by Henry, Jane
“I’ve met some evil men in my line of work,” I tell her, keeping my tone casual. “In fact, I’d say most of us had a bit of the devil in us. Some more so than others.” I stare at my clean hands that were covered in another man’s blood only minutes ago. If she knew what I’ve done to get where I am, the steps I’ve taken within the Bratva to rise to power…
“Not like him,” she says, her tone frigid. “I’ve met many of you. You live by a code of conduct. And yes, some of you do wicked things.” She sighs, looking out the window. “The truth is, most of you do. I know this.” Shaking her head, she crosses her arms on her chest and pulls inward. “But I’ve never met a man with soulless eyes until I met him.”
He hurt her. The wounds he inflicted may be hidden, but she bears the scars of something terrible and cruel.
I’ll find out what he did if it kills me. I start with the most obvious question, though I know before I ask her that she won’t tell me.
“What did he do to you?”
Predictably, she pinches her lips together, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if she’s freezing cold. She won’t say, and I suspect it’s because she doesn’t trust me. Not yet. She’s just seen me beat a man and threaten to end his life. Why would she?
I’ll find out what he did to her, if it takes me a year to earn her trust and respect. Even if I have to hire someone to investigate. I’ll find out what he did, and he will pay.
“Caroline.”
Though I know she won’t tell me more, it’s still unacceptable not to answer me when I speak to her. She looks to me, her eyes still shuttered after speaking of Andros.
“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer,” I chide. “It’s imperative that you obey me and respond when I speak to you. This time, I won’t insist, but in the future I will.”
At my challenge, her gaze narrows on me and her lips pinch tighter together. I’ll have her answer me.
“Are you a virgin?”
A beat passes before she responds. I watch as she swallows hard. “You didn’t want to know that before you took me? Didn’t you want someone pure and untainted?”
“Answer the question.” She will learn to obey me and answer my questions.
“No,” she says, and at first, I think she’s defying me. But no, she’s answering my question.
“You’re not a virgin?”
She snorts derisively. “Do you find it surprising that a woman who looks like me isn’t a virgin? That someone would actually want to put his—”
“Enough.” I can’t wait to get home to my own room where my tools lie at my disposal. One good round with a rattan cane ought to curb that tongue of hers. I wait until she’s closed her mouth and sits silently before I continue. “Now that I have your undivided attention, this is as good a time as any to talk about your duties to me as my wife.”
“Oh? Do go on,” she says, her voice dripping in sarcasm. “When you’re through, can we discuss your duties to me as my husband?”
Yes, she will definitely be giving me reason to punish her. I can’t help but smile at her when I squeeze her knee. “I’m well aware of my duties to you as your husband.”
A faint color creeps up her neck and tints her cheeks, and she swallows hard. I love making her flush like that.
“To begin, you’ll stay in my bedroom,” I tell her, and when her brow draws together, confused, I explain, “In the past, some pakhans have given their wives permission to wander freely, but for me that will be imperative.”
“Right. So… always? I’m not allowed to leave the room?”
“You will,” I tell her. “I’ll give you freedom if you earn it. But what I mean is you will not have a room apart from me.”
“Fair,” she says, but I imagine she looks a little relieved. “In fact, I’d prefer that.” I don’t ask her why, but it pleases me she acquiesces to this readily. Some of my other demands will be harder for her to swallow.
“You’ll be expected to obey me. I’ll demand obedience, respect, and honesty from you.”
“Of course.” Though she verbally agrees, her body language gives me a different response, her rigid spine and fiery eyes promising me that earning her obedience and respect will be a difficult task.
“You’ll accompany me to social obligations, both within our brotherhood and with extended brotherhoods.”
Her lips part and her eyes widen a little, but she swallows and nods. I’m a little surprised by her response. “Do you… do you have many social obligations?” she asks.
“As pakhan, I do.” I continue to list her duties. “I’ll expect you to bear my children—”
“No.”
I didn’t expect such a defiant and immediate response. She explains herself promptly. “I will not bring children into Bratva life,” she says. “Never.”
Though I dislike the defiance in her voice, I can’t help but admire her tenacity. The woman’s will is made of iron.
“Caroline, married couples within the Bratva bear children,” I explain to her. “We will need an heir to take on my role when it’s time.”
“No.”
We will see about that. I will do what I have to. Impregnating my wife is crucial but doing so against her will puts everything else at risk. Plus, I hate the very thought. I want to come home after a hard day of work to a wife that’s eager for my return, not plotting my demise.
The window between us and our driver rolls down. “Sir, we’ve arrived at the airport.”
“We will speak more of this later,” I say, as we cruise to a stop.
“We will not.”
We’re about to exit the vehicle. My men wait for us and will attend us on our journey home, and when we arrive more of my men will greet us. She will not speak to me this way.
I reach for her jaw and grasp it in my hand, noting the way her eyes widen when I yank her gaze to mine. “That’s enough,” I tell her. “No more defiance from you. No more backtalk. If you speak out of turn again, I’ll remove your privilege of speaking.”
Her eyes are molten embers. I can feel her jaw clench as she glares at me.
