by Henry, Jane
I sit in silence. He’s giving this to me freely, his history. Something that I know without him telling me that he doesn’t reveal easily or often. He likes to keep things close to the chest. Maybe that’s the only way for him to do his job.
“Do you have any other siblings?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Not anymore. Four years after I was born, they had my baby sister.” Looking away from me, he casts his eyes on an image of the virgin Mary, her hand placed on her swollen abdomen, eyes cast heavenward. I don’t say anything, allowing him to speak as little or as much as he’d like.
“My father was vicious and cruel. He didn’t want children. He didn’t want me. Why my mother let him anywhere near her will always be a mystery to me.”
“Maybe she was starving for affection,” I say softly. “Women will sometimes allow men to treat them badly in exchange for what they need.”
I didn’t mean to say that. I have to turn away from him. I’ve just stated out loud my biggest fear in all this, that I’m somehow relinquishing a part of who I am in exchange for a pittance of attention.
“And men will do whatever it takes to get what they want,” he says bitterly.
“I don’t know,” I say. I shrug. “I think it’s not limited to men or women but just… maybe just a part of the human condition. To act selfishly. To maybe compromise standards.”
He slowly nods. “When my mother was in labor with my sister, a three-day ordeal, my father refused to allow her to see a doctor.”
“Why?” I ask. It’s hard to fathom such cruelty.
“Doctors were expensive, and he didn’t want the baby.”
“How wicked,” I whisper.
He doesn’t respond. “My sister’s lack of oxygen during delivery caused brain damage. She was handicapped before she could even draw her first breath.”
My mind goes to Calina. My sweet, sweet sister, robbed of her faculties and mental capacities at such a young age. I close my eyes and wonder if she’s safe.
I need to find out. I will.
I open my eyes again and look at him, quickly bringing my thoughts back to his family so I don’t betray what I have planned.
“You speak of your sister as if she’s gone,” I suggest quietly. “Is she?”
He nods. “She died just before her third birthday,” he says. “Which was a full year longer than anyone ever expected.” My heart clenches, and a deep sadness pervades me. It isn’t fair that a child should have to witness such heartache. But he doesn’t allow us to dwell.
Getting to his feet, he reaches for my hand. “We’ve been gone too long, and I have work to do. Come.”
But as I walk with him, my mind goes back to the little boy who watched his younger sister die. Who witnessed cruelty, and likely learned it, from the hands of his father. I’m glad when we leave the room of icons, their vacant eyes and wooden poses no longer beautiful but haunting.
Chapter 12
The motherfucking politician with his watery, vapid eyes and bulbous nose drones on and on about foreign policy, illegal immigrants, and matters that bore me to near tears. His wife feigns interest in what he says but grimaces when he touches her. He doesn’t seem to care, though, greedily pulling her to his side and running his hand down her back even as his gaze roams to Calina.
I play the part, nodding when I listen and laughing in all the right places, but the silent conversations we have are of primary importance to me. When he glides his hand to his wife’s bare shoulder, I place my hand on the small of Calina’s back. When he looks at Calina with hunger in his eyes, I put my arm around her and draw her closer.
“Are you sure, Federov?” he asks in a low tone, after four glasses of sherry and as many flutes of champagne. Spittle flies out of his mouth when he speaks and I barely stifle the need to shield Calina from him. To draw her behind me so even his breath can’t touch her.
God, he repulses me. Dimitri was so much better at this part of our job than I am. I can lead the others with ease, and even enjoy the position of power and authority granted me. I love seeing our brotherhood thrive, empowered by the investments we’ve made and respect we’ve earned from our peers. Since I’ve taken over as leader, we’ve tripled our profit in black market trade and investments, gained the trust of associates in India, and solidified our connections to our Bratva brothers who reside in America. Maksym’s attention to detail and Filip’s finesse with money help.
When it comes to money and sheer brawn, I thrive. Not when it comes to political ties with men who sicken me, though. That’s when I falter. I liked it better when I was the heavy in the outfit, and I could pummel sick men like Amaranov.
