by Shandi Boyes
When I attempt to slap myself out of my nightmare, Asher seizes my wrists and pulls my hands down from my face. He knows I don’t want to hear this, but he also knows I must.
A whizz of air squeezes through the grip on my throat when Vaughn murmurs, “As I was leaving, I passed Asher. He was sneaking into your room like he always did when you were asleep.”
My watering eyes snap to Asher to seek confirmation on the second half of Vaughn’s statement. He doesn’t hide anything from me. Everything is relayed in his beautifully tormented gaze.
“You saved me?” You can’t deny the prayer in my voice. Asher has changed a lot from the boy I once knew, but even now I don’t see him standing by and watching a child being hurt and not doing anything about it.
The air I’ve just sucked in is forced out in a whimper when Asher weaves his fingers through the hair stuck to my temples. My head is pounding, so I’m not surprised it’s aching, but this feels like more than a general headache.
“Only half a minute before you saved me.”
I don’t understand what he is saying.
What does he mean?
Air hisses between my teeth for the second time when he lifts my hand to trace the same section of my skull he just did. There’s a scar hidden beneath my thick hair. It’s around an inch or two in length and about half the width of my pinkie finger.
My hand falls from my head when I detect another presence in the room. Lenin is standing in the doorway of my childhood room. I must look like a total wreck because instead of walking over the manila folder he is clutching, he slides it across the floor.
In the time it takes Asher to flip open the folder, he’s vanished from the door. “Do you remember any of this?”
Asher shows me a set of photos. They’re of the same thing, just different angles. Me in a hospital bed. My eyes are shut, and I’m on a ventilator.
I shake my head so fiercely it rattles in my skull. I recognize myself, but I have no clue why I’m in the hospital.
“What about the date; do you remember that?”
Through misty eyes, I scan the date stamp on the bottom of the photos. It is April twenty-eighth.
“It’s the day after your birthday.”
Asher smiles a blistering grin, proud I remembered his birthday. It’s not hard. It is exactly two months after mine.
“Tell her the rest.” Asher’s demand isn’t for me. It’s for Vaughn.
Vaughn’s throat works hard to swallow before he dispels some of the terror thickening my veins. “I didn’t go back to my room like Uncle Nesti requested. I followed Asher instead.”
That’s not unusual. Vaughn was Asher’s shadow any time he was over.
“He walked into your room just as Uncle Nesti lifted your nightie.” I swallow down excessively, doing anything to soothe the bile burning the back of my throat. “Uncle Nesti shouted at him to go away. They got into a tussle—”
“He pinned you to the wall by your throat,” I murmur to Asher. I don’t know where that memory came from. It just popped into my head.
Asher nods. “You were groggy, but more alert than the rest of the partygoers. Your mother’s overdose must have startled Bear so much, he gave you less than the rest of us.”
“The rest?”
He hands me a stack of admission forms. Many of the names I recognize. They were mutual friends of ours a long time ago. They were all treated for symptoms that mimic a drug overdose the morning after Asher’s birthday.
“Why didn’t you overdose?”
Shame floods Asher’s eyes. “Because your uncle forgot he had me dabbling in drugs months earlier. His concoction took longer to hit me than it did the others.”
My heart pangs for him, but at the same time, I’m grateful. This truly shows everyone’s life travels a different path for a reason. If he hadn’t sampled drugs in his teen years, he would have never walked into my room that night, and I would have been assaulted by my uncle.
“Is that why I can’t remember anything? Because I overdosed?”
Asher shakes his head while Vaughn answers me with words. “No. When Uncle Nesti wouldn’t let go of Asher, you charged for him. Because your footing was unsteady, you tripped over the mat. I tried to save you, but you crashed through the railing too fast. There was so much blood. I thought you were dead.” Vaughn shudders as if he’s recalling the memory in photographic detail.