“Fine.”
I shake my head, and she growls a little. I hold her more firmly.
“Yes, sir,” she manages through clenched teeth.
“Good girl,” I tell her with sarcasm. She’s not a good girl at all but a very, very naughty one.
The door to our vehicle opens and our bodyguards and escorts wait outside. I put my arm out for her to take, which she does without comment. I lead her to the where our private plane waits, the entryway by the gate surrounded by my men, armed.
“That’s the plane we’re taking?” she says when we arrive. The plane stands right outside this window, right near the loading dock.
“It is,” I tell her. “Private, and the swiftest in our fleet.”
“Excellent.”
The woman needs a good, hard spanking over my lap then a good, hard fucking to tame her. To start, anyway. It’s a shame we won’t have room or privacy enough on the way home, though I’ll be sure we do after we arrive.
“Are you a nervous flier?”
“I haven’t flown enough to say,” she explains. “Though my last trip I was nervous before I got on, so yeah, I probably am.”
What the hell did they do to her before they brought her to me? Still, I know she was afraid of coming at all. Now it looks like my wife is nervous.
We board, and I have her sit right beside me. This is a first-class flight, only two and a half hours long, so there’s plenty of room for both of us, as well as private TV’s, music, and in-flight food and drink. I’m curious what she’ll choose as entertainment. I want to know everything about her.
“Do you need something to help you for the flight?”
She shakes her head, but she’s already white knuckling the seat.
The attendant brings us a menu. I order Caroline a glass of champagne and orange juice.
“What if I don’t want that?” she says, her li
ps pulled into an almost-pout.
I shrug. “You could fight me if you’d like. But it’ll help you relax for the flight. And if I were you, I’d save my fight for something bigger. A little drink can help loosen you up.”
The pout loosens a little. When the drinks arrive, I pour the champagne and orange juice in one glass for me and another for her.
“Cheers. To our honeymoon.”
“Cheers,” she says, clinking the glass with chagrin and a sigh. She says nothing about our honeymoon. We both know we aren’t the traditional couple, and we won’t follow the usual methods or customs.
She may not like her circumstances or me, and I’ve already accepted that. But given what she’s come from, I hope I can offer her something at least a little better.
I have two more days to consummate this marriage.
When she finishes her drink, I pour her a second.
“Drink.” Wordlessly, she holds my eyes and obeys. “This is delicious,” she says. “Do you drink often?”
I shrug. Social drinking is a way of life for me and my brothers, though I hold my liquor well. “My father was a mean drunk and I vowed I would never follow in those footsteps. You?”
“I never drink,” she says, while she upends her glass and polishes off her second. “I’m too much of a control freak.” She finishes her drink and places it on the tray in front of her, then leans and head back and closes her eyes. “But for now, I’d like to rest.”
I wait until she falls asleep, her head tipped to the side. She’s never had alcohol. She was mistreated at the hands of her brother, and her brother’s friend.
What does she secretly long for? Fantasize about? What is it that her heart longs for?
I make it my mission to find out.
Chapter 8
Caroline
“Caroline.” I’m in my bed, covered in blankets, and Andros has broken into my room. I’ve fastened bolts and locks but no matter what I do, he finds a way to me. This time, I will fight him. He will not take advantage of me. Not now. Not ever again. Under my pillow I’ve hidden a knife. If I can only take it out, when he pulls back the covers, I will plunge it between his ribcage and twist it until he bleeds out to his death. I reach for the knife, but I can’t find it. My fingers search fruitlessly for the cold metal blade but find nothing.
“Caroline.” The voice is more insistent now, and I’m being shaken. I don’t wake yet, because I’m still in a panic, trying to find the knife.
“Caroline.”
I blink awake, staring into Tomas’ dark brown, concerned eyes.
“We’ve just landed,” he says. “We’re here.”
My head feels as if it’s been stuffed with cotton, the taste of the drink he plied me with now sour in my mouth. I forgot that a plane ride to Boston would take fewer than three hours. I stretch, ignoring the way my heart still pounds in my chest. I don’t remember what I dreamt about, but it’s left a sad weight on my chest that only worsens when I remember where I am and where we’re going.
I’m married to a fierce beast of a man who expects obedience and submission from me. I know no one in his brotherhood and don’t even know anything about Boston. I’m tired, my body still on West Coast time and not yet used to the three-hour time difference. Everything is new to me, but considering where I’ve come from, that isn’t a bad thing.
I have so many questions for him, but it’s time to exit the plane. He takes me by the hand and leads me down the small ladder that leads to the runway. It’s a little chilly and rainy, and I shiver. A full dozen men stand at attention as if we’re royalty and they’re prepared to do his bidding.
Hell, maybe we are. I don’t know anything about this group at all. I know that Tomas is pakhan, and with that bears the weight of responsibility and prestige. Does he command the respect of fellow leaders? The way his men look to him is a far cry from the way my brother’s men did. They look to Tomas with respect and deference, their eyes on me curious but detached. I saw what he did to the man in Atlanta. They likely know to keep their distance from me.
Good. I prefer it that way.
