I reached up to squeeze her shoulder, unable to hear her next words.
It was too like what Ma had gone through for me to deal with, too similar except she’d survived, thank Christ.
I’d suspected for a long time, long before Camille had crossed my radar, that Vasov had made a deal with the Italians.
I hadn’t loved Mariska, but the dishonor in what Vasov had done, not only in pulling a shady deal with the Famiglia, but for letting his own house, with his own daughters under that roof, purposely come under attack, was something that would haunt me.
In the wake of Ma’s kidnapping, my father, while he was definitely a bastard, had started a war with the Aryans the city still remembered.
After Mariska’s death, Vasov hadn’t started shit with the Italians. And that was the most damning fact of all.
He was, and forever would be, bastard scum. Mariska had been right to leave her girls’ safety with me.
“Next!”
The woman barked at me, her displeasure clear even as her gaze softened and she shot Camille a piteous smile.
I rolled my eyes at the display, because the clerks had been rude to every fucker in here, but I mentioned STDs out loud and all of a sudden I was the pariah?
“I need a marriage license.”
Without moving, without even shifting her scowl from me, she slapped a piece of paper on the counter. “You need to fill this out.” She raised a hand and pointed toward the door where the line had begun to strain out of the office’s confines. “Then you have to get back in line again.”
“We will. Thank you.”
Politeness costs nothing, those were the words my maternal grandmother had tried to instill in me, but that wasn’t exactly an easy lesson to learn when you had Aidan O’Donnelly for a father.
It pained me to let a petty tyrant boss me around, but I knew how this shit worked. Knew how people worked. She was too self-righteous to bribe, and would take too much satisfaction in telling me where to go. But, what she could do, was bury the application.
As far as I knew, once we left here, we had twenty-four hours until we could take the plunge, but petty bureaucrats made my insane father look self-sacrificing.
Camille surprised me by snatching the form before I could and then stalking over to the doors. I followed her and found her in the queue once more, the application resting on the side of her bag as she began to fill out her section.
Of course, she wanted this marriage even more than I did.
Her reasons were obvious, mine were vague. Even to myself.
But as I stared at the arch of her throat, the gentle fall of a few locks of hair from her messy bun, from the golden sheen to her skin that made her look like she was dusted in the precious metal, all I could see was what she’d look like under me.
Few women triggered my imagination.
The only time I got to be creative was when I was torturing people or figuring out a way to hide a body. I’d long since stopped dreaming, having goals. In my line of work, the main aim was to be able to get home at the end of the day. And I was okay with that. I was luckier than most, richer than most, and that came at a cost.
But when a woman inspired more than a yawn out of me, or irritation, it was worth pursuing.
Just like her mother had been at the time...
Mama would want more for me. I must make her proud.
Ten
Cammie
The drive back to the stables wasn’t exactly excruciating but neither was it comfortable. Relief warred with my nerves, because as happy as I was to be escaping my father, Brennan was a stranger.
More than that, he was an enemy. Even if the Irish weren’t technically our foes anymore, they’d spent most of my life as such and would remain that way until I was tucked safely in their bosom.
They’d accepted Inessa, so I didn’t see why they wouldn’t accept me. Especially when I’d do anything, and I meant anything, to make Brennan happy.
A happy husband was a means of survival.
If he was content with me, I’d live.
If he wasn’t, then my usefulness would end.
Just like Mama…
He wanted kids—I’d give him kids. As many of them as he wanted, and when he grew displeased with my body, one that bore the signs of his offspring, I’d be grateful when he took to a mistress. I’d be safe.
I’d have a family.
I’d no longer be a Vasov.
I’d no longer be Bratva.
As I wondered if Inessa knew how lucky she was, I stared out of the window, trying to be as quiet as I could be. As meek as possible. I’d been trained for the role of timid, placid, accepting wife all my life, so this was no hardship, and I didn’t want to do anything that would change Brennan’s mind.
Twenty-four hours.
God, it was like a ticking time bomb in my head.
I hated that there was a waiting period. If we could have gone to the judge right then and there, I would have. I resented that I couldn’t.
Goddamn rules and regulations.
My hands tightened into fists as I watched the city swirl by.
The time for hopes and prayers was gone. I’d seen how Eoghan cared for Inessa, and had to pray that his brother fell from the same tree.
If I was tying myself to someone as brutal as Abramovicz, then I’d end my life in a heartbeat. I wasn’t about to be a man’s punching bag.
No way, no how.
But that kiss… I didn’t think brutality was in him. At least, not against women. He could have taken me in the stables, but he hadn’t. Could have shown me what my new life was going to look like. Could have taken what wasn’t offered, but he hadn’t.
Instead, he’d made me experience things that might as well have been extra-terrestrial before—arousal.
“Are you okay?”
The question stirred me from my thoughts, and I turned to find Brennan watching me.
He did that a lot.
I could feel his gaze drifting over me in the clerk’s office and on the journey to and from it. I didn’t mind. I was used to being looked at like I was an inanimate object.
