vika, unlike my youngest brother, is no virgin. Hell, I even walked in on her and Niko once. He was fucking her from behind, her hair twisted in his fist, and she never looked prettier. I suppose she really did love my brother. Having to marry Ruslan must be awful for her. Irritation at myself for feeling sorry for her drains through me, and I attempt to push it away.
“I see,” I mutter. “How lovely.”
“But it still doesn’t keep me from trying,” Ruslan says with a wicked grin as he pries her arms apart from behind and nuzzles against her hair. “Right, Vik?” His palm gropes her tit, and I laugh at her horrified reaction. My laughter dies in my throat when all air is sucked from the room—or maybe just my lungs.
There, standing in the doorway, is Diana.
Beauty and grace and poised elegance.
A picture of perfection.
Her dark, blood-red lip
stick accentuates her big lips. Lips I’ve tasted once before. Lips I’ve lusted over more times than I can count. Her blue eyes are wide and sharp. She’s no longer draining tears. This is the Diana I know so well. The worthy opponent in this big game we call life.
The dress I had specially made for her from my tailor in Moscow fits her like a glove. The V that dips and points at the sparkly falcon shows off the curves of her bare breasts. The material hides her nipples, but gives you just enough to make your mouth water. I’m suddenly rethinking the dress. If it were just she and I, then fuck yes, the dress is perfect. But, no, I’ll have to share this dress with my younger brother and father. My father will salivate over her tits. She’ll be a temptation he’ll want.
Over my dead fucking body.
A growl erupts from me as I push past Vika and Ruslan as though they don’t exist. Diana’s hair is in silky smooth chocolate waves, and her neck is bare. I want to drape the finest jewels around her throat. But what would look even better would be my right hand. The hand with the letters P-O-W-E-R inked on each finger. How beautiful would it be to see my scarred, tattooed flesh up against her creamy unmarred skin? Damn, all the blood rushes straight to my dick.
“Diana,” I greet as I near her, my voice low and guttural. My cock is aching in my slacks. The need to have her is intense. It’s always been there, lying beneath surface. She was never really something attainable for me. A fantasy. A motherfucking dream. But now, with Anton gone and Vlad having dishonored her, and her in my home, the hope is real. A real, tangible breathing beast.
I will have her.
I just have to play this right.
If I go in, obviously so, with my sights set on her, Father will do something to sabotage that. It’s in his nature. Since I know the games better than he does, I outwit him at every turn. This will be no different.
“You look beautiful,” I murmur. Instead of grabbing her throat, I take her delicate hand, draw it to my mouth, and kiss her middle knuckle. I don’t ask her the question on my tongue, not with nosy Vika nearby, but instead, implore with my eyes.
Are you okay?
Diana lifts her chin in a brave way and unsuccessfully tries to pull her hand from my grip. Her crystal blue eyes yield nothing in the way of her emotions, but her words do, albeit coded. “I’m here.”
My gaze leaves her eyes and trails to her luscious lips. Then, I let my eyes wander down her dainty neck to her exposed collarbone. Lazily, I drink up how divine her tits look in the dress. Yes, you are.
“Join me for a nightcap after dinner?” she asks. A flash of the vulnerable girl from my past flickers in her eyes.
“Of course, moya roza.” Of course, my rose.
Her lips quirk up on one side in a small smile. “Thank you.”
I release her hand and offer her my elbow. She takes it and allows me to guide her to the twelve-person dining room table set with candles and fancy décor. Father spares no expense and likes eating dinner as though he’s the fucking king of Russia. He’ll sit at the head of the table per usual with me at his right and Ruslan at his left. I guide Diana to sit beside me. Once she’s seated, I remain standing as I wait for Father. Ruslan seats Vika and mimics my position, but behind his own chair. I may hate my father, but I don’t dare disrespect him. Blatant disrespect would give him a leg to stand on—a reason to abuse and dangle power in front of me like a goddamn carrot. I like giving him nothing.
Father walks into the room, his face red and lipstick smeared along his collar. It’s not the shade of either of the women sitting at this table, but I do recall a young maid wearing that color. I’m not sure the maids Father hires ever even clean anything besides his fucking knob.
“Father,” I greet with a nod.
“Father,” Ruslan mimics.
Both women sitting at the table nod their heads as a show of respect, which is surprising coming from these two. Father takes his seat, and we follow suit. Waitstaff slip into the room and begin serving us.
“How are the mules you’ve obtained from Moscow?” Father asks as he starts shoveling in food. “They ready for sale yet?”
His beard, shorter and grayer than mine, catches the crumbs from the parmesan chicken. I refrain from curling my lip up in disgust.
“All seventeen of them,” I say with a nod. Diana is quiet beside me. Listening. Always listening. It was a trait I noticed about her when we were younger. By watching her listen, I too listened. She taught me a valuable life skill, and I’ve used it to my advantage ever since.
