Fearless: a Sports Romance

by Amarie Avant

Now, as I hit Pacific Coast Highway the wind is slapping against me at top speed. Palm trees blurring by. The light turns yellow. I gun the engine and veer around a van which was prepared to stop.

  Then there’s red and blue flashing behind me. My middle finger itches, but I don't toss it up. Grumbling at myself, at allowing silly ass emotions to dominate, I slow down searching for a place to pull over.

  As I ease the motorcycle to the curb, the cruiser blurps.

  A cop commands through the speaker: “Take off your helmet. Remove the key from the engine.”

  I do as told. As an immigrant, it's the safe way to go about things.

  “Now, hands up and get off the bike. Don't turn around.”

  I've gotten speeding tickets before. But something tells me these pussies haven't stopped me for doubling the speeding limit.

  ###

  Not one single speeding ticket was given to me. I asked for my phone call, one single call. No response. I asked for a lawyer. The mudak eyed me like another species and now I'm sitting in the precinct. I expect to see the chief strolling in, but another black man in a power suit, eyes me. He's on the opposite side of the partition, he'd just been walking by. He stops and speaks with the idiot cop. Then he's buzzed and the short door opens.

  “Mr. Resnov.”

  “Billingsley,” I glance at Samuel Billingsley, the man my wife admires. While we were on a flight from Las Vegas to Georgia she spoke so highly of Samuel, told me the motherfucker was the reason she chose law.

  “Why're you here?”

  “Because I'm Russian.” I shrug.

  “Shouldn't you be honeymooning with Zariah?”

  “You found out we were married?” I shake my head, I'll be blamed for everything.

  “She called me the morning after speaking with her mom. Zariah has very nice things to say about you.”

  “Same for you,” I counter.

  “So why aren't you at home? I spoke with her this morning. She said her flight landed safely and that she’d return to the office at the beginning of next week. I expected you two to be holed up for another few days.”

  My frown deepens. I'm not speaking of my relationship with him.

  “Listen, Mr. Resnov, you're more than aware of who I am.” He speaks as if this should have me wide open like a cunt, telling him everything. After a few uncomfortable moments of silence on his part, Billingsley asks, “Have you gotten your call?”

  “Nah.”

  “One of those stellar Resnov lawyers on his way?”

  “What's it to you?”

  Billingsley paws at his goatee in contemplation. We will get nowhere because I don't trust him. “Zariah, that's what. I love her like a daughter.”

  “Well, her pops is doing a good enough job advocating for her.”

  He laughs. “I see, Maxwell is the reason you are here.”

  “I was speeding too,” I add for the obvious reason.

  “Give me a second.” He walks toward the uniform cop who brought me in. They speak, yet he leads the conversation.

  The cop and Samuel Billingsley step over. The cop pulls his tab from his front pocket and mumbles. “You'll still have to get the bike from the impound.” There's a ticket already written on it.

  “Well, if I weren't in family law, I'd tell him to sue as well,” Billingsley argues as he follows me and the uniform cop to the exit.

  Once outside, I pause and nod my thanks.

  “You're very broody. I can't see what Zariah sees in you, but she's smart.”

  I lift my brows.

  “I'll drop you off at the tow yard and give them a piece of my mind as well.”

  “Nah,” I back away, this is a situation I got myself into by thinking of my mother. “But thanks.”

  “Vassili,” he says, “Call me Samuel. I'm positive we will run into each other on various holidays and once Zariah passes the bar.”

  “She will this July.”

  His head bobs in enlightenment, he points at me with a smile. “It must be the confidence, what she sees in you. Good luck with her father. Maxwell is a snake.”

  I place two fingers to my temple and salute him as response.

  ###

  At home, the aroma wafts through the air. I hold a bunch of white tulips. Zariah is in an apron, her eyes widen as she sees me. She doesn't run to me as usual, no hug. There's hesitancy in her gaze as she points to a recipe on her cell phone screen. “I'm making stroganoff for the first time. Vassili, I'm sorry for my dad and Phil’s actions.”

  “Please don't apologize.” I huff. Keep that woman from your mind, Vassili. You'll cherish Zariah and you'll be a good man. “I brought flowers.”

