“It’s my house.” My mother hugs herself. “Mine and Brianna’s.”
“Reyes, you’re so fucking stubborn,” my father says. “We’re going to our real home. Now.”
“I am at home. Brianna and I are happy here.”
My parents are talking in English now and I struggle to understand them.
“Brianna and you should be with me,” my father says.
“No, Samael. Never.”
“Don’t call me Samael, woman. Not you, understood? Ever.” My father grabs her wrist and pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her trembling form.
She writhes in his arms like a wild animal, crying and saying a lot of Spanish words I don’t understand. My father immobilises her, tips her face up to his and kisses her. Kisses her and kisses her until she stops fighting and crying. They kiss like the characters in the romantic movie, making me so embarrassed by them that I want to escape.
Kolya emerges out of nowhere and leans towards me. He wraps me up in a blanket, pulls me into his embrace and carries me to a really big car. Its lights cast streaks of white brightness onto the pine trees around the house.
Kolya puts me into the car and I curl into the child’s seat as my mother and father settle themselves next to me. My father fastens the seatbelts and kisses my mother’s head. Kolya takes the driver’s seat.
“Reyes,” my father says. “Do you have any fucking idea—“
“Do you have any fucking idea,” my mother says. “I had no fucking choice. I never have a choice. You never—“
My father wraps his arm around her. “I thought I would go mad. Don’t ever do that again.” His words sound like a warning and my mother cries quietly. “Rey,” he adds gently, “you’re safe now. We’re going home.”
“I will never be safe with you,” my mother says bitterly.
“You will be safe. You have my word.”
She sniffles. “Promise me that our daughter will have a happy and safe life. Promise me.”
“I swear on God, Rey.”
My mother curls into my father’s chest and I’m so happy that I can’t breathe.
We go to our new home called Chaviva. It’s big like a castle, dark and scary.
My parents have a beautiful bedroom there and I sleep next door in my own fairy tale.
Soon, I realise that I’m a prisoner in Chaviva. The same is for my mother who’s fading like a flower without water.
I sometimes see Dasha. She looks my mother’s age, but is tall and slim. Beautiful like a white rose. Each time, my mother passes her it’s like a hot spring is passing a glacier.
Dasha calls me a fucking little bitch or a fucking little trash. She is also a prisoner but not like my mother and me. She’s allowed to travel with my father’s two bulls. My mother and I live like two hermits and my father is busy all the time.
Boulder and one of his men visit Chaviva on one stormy evening. Boulder is about thirty, his cut drenched, but the boy looks like a teen. I can’t see his face covered by a baseball cap. I watch them walking across the main hall, leaving wet footprints on the floor, and entering the library, my observation post behind the railing upstairs so they won’t notice me. Boulder’s and my father’s raised voices echo through the house, blend with a crash of thunder, but I can’t discern the words.
As the meeting is over and my father walks his guests to the door, Boulder looks very pissed off with him. The boy’s movements are nervous, stiff even though he tries to hide it.
“Poor kid,” my mother whispers, squatting down beside me and throwing her arm over my upper back.
“Why are you saying so, mama?”
“Your father has just destroyed his life.”
“What did he do to that boy?”
“Don’t ask, Brianna.”
So I don’t ask. I’m profoundly aware that you shouldn’t ask questions in Chaviva.
Time passes.
One night my father is very late. I can’t sleep because Dasha is arguing with my mother at the top of the stairs. I crawl out of my bed and listen to them, leaning against the door of my bedroom, steeling myself in case I need to separate them.
“You fucking bitch,” Dasha says. “You think he doesn’t visit me at all?”
“He doesn’t,” my mother says in a calm voice. “Dasha, I don’t want to argue again—“
“He visits his strip clubs and the whorehouse. What do you think he’s doing there? I will tell you. He’s fucking the girls.”
“He isn’t.”
“How do you know that, huh?”
“I just know.”
“You think he loves you?” Dasha rolls her fingers into fists.