The pain in Asher’s voice can’t be denied when he murmurs, “You fractured your skull.” He licks his lips, hoping a bit of moisture will help ease out his next set of words. “Your uncle told your father I pushed you when you wouldn’t give me what I wanted. Since Vaughn corroborated his story, he believed them.” He drags his hand down his face before chuckling a pained laugh. “And here I was the whole time thinking you were avoiding me. I had no clue you were injured. No one knew.”
Asher’s laughter isn’t genuine, but it drags me partway out of the darkness surrounding me. “You tried to talk to me, didn’t you?”
I’ve had the same recurring dream the past two weeks, except now I’m wondering if it’s a dream or a memory. It only goes for a few seconds, but the pain on Asher’s face when he fought to get out of my father’s goons’ clutches seemed real.
“Yes. Multiple times.” He runs his finger down my nose in a way that’s familiar, yet foreign. “When I couldn’t get through to you, my mother took it upon herself to take up my campaign. She went on the warpath—literally, but not even she could get through to your father. Within weeks, our families became mortal enemies... all for a decade-long obsession.”
He hands me two photos. The first one I recognize in an instant. It is a photo Vaughn carries of Dominique in his wallet. It’s usually stored next to the love letter she wrote him the day of her death. The second registers as familiar, but she’s younger than I remember, and her hair is dyed red. She looks different than the memories in my head. It is my mother.
“Dominique was ordered by a V. Volkov three years ago. I assumed it was Vaughn. I was wrong.” Asher trails his finger across a birth certificate for Vyesniy Volkov. I don’t recognize the name, but I do recognize the date of birth. It is the day my Uncle Nesti was born.
Spotting my confusion, Asher does his best to relieve it. “Bear was given his nickname long before any of us were born. We’ve never known him by any other name.” I’d give anything to soothe the painful glint in his eyes when he murmurs, “Your uncle has been obsessed with your mother for years. When she died, his unhealthy obsession switched to you, but your father protected you so fiercely, not even blood could get to you. After years of trying, he went for the next best thing.” He taps the photo of Dominique. “He killed Dominique because she did the same thing as your mother. She fell in love with the wrong Volkov.”
I nuzzle as close to his chest as possible before returning my eyes to the screen of his phone. My connection with Vaughn is still active; he’s just pale and quiet. I lost my mother and a few months of memories, but he lost so much more than me. As did Asher.
I’d give anything to take away their pain, but I’m at a loss on how I can do that. Instead, I offer them silent comfort. Asher’s is in a physical sense; Vaughn’s is mental.
After several long minutes of silence, I murmur the question that’s clutching my heart even more than all the information I’ve been hit with today. “Do you really own me?”
I silently pray for Asher to deny my question, to prove he is the man I see behind his icy, tormented eyes. My hopes are dashed when he nods instead. “But not in the way you’re thinking. Although our family’s bond died years ago, my mom couldn’t forget the pledges she made when she became your godmother. When she heard about your sale, she went straight to your father—again. He couldn’t deny the proof she had, but was adamant he knew nothing about your sale. That’s when he told her about you fracturing your skull. They arranged for us to wed that same afternoon. Your father figured the Yurys could protect you better than he had.” He smiles a sli
ck grin that makes my insides tighten. “Although no money exchanged hands, I still own you.”
I roll my eyes without fear of reprimand. I’m too confused to let another emotion enter the mix.
We sit in silence for another twenty-plus minutes. There’s so much to take in. It’s not that I don’t believe Asher and Vaughn’s recollection of events. I’m just genuinely stunned—even more so when my father enters my bedroom clutching the decapitated head of my uncle in his hands.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Asher
Zariah’s scream shreds through my ears before she burrows her head even deeper into my chest. The image of her uncle’s head dangling from her father’s hands is too much for her to stomach.
I don’t have an issue. In this very moment, it occurs to me that Stepanov still has it. He is a professional mobster in every sense of the word. He looked at the facts as they were presented and set motions in play to immediately bring down the person responsible for his wife and daughter’s torment.