  “My favorites.”

  “Yeah, well we got married at the cheapest place that was open in Vegas in the middle of the night.”

  “You threatened Yuri’s life if he didn't manage the situation and have my favorite flowers.” She finally grins. Taking the flowers from me. “You didn't scare me, Vassili.”

  “I know.”

  She places the flowers down. Her demeanor is questioning, asking me why I reacted the way I did. “There's never been a brick wall between us before, Vassili. The only thing that I'm in fear of, is you not touching me.”

  I brush my lips across her forehead. Be a good husband.

  “Touch me, Vassili. Please…” her murmur is tiny and filled with the innocence I loved about her since day one.

  She pleads again. I scoop her up into my arms and turn off the pot. Now she's imploring me to fuck her body as I carry her to the bedroom.

  I'm good at this shit. Fucking her until her throat has this sexy rasp to it.

  But being a husband?

  Maybe I'm more than confident in the octagon, but I've got fears too…

  Vassili

  July

  “This is your office,” Zariah says, all that ass strutting left to right as she steps inside of the room at The Red Door. “I recall the first time you brought me by. Now, I see why you reached inside, grabbed a hoodie for me, and came right out. Boy, there is nothing in this room to distinguish it from the boss to a ridiculously oversized janitor’s closet.”

  Biting the inside of my lip, I nod. What the fuck can I say? There's a desk, a very comfortable chair that still has the fresh leather scent. Nothing else. “Zariah, your bar exam is at the end of the week.” Let me handle my shit.

  “Do you care about your business?” She places a hand on her hip, and then her head cocks to the side since I choose not to answer her question. “Vassili, baby, you’ve gotten rid of Malich’s ladies and the illegal activity that occurs at the bar. Do you want to keep The Red Door, or sell it?”

  “Nah, I’m not selling it.” This was Sasha’s place. May not have been a lounge in her dreams, but this is all I have of my sister.

  “Well, will you start giving a damn about it?” she reaches up to stroke my face.

  “I have a fight I’m practicing for; maybe,” I say planting kisses on her face between every word, “You. Can. Review. Everything. Once you've returned from Sacramento.”

  “Nope. You're a master at persuasion. However, while I'm away taking the exam, it's crunch time for you as well. Besides, you haven’t even agreed to the match. But as your wife, I’d love to help read over a few of your documents until you hire a manager.”

  “Yuri?’ I cock an eyebrow.

  “Allow me to disregard your last remark. How about this, you tell me what you love about this place. If you love it, I'll love it and we can team up to get everything in working order.”

  We’ve already chatted enough about Sashaat Urban Kashtan. It took everything in me to speak, and I won't do it again. I reach around, hands owning every inch of her ass, and place her onto the empty desk. “I love how beautiful you look in...”

  “Stay on subject—”

  Her mouth is sweet, lips so pillow soft as my tongue goes deep. Yeah, that’s right, shut up, beautiful. How can I explain to Zariah that The Red Door is sentimental t
o me without sounding like a bitch?

  Nothing comes to mind.

  I tease the left side of her mouth, recalling just how sweet her brown skin tastes. Then I kiss the corner of the right side of her mouth, enjoying the sheer act of fucking with her. Beneath me, Zariah’s trembling body motivates my cock to grow harder than ever before.

  I reach down and grab my dick. Her chocolate brown orbs brighten with desire, and she licks her lips. “We can stray now, Vassili, but mark my words—”

  Again I kiss her mouth. Only a symphony of moaning and sighing come from Zariah's lips as our tongues slither around. I work my buckle with one hand. She’s yanking me closer with her legs around my waist.

  KNOCK. KNOCK.

  “Damn,” I curse against her lips.

  “Plemyannik—nephew?” Malich calls. “Everything is finished,” he says in Russian.

  “Khorosho, khorosho—good, good,” I reply, shit the door opens fully before I can tell him that I will step out.

  Zariah has already hopped down from the desk, and pulled at her tight skirt. I stand in front of her.

  “Oh is that your wife?” he speaks in our native tongue, and then corrects himself with an apology to her for doing so.