No thoughts in my head.
No dreams or wishes.
Just a vessel.
That’s all I was.
My mouth tightened at the thought, the strange passion he’d stirred in me fading in a heartbeat as I thought about how I’d proven myself a long time ago.
I could have escaped the Bratva Brotherhood and made something of myself. I could have gone to a community college, could have tried to get a job. Instead, I’d become a waitress and then I’d become a whore for a biker.
I really was a vessel, a—
“Camille? Are you all right?”
I blinked at him, saw his eyes were trained on my hands and I gasped when I saw the blood peeking out from between the creases of my fingers and palms.
Embarrassment had me dithering, the tremor working down my wrist as I wondered how I could wipe away the blood with no paper towels in my purse.
My cheeks grew hot, my heart started to pound, and the nausea swirling around my belly made me wonder if I was going to puke all over my lap. Then, he reached for my arm and turned it over. He tapped my clenched fingers in a silent order when they remained furled, but I ignored it, and kept them tightly curled, knowing he’d see what lay beneath.
With his free hand, he reached over and tipped my chin up. His calluses against my tender skin had me shivering inwardly, before he rasped, “Tomorrow, you’re going to be my wife. It might start out as an arrangement, but I will know everything about you, Camille.
“I’m not the kind of man who appreciates secrets. I prefer to know what I’m up against before I dive into anything. So don’t try to bullshit me and paint yourself as being as meek as a Russian doll. You might con your father with that trick, but you won’t fool me.”
My brow puckered as I corrected, “Matryoshka dolls.”
His eyes narrowed. “You know I wasn�
��t asking for the correct terminology.”
“What if I’m as boring as those nesting dolls? What if all I know is how to be meek? Mild?”
“A mild woman wouldn’t approach an Irish mobster and force his hand into marriage.” The simple statement had me cringing.
“For survival—”
He clucked his tongue. “Exactly. When we’re under pressure, we’re at our most interesting. When you were younger, you chose flight. Now you’re older, you chose to fight.” Brennan reached up and pressed his thumb to my bottom lip. It pulled away from my teeth as he dragged it down, and he stared at the slight opening before rumbling, “Now, you’ve won this battle because tomorrow, by this time, you’ll be my wife. Just don’t push your luck. Open your hand.”
Pinching the tiniest piece of flesh on the side of my cheek between my teeth, I bit down and did as he asked. His gaze didn’t move from mine for what felt like endless seconds, when a strange heat arced between us.
It was raw, which wasn’t exactly something I was used to.
It was real, when everything in my world was a lie.
I wanted to ask him what he wanted from me, but that was a pointless question. I was forcing him into this, dragging duty up when a man like him should feel nothing of the kind. That he did should give me hope, but I’d long since learned that hope was more dangerous a drug than heroin—and I was many things, a fool, a meek doll, but I wasn’t that stupid.
His glance finally drifted down to my hand, and he arched a brow at what he saw.
Without even looking, I knew what he was seeing.
Scars. Cuts. Fresh and old. Scabs. That was where the blood came from.
“You self-harm?”
I hadn’t while I was away, but the second I’d returned to my old life, I’d returned to old habits too. “I wouldn’t call it that.”
His lips twisted into a snarl. “What would you call it?”
I blinked at him. “None of your business.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Camille. It is my business. These hands are going to be wrapped around my dick. They’re going to hold my babies.”
I could feel my forehead furrowing with a deeper crease at his response.
He raised my hand higher, twisting it left and right as the small puddles of blood dripped along the creases, gently raining down onto the leather seat between us.
“You’ve been doing this a long time.”
“With a father like mine, wouldn’t you?” I rasped, tugging at his grip.
“You think your father’s a menace, what do you think mine is?” he rumbled, his gaze ensnaring me.
The question had me wincing, because, in this, we were equals.
Both our fathers were monsters.
“We all have an escape,” I defended myself.
“Cutting isn’t an escape.” He squinted at me. “I see you slicing your palms, see the aftermath of it, I’ll tie you to the fucking bed and—”
Irritation flashed through me. “And, what?” I leaned forward, pushing into his space, and with my other hand, I prodded him. “What will you do?”
“Spank you then make you come so fucking hard you won’t remember why you were cutting yourself in the first place.”
His statement had me rearing back, so hard and so fast that my spine collided with the door, but whether or not it was fate, my abrupt gesture was timed with the car’s deceleration.
He moved forward, deeper into my space, and rasped, “You Russians might not take care of what’s yours, but we Irish? Do.” His gaze drifted behind me, to the stables’ parking lot, and it gave me a lick of space to accept that his words hadn’t inspired fear in me, just need. “Your driver isn’t back yet. Go into the yard, and we’ll wait out here until he comes back.”
“I’ll be okay—”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “Which part did you not understand? You’re mine, Camille. By your own choice.” He reached up and pinched my chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Let’s hope, for both our sakes, you don’t regret flying into my web.”