Tomas is shaking hands, and they’re clapping him on the back, congratulating him in Russian.
“Sir, we’ve prepared a banquet tonight,” one of the men says. “To celebrate your marriage.”
“Excellent,” Tomas says. “Thank you.”
The man goes on to list the political officials who will be in attendance, as well as the prominent local businessmen. I cringe inwardly but don’t respond. I hate the idea of being paraded around in front of a crowd of beautiful, wealthy, and influential people. Hate it.
But when I remember the litany of duties I have as his wife, I sigh. I have no choice. Not this time.
And even if I did… would I choose another road? Tomas is fiercely protective. Though the beating he gave the man in Atlanta terrified me, the very memory making my stomach clench in fear, I like knowing he will not let anyone harm me. It feels nice to be cherished by someone, even if the only reason he treasures me is because he’s proprietary. Because I belong to him.
He doesn’t care about you.
I can’t help but admonish myself. Though I’ve been mistreated, that doesn’t mean that I can fall for him. That I can let my silly hopes and weak desires influence my behavior around him at all.
A car waits for us, and I wearily step to the door when one of his men opens it for me. “Welcome to Boston,” he says with a smile.
“Thank you.”
The windows here are also tinted, but this interior is larger than the last car we were in. Tomas joins me and we leave the airport.
“How many men do you command?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Somewhere in the neighborhood of four dozen total, though some live in areas outside our immediate vicinity.”
Four dozen? He has nearly fifty men under his authority?
Wow. My brother had ten, and some obeyed in surly reluctance.
“Are you obedient to anyone?” I ask. I’m only superficially aware of the laws of Bratva hierarchy.
He smiles. “Only to the laws of the brotherhood.”
The laws of the brotherhood. Like, say, consummate your marriage to your new wife?
Our drive takes about half an hour through traffic. The entire time, Tomas frowns at his phone, his fingers flying over the small screen. I assume he’s doing work of some sort. Finally, we pull off the highway, and park in a huge parking lot filled with powerful, shiny trucks, SUVs and more lucrative sports cars. This brotherhood has money. Tomas leads us out.
He takes our bags and leads me to a large brick building that looks almost like an apartment building. It’s well-kept and maintained outside, neatly trimmed green bushes flanking the entrance, and stone steps leading to the main door. A wreath graces its center, with oranges and golds.
It isn’t until then that I really look around us. I couldn’t see much from the airport and even less through the tinted windows of our ride, but now my eyes widen in surprise and I breathe out, “Wow.”
It’s… like nothing I’ve seen before. The trees around us are afire with golden, burnt orange, and crimson leaves. We’ve arrived during peak foliage in New England, the magnificent vibrant colors more beautiful than I could’ve imagined. We don’t see a change in seasons like this in San Diego.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Dobrynin,” Tomas says with a smile. He’s proud, but I’m not sure if he’s proud of his home or me. Both? “Have you ever visited New England in fall?”
“Never,” I breathe. “It’s stunning.”
He chuckles. Something in me thrills at the sound, so rare it’s precious. I like making him smile.
“I’m honored to witness your first visit.” Opening the door to the large building, he gestures for me to go in ahead of him. I do, still turning to look around us at everything I missed before the large, solid door shuts.
“How long does it last?” I ask him.
“Weeks,” he says. “It’s a stage, a pro
cess if you will. What begins as minor coloring as the leaves die off morphs into full, beautiful foliage. But the beauty is a sign of dying. The leaves need to die off before new ones grow.”
I mull over his words quietly, the romantic in me wondering if it’s a sort of metaphor. Does everything die in beauty before welcoming new growth and opportunity?
“How many weeks do we have left?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “All depends on the weather.”
“My guess is three.” A soft female voice comes from behind me. I start, then swivel around to look at who spoke. She’s a pale blonde woman wearing a simple dress. When I turn to look at her, she flushes madly, as if embarrassed that she captured my attention. She looks as if she wants the earth to swallow her hole, which amuses me considering she volunteered this information. Do I intimidate her? Or does she always flush so easily?
“Yvonne,” Tomas says in greeting. She bows her head when he speaks to her and doesn’t meet his eyes.
“I spoke out of turn, sir,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re fine,” he says. “You’re allowed to speak.” His permission startles me. What sort of command does he hold that others wonder if they’re allowed to speak?
“Yvonne, meet my wife Caroline. Caroline, Yvonne.” I feel a bit shy myself after the introduction.
She shakes my hand, her own cold and clammy.
“Pleased to meet you,” I say.
“Yvonne, where is Yakov?”
“He said he’d be waiting for you in your office, sir.”
Tomas nods and looks to me. “Yvonne, will you show Caroline to our room? A few things have happened that I need to catch up on with Yakov.”
“Yes, of course.”
Yvonne comes to me and gestures for me to follow her. It surprises me how hard it is for me to leave Tomas. I know nothing of where we are or who I’ll meet within these walls, and my past experience makes me hesitant to be without the man who protects me. Reluctantly, I go down a hall while Tomas walks in the opposite direction.
“Who is Yakov?” I ask her.
“My husband,” she says quietly, a small smile playing on her lips.