  “Yeah.”

  With a soft touch to my back, Zariah comes around me. “I'm okay, Vassili.”

  “A blind man can see why Vassili keeps you all to himself.”

  “Oh, thank you!” She shakes his hand. “You must be the infamous Malich Resnov.”

  My lungs fill with air. Aside from Yuri, Zariah hasn't met a single person in my family. I planned on keeping it that way, for her peace of mind.

  He nods. “Can I invite you to dinner? Vassili, will you spare her for the night to visit with your cousins, their families, and me? Zariah, it’s a loud place, but I promise the food is good.”

  I reply, “No. Tonight won't work—”

  “Yes, of course,” Zariah speaks up.

  “Okay,” Malich backs toward the door. “Vassili, you should take my office, the computer is clean of anything other than the lounge business, okay?”

  “That's sounds great. Baby, now you can, learn how to review files and all that good stuff,” Zariah says.

  I’ll have a general manager by the end of the week. The office door closes and my wife turns toward me. Hands clasped together before her, she says, “Dinner with your family tonight. Tomorrow night we return to studying and while I study, you can delegate a couple of hours to reviewing the dynamics of your business.”

  “You’ll eat dinner with my family?” I fold my arms and lean back against the desk, mind stuck on the basics. I threatened Anatoly’s life for asking to meet her the morning after our wedding. He hasn't called since.

  “Your uncle sounds charming. Nevertheless, I’m not an idiot, Vassili. I’m sure he’s got blood on his hands, but I’ve married you.”

  “You haven’t married into my family, Zariah.” I won't let Anatoly anywhere near you, no matter what.

  Now my wife is in the position to shut me up. She paws my jaw. “I have the feeling that you and your uncle have a very good relationship. Malich speaks highly of you. When you’re ready, you can tell me about your last conversation with Anatoly.”

  My lips spread into a thin line. Shit, my wife is smart. I won't.

  ###

  “You really want to go through with this?” I ask, removing the extra helmet softly from her head. I place it down and smooth over her freshly ironed hair.

  “It's too late to turn back.” She glances around at the clay water fountain and tropical plants in Malich’s driveway. The entire lot is filled with vehicles that the wrought iron gates wouldn't even close.

  I eye her just to make sure.

  “The ride helped too, but I love you and despite how disparate our individual families are, it's only right that I acquaint myself with yours.”

  “Okay, Zar,” I place my fingers through her silky tiny ones. Her head kisses my shoulder as we walk toward the door.

  It bursts open. Malich is holding my fat baby niece in one arm. He kisses the chubby bundle and says, “Albina, your dyadya actually came.”

  “Dy…”Zariah begins

  “It means uncle. Come, come,” he ushers us in. “I've made soup. The best you'll ever eat.”

  “Soup? Zariah hates Russian soup,” I pull Albina into my arms while murmuring how beautiful she is.

  “You hate our soup?” Malich clutches chest. “Damn, that hurts.”

  “I don't.” Zariah gives me the evil eye.

  “Follow me. Come view this soup and tell me it's disgusting. Okay?”

  “I…”

  Malich already drapes an arm over her shoulder. He's bragging about being the best chef while we start toward the kitchen. There are people seated in overstuffed chairs drinking vodka and kids all over the vast floor, playing games with each other. He introduces her to each one.

  “I need a bigger house, for all the family,” he harps. Some raise their drinks as Zariah mentions how big and beautiful the house is.

  “Yeah, we’re on the good side of the street. Too bad it hasn't had new furniture since my wife died.” Malich has more money to burn these days, but he'd rather fatten his family and friends’ birthday cards, even little Albina’s first holiday card made her a millionaire. The old man does nothing entertaining without the people he loves. After this party, he will ensure that my legit family down to the eleven-year-old cousins have what they need and desire. He steers her into the kitchen. Since she's in good hands, I stop to chat with a few cousins.

  I’m on my third shot by the time I search for my wife. There are more people seated on stools around the marble island but there's a crowd around the breakfast nook.