I want to punch his swollen nose and break his heavy jaw. I want to lay Calina down and fuck her raw while he watches.
“Quite sure,” I tell him in a low voice. “I may be a man with many vices, but I’m possessive with my lover. She’s taking vows to me and will wear my ring.” I hold his gaze with mine. “My loyalty to her is unswerving.”
Amaranov’s wife’s eyes grow jealous, the smile on her face now plastic and forced. Her eyes travel to my hand on Calina’s back, and she bites her lip.
Amaranov leans in. “It doesn’t have to be a full trade,” he says. “Perhaps a little… group affair.”
I’d rather cut off my own dick and bleed out than share a bed with either of them.
It’s time for me to change this subject and play harder with him. He didn’t allow me to come here just because he wants to fuck Calina. I have more to offer him, and I need to remind him of that. I change the subject to discreetly discuss Filip and his astute financial abilities, and I know I’ve hit my mark when Amaranov releases his wife, his eyes wide and greedy. It amuses me how the Bratva men are demonized as criminals when the biggest criminal of all sits on the proverbial throne.
Amaranov promises we will speak again in the privacy of his office, and all but guarantees immunity for me and my brothers if we help him achieve his goals. We speak quietly and with caution, and when his peers show up, I quietly meld into the crowd with Calina.
“Did you manage to avoid my sharing a bed with him?” she asks in English, speaking out of the side of her mouth while we stand on a balcony with a clear view of the museum garden.
“Manage to avoid it?” I ask, incredulous. “I don’t know what ever gave you the impression I was even entertaining such a thought.”
“His wife is beautiful.” Her voice is soft, her eyes cast away from me, on the shadowed green vines below us.
“His wife is an ugly whore,” I correct. “Any woman who’d willingly bed that disgusting excuse for a man deserves his shriveled dick.”
“Oh, ew.” She wrinkles up her nose and looks at me, but her lips twitch with amusement. “How do you know she doesn’t love him for his…” her voice trails off as she chooses her words. “Innate intelligence and unswerving allegiance to altruistic causes?”
I merely level an incredulous look at her. Is she teasing me? Her eyes twinkle and her shoulders shake, as if she’s trying to hold in laughter. Fucking adorable. I want to pick her up and hold her to me, to allow whatever sweet innocence she possesses to wash over me like holy water. Eradicating the evil I’ve committed and the sins I’ve still to commit. With a warning look, I advance on her, and she steps backward until she hits the balcony rail. With nowhere for her to go, I easily frame her body with mine and tickle her side.
“Innate intelligence?” I repeat, as she collapses with hopeless laughter against me. “Altruistic causes? I’ll give you altruistic causes,” I tell her, pulling out the switch in my pocket and flicking it on. “It’s for the good of our country that you come on this balcony. The flowers will bloom at the sound of your pleasure.”
“What are you—oooooh.” Her hands wrap around my neck and her pelvis rocks against mine. I don’t relent, sending wave after wave of electricity to her sweet, primed pussy. In seconds, I know I’ve made her climax when her breathing hitches and her knees sag and she
whimpers in unabashed bliss. I hold her to me while she rides out her orgasm and whisper in her ear.
“Eta pizda moya. This sweet, naughty cunt is mine.” I slide the device back in my pocket. My purpose here is fulfilled. I will bring her home and give her another chance to pay off her debt.
We ride in silence back to our compound, with her sitting on my lap and her head against my chest while I have a conference call with my men to debrief. I’ve removed my jacket and tie, and loosened my collar. Without realizing I’m doing it, I take Calina’s hand and place it at the bare skin by my neck. I breathe in deeply, clasp her wrist, and allow her soft touch to calm me. Gently, she plays with the very top of the t-shirt I wear underneath the dress shirt. I call Maksym and tell him what happened tonight.
“Fucking Amaranov,” Maksym grates. “I wouldn’t have said anything to you if you’d taken him up on his offer, but Jesus Christ he’s disgusting.” It seems seeing Amaranov through surveillance has affected Maksym’s earlier suggestion I fuck his wife.