He reacted exactly how I’ve emulated him the past sixteen years, although I would have delayed Bear’s death a little longer. He would have lost body parts slowly—starting with the filthy dick he planned to touch his niece with.
Stepanov’s kill is fresh. Blood is still oozing from the bottom of Bear’s head, and the snow mixed throughout the mud on the bottom of Stepanov’s boots is not yet slosh. I wouldn’t be surprised to walk into the barn out back and find Bear’s body still twitching. That’s how recent his death was.
I rarely respect a man, but right here, right now, I do. I’m disappointed Stepanov stole an outlet for the fury still burning me from the inside out, but I’m sure I can find better ways to diffuse my adrenaline.
Starting with his daughter.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Zariah
Four weeks later...
* * *
“Stop it. It’s fine. Go.”
Eda peers at me with her big, glistening eyes. She’s not happy about the haphazard way we’ve made Asher’s bed, but since she works for me and not Asher, she has no reason to fret. “It’s barely midday.”
“And...?”
“I can’t leave for the day. I only started an hour ago.” She sounds more panicked now than she did when I gave her the clothes and shoes Asher confiscated from me when I began my role as his first ever chambermaid.
“You can go, and you will go. It’s an order, young lady.” I march her to the door, my grip on her arm as light as a butterfly wing brushing past. “If you don’t go now, I’ll slice another ten minutes off your work schedule tomorrow.”
Although I’d give anything for Eda to be completely free of this life, I understand that is not possible. She has a debt to pay, and until Asher believes it has been paid in full, she must remain a member of his staff. His rules never stipulated how long her days need to be, though, so I’ve been gradually cutting them down since I requested her position be changed from chambermaid to my personal assistant. I have no need for a PA, but a little white lie never hurt anyone.
“Are you sure you don’t mind? We didn’t even tuck in the sheets.”
“I’m sure,” I reply with a giggle. “They’re going to be messed within five minutes of Asher returning to this room, so why go to so much effort?”
Eda’s giggle—my god. It’s so rare, I cherish every one she awards me with.
After waving Eda off, I make my way to Asher’s office. To say the past four weeks have flown would be an understatement. It’s been as rushed and as frantic as my first six weeks here, but with flirty kisses, steamy moments, and a hot, dominant man I’ve always wished for, but never thought I’d have.
Asher is as brooding and dominant as ever. He has to be. When whispers circulated that he had given my brother a pardon, his enemies saw it as a sign he was becoming weak. I’m not as inclined to agree. He rules his empire with the same iron fist my father did, but he has more allies than he does enemies. With this industry being more about numbers than anything else, the odds are stacked in his favor.
I stop just outside Asher’s office door when I hear him speaking in English. The only time he uses English is when he’s seeking updates from my therapist. No, I’m not seeing a shrink. My therapist is a specialist in recovering memories after traumatic brain injuries. With her help, I’m hoping to piece together the parts of my life I forgot after my fall. She uses a range of techniques, including hypnosis. That is what Asher’s call is most likely about.
Because my father avenged my mother’s death like a madman, Asher and I only have Vaughn’s recollection of events to run off. Although I trust Vaughn, Asher doesn’t truly believe anything without facts. That’s why my father arrived how he did last month. You can’t get more proof of a death than a severed head.
Asher could take the same steps my therapist and I are using to return the memories drugs stole from him, but he’d rather live vicariously through me. I don’t mind. It gives us plenty of opportunities to talk... amongst other things.
I wait for the beep of a disconnect button to sound through my ears before slipping into the doorway. Asher notices me in an instant. His eyes rake my body as his pants tighten at the front. I no longer wear dowdy sweatpants and holey shirts. I have an entire walk-in closet full of clothes to pick from every day. Today I’ve kept things simple. I’m wearing nothing but a trench coat—Asher’s trench coat.