  My wife is smack dab in the middle of women. Igor’s wife, Anna, and her sisters, and Malich is eating up every praise they have for his soup, from his position, leaning against the marble island. They down their shot glasses of vodka.

  “Zariah, baby, I guess you’re okay,” I mumble.

  “Yeah, this food is so good,” she says of the mozzarella meatball soup.

  “Get outta here, Vassili. You too, Malich!” Anna tosses a cloth in my direction.

  “Drink! Drink! Drink!” They pound the table.

  I've just made it past the archway of the kitchen when I'm bulldozed. Igor’s head slams into my ribs, arms around my waist as he tackles me. “My kazen is a piz’da!” He shouts as I'm slammed into the wall on the opposite side.

  I slam my fists down onto his back and he lets up.

  “You drunk enough, you dumb bastard?” I cuss him in Russian.

  “Nah, never.” He shakes his fat head with a laugh. Igor is about fifty pounds smaller than his kid brother, Yuri. But shorter so his pasty face his soft like a baby.

  He grabs the back of my neck. “You finally bring the girl around. She's hot as fuck.”

  My fist slams into his jaw before he can blink. He rubs it, and clicks it back into place. “Vassili, why you afraid the girl would leave you for a real man?” He grabs his crouch.

  “Don't let Anna hear you, glupyy,” another cousin shouts to him in warning.

  Igor tosses his hand as if he doesn't care, but Anna would beat the shit out of him had she heard. We head toward the wet bar. “So everybody loves the girl.”

  “Yeah.” I nod, pulling out a shot glass for myself. This drunk idiot grabs one and I shake my head. It's nothing though, he could be drunker.

  “You know there's only one person that would hate the girl. And not Anatoly. Yuri told me all about how you thought Anatoly had a cop. Don't worry, I know you and Yuri keep secrets.” He leans into me and laughs. I shove him off. “I was up that night. My brah tried to keep your secret, and I hounded him. Stop worrying about Anatoly, your only problem would be or could be Danushka.”

  “I'll break that cunt’s neck if she ever came around my wife.”

  “Chill out, Vassili. Danushka is your sister.” He pats my shoulder. Tho
ugh my cousin is halfway joking about my half-sister, my frown increases a notch. Danushka is a few days younger than me. The bitch thought me and my sister would disappear after my mother left. Doing so would've placed her in the position as firstborn. No matter how many times I've told her she can shove the throne up her ass. She's missing one vital key. Anatoly isn't in the business of allowing females to rule, regardless of how ruthless she is.

  An hour later, my stomach is full and I've played durak with my cousins Yuri and Igor and one of their friends. I decide to search out Zariah.

  I'm halfway down the hall and get one glimpse of her smiling and talking before Igor shouts, “Come here cousin, I want to win my money back!”

  “Nah.”

  “You afraid I'll win and take you for all you got?” He pours himself more.

  “Brah, you will lose,” Yuri tells at him.

  “I've got little Albina,” Igor argued, “the boys, and Anna is pregnant. I gotta recoup my money…”

  “Igor, no more water for you,” I point a finger at him. “His stupid ass is drunk enough to believe he'll be the victor. “You're a diabetic.”

  “Yeah, you should stop,” Yuri add. The idiot, he should've stopped his brother a while back.

  It takes a tussle for me to pry the vodka from his hands. And then I search out my wife again.

  This time her laughter hasn't brightened the kitchen. “Where is she?” I ask Anna.

  “On the patio,” she nudged her head.

  I hasten off.

  “She's talking to Malich. Don't worry, Vassili.”

  I open the French doors nearest me and step out.

  My uncle is telling her that he used to be a physician before Anatoly pulled him in. Our grandfather wasn't much of a dictator, telling all who was blood that they had to take part in the syndicate.

  I start to speak up, but realize Zariah just wants to know more about me, us. In an attempt to keep her safe, I have alienated her from my entire family, even the ones who wouldn't wish her any harm.

  “My brother pulled me out of the hospital from saving lives to work for him,” he tells her.

  I lean against the wall and listen as she learns more about Igor, his wife and children. Malich’s other sons and then Sasha and I are mentioned. This is the part that breaks my heart.