“There are limits to how far I’ll go.” I run my hand down the length of Calina’s back to quell my desire to punch the shit out of someone. Anyone.
“And this is why you’ve got my respect, brother,” Maksym says. What we don’t say out loud is that Dimitri had no such qualms. While our former brother Kazimir was still captain of our brotherhood, Dimitri killed his own wife for betraying him. He couldn’t handle the weight of his decision, and ended his own life shortly after, but he spoke casually of the days when he traded his wife with others as easily as stock or trading cards.
“Follow up with Filip,” I tell him. “Amaranov can’t have my woman, but we can make an arrangement to allow the son of a bitch’s transactions to be hidden.” His corruption runs deep and strong, and we can use his greed to our advantage. “Tomorrow, we’ll discuss our next course of action. But after this phone call, I do not want to be interrupted for the remainder of the evening unless it’s an emergency.”
I end the call and focus on Calina, eager for a kiss to eradicate Amaranov from my brain, when we hit a bump in the road that nearly sends her flying off my lap. I catch her just in time and slide her on the seat beside me.
“What happened?” I ask my driver in Russian.
“I don’t know, sir,” he responds, but then we’re careening out of control. Calina screams, and I shoot my arm out to prevent her from falling. We crash to a stop and she bumps her head.
“You alright?” I ask her.
She nods silently.
Cursing, I try to see what’s happening but I can’t because it’s so black outside the window and we’re far in the inner city now. Were we shot? Was it an ambush? Or just an accident?
“Rynelf,” I shout to the front.
“We hit a pothole, sir, blew a tire. I’m sorry. I couldn’t see a thing and lost control.”
In this area of the city, the roads are poorly maintained. It’s not uncommon for things like this to happen. Still, this timing is unfortunate.
“Call the men. Have someone pick us up,” I tell him, my first thought of Calina. I can handle myself on the inner city streets, but Calina is another story. “I’ll get out and assess this damage.” I turn to Calina. “Stay here until I tell you otherwise.”
But nothing is simple in the brotherhood. I don’t have the luxury of believing in accidents. I have to assume everything has a purpose.
When I open the door I find us in a seedy part of the city I haven’t visited since I was a boy. It takes effort to forget the last time I was here, the day Dimitri recruited me to the brotherhood. I shove all memories out of my mind so I can focus on what’s happening now.
I stand, my palm on the gun tucked into my waist, when three men approach us. Are they our rivals? Were they sent by Amaranov? Or someone else altogether?
In seconds, I observe their tattered clothing that hangs on their emaciated frames. Their eyes are haunted and vacant with dark under circles. This is no rival Bratva, but men who see an affluent car in their neighborhood and come to rough up the occupants for money.
I’m grateful the streetlights are out. They might recognize me if they saw my face, and it’s to my advantage they don’t know who I am. Yet.
“Can I help you, gentleman?” I ask pleasantly in Russian, my hand still on my gun. I’m vividly aware of Calina crouched in the car behind me. The only thing that shields these predators from her is me. And hell, I’m no savior, but if they even fucking look at her…
“In the wrong part of the city here,” the tallest one in the group says. “I think he’ll have to pay his dues, boys. What do you think?”
This isn’t going to end peacefully.
“We blew a tire,” I say. “We didn’t mean to stop here. Someone’s on their way to repair it, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Will you?” the man in front says, taking a step toward me. He cranes his neck and peers into the car. “We might let you get away with trespassing if you pay us off. I haven’t touched a classy woman in months.” He turns to the men. “What do you say boys?”
They laugh. “Like you ever touched class,” one says.
“You don’t fucking touch her,” I say, removing my handgun and cocking it. “You’re going to turn around and pretend you never saw us. We’ll wait for the repair crew to come, and then you’ll never see us again.”
One of the men huffs out a laugh. “He thinks he’s controlling this.”
Oh, but I fucking am.
When he strikes out, I’m ready. I duck the blow, bending, then catch him with my elbow hard, slamming it into his back and sending him howling to the ground. Without a word, I press my foot onto his head and point my gun at his temple.