“Your web can’t be any worse than Abramovicz’s,” I whispered.
He shrugged. “I’ve had no complaints.”
I gritted my teeth at the egotistical remark, but didn’t say anything other than, “I’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Good. Be here at twelve. Make sure it’s the same guard. And don’t bring your cellphone with you.”
“Why not?” I queried with a frown, especially as we’d already exchanged numbers.
“Because your old man’s probably got a tracker in it. He did with Inessa. Caused a real shitstorm.”
I winced. “I can see him doing that. We’ll always be his property—in his mind, at least.”
Eyes darkening, he tilted his chin down. “We’ll see about that.”
To that, I didn’t utter a word, just slipped out of the car and headed toward the stables.
Though I really wanted to go back to Terry, to find comfort in my friend, I didn’t bother because I knew the guard would be returning shortly, and I wanted to see if Brennan would stay.
The sound of a door opening and closing had me turning around during my short walk, and I saw Brennan quickly ducking out of the backseat so he could dip into the front with his man. Only, our eyes clashed and held over the empty space, long enough for it to be dangerous, long enough for me to feel things I hadn’t anticipated feeling.
I wasn’t scared.
Whenever Nyx had commanded me to his side, there’d always been a rush of fear that slithered down my spine.
We all knew Nyx was borderline insane. You never said no to him. Well, outside of sexual encounters—ironically enough. Nyx would slit his wrists before he forced a woman to have sex with him.
But though I knew Brennan was just as dangerous, and from his rep—just as deadly—I wasn’t frightened.
Did a three-piece suit make that much of a difference?
Did Nyx, with his leathers and cut, his heavy boots and inked flesh, present more of a threat than a man wearing three-thousand-dollars’ worth of tailoring?
Maybe to a layman on the street.
But I knew how venomous a person could be beneath the silk.
Prettying up the devil didn’t take away from what that person was.
My father, dressed in Brioni and a hundred-thousand-dollar Rolex on his wrist, was more than capable of slicing someone from throat to belly. He just got someone else to do it so he didn’t get bloodstains everywhere.
And rumors about Brennan, and his position in the Five Points, had always been rife.
No one knew what he did, not specifically, because he tended to be everywhere. But everyone knew that the Irish didn’t work that way.
Each of the five sons had their own division, as they were their father’s arms. Not just his heirs, but his generals. Each man had a crew who worked for them, and each one had distinct roles.
I didn’t know what because the little I knew came mostly from the Sinners. In my household, business wasn’t discussed with women. Not even in front of us. We were sent out of the room when Father had to talk with his Sovietnik and Obschak, his security and money men, over dinner.
The sound of a car’s engine revving jolted me from the extended glance, and I shot a look onto the road, and saw the SUV was incoming. Brennan, also spying this, drifted into his seat, and within seconds, now my guard was back, he went, leaving me to return to the fold.
Not one part of me wanted to get into that SUV and head for the house.
The house because it was never my home. Not since Mama’s death, and maybe not even before then. I’d worked hard to shield Inessa and Victoria from the truth of our parents’ marriage, but there was only so much a teenager could do, and there’d been nobody to shield me from the sight of Mama’s busted lips and the hours spent in front of a mirror as she tried to look her normal self.
Now I was older, now I understood such dynamics, I had to wonder what else had gone down between them...<
br />
A shiver whispered down my spine at the thought.
That was why I didn’t begrudge Mama her affair with Brennan.
Why I wanted him for myself.
She would never have put herself in danger for a man who wasn’t worthy, and I had to hope that he meant what he said—he’d keep me safe.
He’d protect me.
Because once I was married to him, I was his.
And even though I didn’t know him, knew him only by reputation, and what there was of that was enough to terrify any death row inmate, I still preferred to be with him than remain under my father’s roof.
With lead feet and dread in my heart, I made my way to the SUV, but when I reached for the car door, I caught a glimpse of my hands. The blood was drying, making the creases filled with it even more prevalent, and I sighed before turning on my heel and retreating to the front reception where there was a restroom, and thankfully, no one manning the desk who’d ask me awkward questions about my ‘injuries.’
After washing up, I made a quick return, and found the driver’s seat empty and the guard back as a passenger.
Grateful because I hated being driven as it gave me car sickness, I dipped my chin at him and murmured my thanks, “Spasibo.”
“Na Zdorovie.”
The drive home took barely any time at all, and within those moments, my head was caught in a whirl. Tomorrow, I wasn’t free. I was exchanging one jail cell for another, but at least this jailor was handsome.
At least his eyes didn’t spit evil.
At least he smiled, and was capable of gentle chivalry.
My mind whirred back to those moments at the clerk’s office. He’d been a jerk, but when he’d put a hand on me, he hadn’t left bruises behind. He hadn’t dragged me toward him or toward the desk. He’d even got back into line.
A mobster—queuing.
I’d been hard-pressed not to laugh.
I doubted my father would have done that, was pretty sure his father wouldn’t have done either. So why had he?
Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four Page 9