Moisture floods between my legs when Asher crooks his finger, commanding me to his side. I jump, more than happy to fulfil his every whim. These type of orders I have no qualms following.
“You want my dick… again?”
His fingers curl around my nape when I straddle his lap. He pulled his chair back so I could plant my backside on his desk as I have many times the past four weeks, but I want to be closer to him. Today has been a good day. I didn’t just recall the hours he spent consoling me after my mother passed. I remember the words he whispered to me when I cried into his chest, and how his heart always pumped faster when he was comforting me. He was a menace—he still is—but only to those who can’t see beyond his family lineage.
“I’ll always want you.” I grind against him, my coat rising to sit mid-thigh. “My pussy aches when it isn’t filled by you.”
“Trakhni menya.”
I smile against his mouth, loving that he reverts to Russian curse words when I bring out my naughty side. “That’s the point, Asher. I’m trying to fuck you.”
“Ah, Little Mouse, that is where you are wrong. You may have me roaring your name and my seed coating your tight, wet cunt, but you’ll never fuck me. It is my job to take care of you, to fulfill your every desire. I fuck you and only you.” The furl of his lips makes me wet. “Now sit on the desk like the naughty little nymph you are and part your thighs. I’m fucking starved.”
As he leans over to hit the button that turns off his security feeds, I back up until my ass is flush with his desk. The glass is cool against my skin, but the fire roaring through Asher’s eyes makes it barely noticeable.
“Spread your legs, Zariah, now. I can already smell you, and it’s stretching my patience thin. I am not a patient man.” He lifts and locks his eyes with mine. “Especially when it comes to you. We wasted years, so I refuse to waste another minute.” There is a primal rawness to his voice since it’s laced with honesty.
Because of a lie, we lost over a decade. Thank god we have many more to look forward to.
I return his intense, soul-searing stare while parting my thighs. His nostrils flare when he takes in my bare, recently shaved pussy. His clenched jaw tells me he wants to punish me for walking the corridors of his compound without panties, but the outline of his big cock in his trousers shows he also appreciates my wickedness. I’m happy to take either his punishment or his praise. Both are as fun as the other.
Pushing back from his desk, Asher stands to his feet. “Hop off the desk and spin around.”
“What? Why—”
“You’re n
ot in charge here, Zariah. Test my patience and see where it gets you.”
My pulse quickens from the command in his tone. It reveals he’s going down the punishment route. Yes!
When I slip off his desk and turn around, he orders for me to press my chest onto the mat his keyboard usually holds. I don’t hesitate. I jump to his command. I love his dominance—in and out of the bedroom. It makes me feel safe and protected, and it is helping me regain the years I missed in my ivory tower.
Cool air sweeps over my skin when Asher raises the hem of my coat. I bite my lower lip, ready to feel the delicious burn of his palm across my skin, so you can imagine my surprise when he doesn’t spank my ass in punishment. He slithers his fingers through the glistening folds of my pussy.
Oh no. I didn’t think this through.
If he isn’t going to spank me or force me onto my knees to deepthroat his thick cock, my punishment can only be one other thing. He’s going to withhold my orgasms. Noooo!
“Asher...”
“Shh, Little Mouse. I’ll take care of you. I will have every orifice you own dripping with cum by the time I’m done with you.” Goosebumps skate across my skin when he leans over to grip my neck in a firm hold. “It will just be my cum coating every inch of you.”
“No one could see. I ensured I was fully covered the entire time.” My words shudder when his fingers grind inside of me. I can’t tell if it is two or three, but they make me feel extremely full.
“But they knew you were bare. They imagined what you look like without your coat. I’ll kill them just for a thought. You need to give me names so I can.”
I shake my head, words beyond my comprehension. He’s finger-fucking me brutally, claiming me as he did in the office of his nightclub. He faces no resistance from my body—none whatsoever. She knows he owns her just as much as I do.