“He loves me.”
“He’s incapable of love. Look what he did to you and your daughter. You’re so naive, Rey.”
“And you’re so scared.”
“We all should be scared,” Dasha says in a wry voice.
“Take your fake passport, Dasha, and leave. Don’t look back. He won’t be looking for you.”
“This is my house and my husband. You’re just his slut. You should leave.”
“He’s never been your husband. And you know that he will never allow me to leave.”
“This is all because of you,” Dasha yells. “My life is like vegetation.”
“Your life is like this because you’re too scared to make the decision to change it,” my mother says angrily and takes a deep breath. “Dashenka.” Her voice is softer. “Don’t be scared. You have money. You can be free.”
I move closer to them as Dasha growls furiously and leaps towards my mother, pushing her violently. I manage a desperate sigh as my mother’s body tumbles down the stairs and her scream stabs my heart like a dagger. The time stops. Only the dreadful sound of my mother’s form hitting step after step fills the dead stillness around me. It’s surreal like a nightmare and I can’t move.
Dasha grabs my wrist, pulling me behind her and we run down the stairs. I squat down beside my mother’s body lying at the bottom of the stairs. Her face is covered in red lumps and blood seeps from the scratches on her temples. Her chest barely moves. I hold her hand to take her pulse. It resembles a thin thread that will tear at any moment.
“Call an ambulance,” Dasha says with tears flowing from her eyes. Her face is pale like that of a corpse. Her full lips turn purple. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Brianna.” She cries and her whole body shakes.
I’m so numb that I don’t react at first. I just stare at my mother. The front door creaks open and my glance travels to my father walking in.
“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Dasha cries out, her voice laced with primal fear, as I become a spectator of a crime movie.
My father freezes for a moment then his eyes darken, filling up with rage. He turns into a stone cold killer. I stop breathing as he leaps towards Dasha. She rises to her feet and flings herself to the side, trying to run away but he catches her on the stairs and twists her neck in one motion. The bones of her cervical spine click as every molecule of my body jumps at that grievous sound.
I watch Dasha’s dead body descending to the stairs. A ghastly silence blankets us like a layer of ashes. My father takes out his phone and calls an ambulance. Kolya emerges from behind the corner of the hall. Rage and despair paint his face as he notices my mother. My father approaches him and punches him in the face. Blood splashes against the floor as Kolya falls down on his bottom. He doesn’t fight back though. He knows he’s failed his boss.
He scrambles to his feet and picks up Dasha’s body, throwing her over his shoulder.
I shake as my teeth chatter together. I can’t breathe. I can’t cry either.
I’m only sixteen, but I have just learnt a very important lesson—my father is a monster and I have to find a way to escape from my prison. From him as my mother told me.
He and I kneel beside my mother, waiting for the ambulance crew to arrive.
“It will be alright,” my father says as his voice cracks an
d he strokes my mother’s head.
“Da, papa.”
The loud sound of the ambulance siren courses through me like an arrow then two paramedics pour into our house and tell us to back up so they can do their job. Everything turns into a dreamy movie—my father’s dark gaze, the tubes stuck into my mother’s body, my strange detachment.
We go to the hospital and wait in front of the theatre for nine hours only to hear that my mother fell asleep and is not going to wake up. Since that moment, my days have become blurry and tiring. Daily hospital trips, lunches in a cafe near the hospital, my hope drying out rapidly. Pretending to be Martha Borg. Pretending that my mother is Laura Borg.
I attend my mother’s fake funeral. The coffin is sliding down into the grave as I bury the dreadful knowledge deep inside me. My father has killed almost every person who could know about our secret.
I hide in my bedroom that becomes my whole world, visit my mother and avoid Dasha’s suspicious family concerned about her constant absence.
One day, I realise though that my father isn’t paying too much attention to me-he’s so occupied with my mother’s poor condition that he barely notices me; I’m like a ghost in the background for him. This realisation wakes me up from my numbness. I use my newfound freedom wisely. I set up a bank account with the fake passport my father bought for me some time ago so I could travel freely in case some serious shit happened.