“I thought it was an even twenty,” Father grunts.
“Two froze to death. One hung herself.” My words are cold and without inflection.
Diana stiffens beside me. After living with the Vasilievs, she should be no newbie when it comes to trafficked women. Vlad and Yuri are two of our biggest buyers. The Vetrovs do business under the ruse of real estate—which I actually quite enjoy and went to university for—while we traffic drugs and women behind closed doors. The real estate, while profitable, doesn’t hold a candle financially to our more distasteful proclivities.
“Fucking Russian winters,” Father complains.
I shrug as I stab at some green beans.
“I want you to take Ruslan next time you go to the barn. Show him the ropes. He’s old enough now,” Father grunts.
Rus’s eyes widen in shock. Father purposely leaves him out of all business. Now that he’s eighteen and set to marry a Vasiliev next weekend, he’s earned his right into Father’s dark world.
“I don’t want to find anymore dead,” Father growls. “Bring them to the slaughterhouse here if you must. The incinerator will keep them warm alongside the pigs.”
Vika makes a sound of disgust, and Father glares at her.
“Did you say something?” he growls at her.
“No, she didn’t,” Ruslan defends.
“Good. Women should be seen.” His eyes move to Diana. “Not heard.”
Vika slams her glass down, spilling wine onto the table.
“Keep your bitch in line,” he snaps at Rus.
Rus stiffens in his seat and glowers at Vika. “Be good.”
I bite back a snort. Rage ripples from Diana, but she remains silent. With precise cuts, she slices her chicken and eats without a sound. I’d worried she’d try to starve herself or something. I should have known better. Diana will need her strength. I can practically feel her calculating beside me. I want to push her down against my bed and suck on her fat bottom lip with my cock nestled against her cunt until she tells me everything.
I will eventually know everything that goes on inside her mind.
“Yuri will want one,” Father grunts around a mouthful of food.
“Just one?”
“The runt. You know what a sick fuck he is,” Father spits out, shooting a venomous glare at Vika.
She’s wise enough to bite her tongue. Everyone knows Yuri Vasiliev is a pervert. A mean ass pervert who gives even my father a run for his money. Defending him would just show her weakness.
“The littlest one goes to Yuri,” I say as I bite a piece of chicken. “Got it. Who else?”
Father sucks down his wine, then snaps at one of the female servants to refill his glass. “I want you and Ruslan to pick through them, see if any would make good house servants. The help around here is kind of lacking lately.” He glowers at the woman as she shakily pours his wine.
“How will we choose, Father?” Rus asks, his brows scrunched together.
“If she has nice tits and her cunt is tight, she’ll make a fine maid,” Father says with a dark chuckle.
Vika’s fork falls to her plate with a clatter. Her cheeks blaze red with fury. “Is my fiancé supposed to test out the merchandise?” she demands, seething. “Bring diseases into our bedroom?”
Father ignores her and speaks to Ruslan. “I prefer the ones who squeal.”
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Vika snarls, as if she even cares about Ruslan. She doesn’t. She’s looking for a
fight. She’ll get one too. And I’m already bored of this shit. “I will not have my—”
“RUSLAN!” Father roars. “Make her behave before I do it for you!”
Ruslan, with a frantic look in his eyes, and desperate to please my father, hits her hard on the arm with his elbow. She cries out in shock, rubbing the skin furiously. Diana curls her hands into fists in her lap. Reaching over, I cover one fist and squeeze.
This is a game for pawns.
We are not pawns.
Therefore, this is not our game to play.
Vika’s normally fierce eyes glimmer with unshed tears. Only for a moment, though. She manages to blink them away as she guzzles down her wine.
“As I was saying,” Father rumbles, “the leftovers, we can sell to the Second Families for a hefty price. They’re always hungry for our scraps. It’ll ensure alliances with the Egorov family, for sure. They’ve been sniffing and licking my ass for the better part of a decade. Time to give them a piece of the pie. I’ve watched how they’ve grown over the years. They’re still stuck in Second Family status, but they give Iosif Voskoboynikov a run for his money. Iosif may make a killing off his oil and gas royalties, but we could give two shits about his legitimate business. We First Families care about what you bring to the underground world. Oil and gas doesn’t solidify your place at The Games. Women, however, do.”
Diana remains silent, her wine untouched. She’s wound tight, but presents a relaxed façade. I want to pull her into my lap and stroke her hair. I want to promise her we’re going to shake things up and move ourselves to the top.
I give her another squeeze that has her hand relaxing and thread my fingers of my right hand with hers. My black, inked fingers proclaiming “POWER” are a promise. Together, we can take it all. I reach for my glass with my left hand. Red roses with thorny vines cover its entirety, though you have to really be looking to see what the knuckles say. Nobody has ever gotten close enough or cared to look.