“Leave,” I tell them, “Or he dies.”
The short, stupid son of a bitch decides it’s worth a fight and lunges at me. I lose my balance, falling to the pavement and hear Calina scream. “Stay there,” I yell at her, which brings their attention back to her. One hauls her out and onto the pavement, which was a big fucking mistake because it sends me right over the edge to near insanity. He touched her. The motherfucker touched her. I launch myself at him, grab his wrist and twist his arm back with an audible snap. He howls in pain, and Calina yells “Demyan!”
One lunges for me and tries to grab me but instead he ends up tearing my shirt. He suddenly freezes and pales, and I don’t understand his reaction at first, until I notice he’s bared my shoulder. The mark of the brotherhood.
“Bratva,” he whispers, looking at me with wide, fearful eyes as if he holds the devil incarnate.
“Fucking Bratva,” I tell him in confirmation, pointing my pistol at his temple. My hand shakes with the need to pull the trigger, but something stops me. Calina is right here, watching my every move. In any other circumstance, I would end his life without a second thought, but now I hesitate. Instead, I bring my left hand back and slap him, hard, across the face. Blood spurts from his nose and he whimpers in pain. “You get the fuck out of here before my reinforcements arrive,” I tell him. “They’ll end you. The only reason I’m not is because my woman stands watching.” The one I hit limps away as fast as he can, his swagger swallowed by fear. I lift the second from the ground, and shove him ahead of me just as the sound of tires on gravel grates behind us. Maksym’s here. The men, though injured, flee.
As soon as Maksym comes into view, he comes right for me. “Ty v poryadke, Dem?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him. I reach for Calina, running my hands along her body as if to feel for any injuries.
“I’m fine,” she says, reaching for my hand.
I ignore her and tug her to me as I speak to Maksym. “I let them go. They weren’t sent here to attack and almost pissed their pants when they realized they attacked Bratva.” But the sound of feet pounding on gravel, hoarse groans and thumps tell me they did not escape the punishment from my brothers. Maksym didn’t come alone. That’s the last time those men will ever fuck with us.
We get into the car
my men brought. I need to take her home.
CHAPTER THRITEEN
The entire ride home, he sits me on his lap and speaks into his phone, his voice imbued with a fury and anger I can feel just by touching him. He hates that we were threatened, but I wonder if he really worries about me at all. I mean nothing to him, so why does it anger him so that Amaranov wanted me? That the men on the street made the same insinuation? He’s territorial, I guess. And I’m his property.
Twice now, I’ve seen him under attack. It scares me a little how easily he slips into the mode of a ruthless killer, like a trained hitman focused on a target. He shows no mercy. No remorse.
The device in his pocket lies forgotten as he issues commands, and it seems my training is the furthest thing from his mind. I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s the one silver lining right now. His manipulation of my body is exhausting. Somehow thrilling… but exhausting.
I place my hand on his chest at the hollow of his neck, With my bare palm pressed to his skin, I can feel his pulse, rapid and powerful beneath my fingers. He’s fueled with indomitable passion and purpose, fiery and angry, and something deep down inside me once more yearns to tame the wild beast. To gentle the temper that rages in him. After some time, he reaches for my hand at his neck and brings my fingers to his lips, kissing them. The whiskery, soft feel of his mouth makes me pull up a little closer to him.
“We’re okay,” I tell him. “You scared the shit out of those idiots.”
His eyes crinkle a little and he kisses my fingers again but then a dark shadow passes over him. “I would have killed them if they had hurt you,” he says. “And it wouldn’t have been swift or merciful.”
A beat passes in silence. We’ve been riding a while, and I know we’ve got to be almost back. I don’t want our ride to end. Somehow, in the back of this car, after a night of where he’s fought to keep me his, nightfall surrounding us and a full moon in the vast sky above, this almost feels like a secret rendezvous between lovers. A tryst. We aren’t meant to feel anything but hatred and revenge. Our minds, astute and wary, know no such affection grows but only lust. He’s my captor and I’m his prisoner. He the executioner and I the victim.