I play a perfect daughter and carefully plan my escape route, paying for another fake passport with my virginity. Well, the bull was handsome and in fact, I was interested in him. I would have spread my legs for him anyway because I hoped there would be something more between us. I yearned for a fairy-tale love until the bull treated me like trash. He brought the fucking passport for me though and kept quiet.
Later, I find out that the bull will be very quiet.
I’m patient. I’m focused on my goals. I’m waiting for a good opportunity.
Tears flow down my cheeks as I return from my reverie.
“Zane,” I whisper. “Don’t even think about looking for me.”
I rise to my feet, leave the church and go to the old woman who lives not far from me. She makes me a cup of tea and we talk. She’s telling me about her husband as always when I visit her. He died many years ago, but she still loves him so much. Her eyes shine as though she’s a young woman again and she giggles when she mentions her husband’s big cock.
I tidy up her kitchen and promise to visit her in a few days. Then I go to my flat, have a shower and return to my routine—church on Sunday, work Monday till Friday, lonely nights.
I sometimes pleasure myself.
Like tonight.
I lie down on my bed, the crispiness of the bedding cold against my skin. The delicate scent of flowers placed in the vase on the windowsill teases my nostrils. I remove my panties, put my feet flat on the mattress and spread my knees, stroking my clitoris. My thoughts travel to Zane. I’m thinking about his hot kisses and impatient hands.
As pleasure starts to build inside me, wild fantasies enter my head. I’m on all fours and Zane is fucking me from behind. He would lean over me and murmur ‘my beautiful wife’ into my ear.
I dip a finger into my pussy, spreading my juices around my swollen nub and massage myself faster. My mind creates more fantasies of Zane sliding a finger into me. Sliding two fingers into me and stretching me. Making me teeter between pain and pleasure.
He’d drive his hard cock into my mouth and I’d stroke my clitoris, cumming for him.
Then he’d be on top of me, pounding into me. He’d cum, moaning my name, saying ‘I love you’. Saying ‘my beautiful wife’.
As I reach my peak, my body arches and I moan his name. My orgasm ripples through me, my sweet forgetfulness.
Then I’m sad again. This sadness spreads in my veins like a poison, strips me of energy and gives me an agonising pain.
Why do I miss the man I barely know? Why am I drowning without him?
Every man except Zane evokes repulsion in me. I guess I should join the order of nuns or something and live in celibacy until my death.
Chapter 8
Zane
I wake up, whispering Brianna’s name. I’ve had another dream about her. It’s always about our wedding ceremony and the wedding night we never had.
My dick is so hard that it aches. I hold it and start stroking myself up and down as the fantasies about my wife float through my mind. I would have her on all fours. I would smack her ass and she’d enjoy it, ask for more, beg me to drive my cock into her. I’d fuck her fast and hard, forcing whimpers from her sweet mouth. Then I’d drive my cock into that sinfully beautiful mouth of hers so deep that she’d gag.
I stroke my cock faster, but in my head, I’m fucking my wife’s mouth, slamming on her throat with each thrust and winding her hair around my fist to hold her head in place. Warmth shoots to my toes and my muscles tense up. An arc of semen spurts onto my stomach as I moan my satisfaction, but in my head, Brianna swallows every tiny drop of my cum.
I inhale deeply then crawl out of the bed to have a shower.
Another day starts.
My day life is about Brianna, about finding her at all cost. My anger drives me onward.
I’m working with Samael’s private investigator, Mike, but it seems like my wife has evaporated with no trace left. Mike is really impressed with her but also a little frustrated because he’s good at his job and Brianna is a real challenge for him.
The Broken Crusaders have checked every auction, every filthy pit where an unlucky woman may end up and nothing.
Axel told me to move on but I can’t. I know I will find my wife. And when I do I’ll fuck her so hard that she won’t even be able to think about moving a hand. Then I will fuck her even harder to erase that stupid idea of escaping from me from her mind forever.
Dad calls me and we meet in ‘Jilly Jet’ to chat. Everybody wants to chat with me now, to reason with me. To support me. It’s so fucking annoying that I want to escape from them to a place where they can’t find me.
I sip my beer and raise my eyes towards Dad who’s sitting next to me at the bar.
“How long are you going to stay this time?” Dad asks.
He had a stroke some time ago and I need to focus to understand his distorted speech. The right side of his face droops a bit, making him look kind of grotesque, but even now he has the appearance of a soldier-short grey hair, nicely shaped muscles, toughness in his brown eyes.
“For a few days,” I say. “Then I’m going east.”
“The club needs you for more than a few days. You’re the president, Zane.”
“I have to find my wife,” I say with anger.
“She must have had good reasons—“
“She had no fucking reason to leave me. I wanted to be a good husband to her. A faithful husband. Isn’t it what women want in life?” Bitterness bubbles in my chest, burning through my insides.
“It is, sweetie,” Ma says and glances at me with concern on her tired face. She’s looking after my dad, Sive and me and trying to look after Axel, but he’s a difficult case. “I’m sure she knows you only wanted to respect her.”
Dad drops his head and I realise that I shouldn’t have said anything. I have problems in life but nobody else should suffer because of the mess with Brianna.
Dad strayed many years ago and Ma left him. Axel, Ma and I lived with a real scum who hit us all. One day, he disappeared mysteriously. Not that I missed him. I moved in with Dad and Axel stayed with Ma. Dad had women from time to time, but he loved only Ma.
My parents started to talk like civilised people would. Ma decided to give Dad another chance mere two years ago and they are happy now. Dad loves beautiful women like every biker I guess, but now he only flirts with them. Ma calls him an old cockscomb and laughs at him. I think they’re too old now to make fuss over the tiny flaws of their characters. If there is love, people can resurrect their relationship even from the ashes.
>
I like it when I see my parents happy together. I don’t want to remind them of what happened to them. I guess there is still that little boy inside me, the boy who fears that his parents will stop loving each other.
“Boulder,” Ma says to Dad, “we’re going home.”
He nods at her as she moves the walking frame closer to him. After the stroke, he started to rely on Ma entirely. She is his boss now.
“I’m going with you,” I say and empty my glass.
“Sure, sweetie,” Ma says. “Are you going to sleep at ours or at yours?” Her face lights up and she turns into a young woman from a long time ago. “So at ours?”
She still looks good. Her silhouette hasn’t changed, but the hell she’s gone through flickers in her grey eyes and shines in her grey hairs.
I know she’d want to have me in her house if only for a moment. She’s like a duck mom and wants all her kids around her.
“At mine,” I say. “I want to paint the bathroom tonight.”
Disappointment shadows her face, but she composes herself in an instant.
I hurt her when my parents were separated and I decided to move in with Dad. I just wanted to force her to speak to my dad again and sort out the shit between them.
We part and I go to the apartment I bought three weeks ago.
The next morning, I visit Samael. We sit in his library and Mike spreads some photos on the coffee table.
“A few shots from the cameras in the Southampton cruise terminal.” Mike points his finger to a blurry figure on the photo. “This might be Brianna.” One corner of his lips crooks up.
He is a massive guy. I would imagine a werewolf to look like him—dark short hair, thick bushy eyebrows forming a line, amber eyes. He oozes the air of wildness, primal like the mountains.
I take a closer look at the shot and my heart freezes for an instant. “This might be her. In the UK? Interesting.”
Samael pats my shoulder. “When you find her—“
“I know what to do,” I say.
“Bring her home,” Kolya says from behind me. “And smack her ass properly.”
“I will,” I say, turning my face to him.
“I’m going to clear off,” Mike says. “If there is anything else I’ll report it as soon as possible.”
Brianna (Shadow Wolves MC Book 2) Page 5