Beyond Measure: A Dark Bratva Romance (Ruthless Doms)

by Henry, Jane

  We walk in silence, and I’m pleased to note she seems happy to be married to him.

  “And your husband…” I think for a moment. Tomas says he’s under no one’s authority, which means her husband must be under Tomas’ authority. “He answers to Tomas?”

  She nods eagerly, her eyes wide and brilliant. “We all do,” she says, then adds as an afterthought. “Even you.”

  I don’t respond, mulling this over.

  “How long have you been married?” I ask.

  “Not long. Only several weeks.”

  There are so many things I want to ask her. Surely Tomas wouldn’t have allowed me to be alone with her if I wasn’t to speak of my situation?

  “Do you know how I came to be here?” I ask her curiously.

  “Yes. You were given to Tomas by your brother.” She doesn’t even flinch. This is nothing out of the ordinary to her.

  She leads me up a flight of stairs. The wooden floorboards are shiny and polished but creak a little when we step on them. This is an old house, but well kept. The ceilings are so high I couldn’t reach them on a ladder, and the staircase we’re ascending goes up four more flights. I wonder how many of his brotherhood live here. And just when I wonder why he didn’t guard me more heavily, and I’m flirting with the idea that he actually might trust me a little, I see the two armed men following only several paces behind us. He wouldn’t need to protect me within the walls of the brotherhood commands. It only stands to reason, then, that they’re here to make sure I don’t leave.

  My belly drops to my toes and I don’t hear what Yvonne is saying at first. I’m too busy taking in the large, magnificent paintings on the walls, magnificent leaders painted in bold brush strokes, many wearing uniforms and bearing arms. I look to Yvonne. “Your husband likes to surround himself with those he looks up to. The greats, he calls them.”

  I nod. It’s interesting to note. I recognize none of them.

  When we reach the landing on the second floor, she takes a right and leads me down a long hallway. There’s a small table on this floor with a vase overflowing with bright yellow and golden flowers, the fragrance vibrant and intoxicating. I remember the home I came from, my little room that was no more than a closet, the stark white walls and utilitarian black and gray tiled floors. I wonder if the furnishings of a home speak to the character of its occupants. But sometimes I think too much. I hope too much. And I’ve learned doing so is very, very dangerous.

  “This is the door to Tomas’ quarters,” Yvonne says, looking down at the floor as she bites her lip. “He told me to come here with you, but I’m not sure if he kept it locked.” Gingerly, she tries the knob, giving a startled little gasp when the door swings open. She’s so easily frightened, I wonder at her history.

  Gesturing for me to go in ahead of her, she waits patiently. I step inside, and feel my jaw drop in surprise. I didn’t expect a place like this.

  For starters, it’s huge, the large open floor plan opening to a sitting room, an office, several bedrooms and a kitchen off to one side as well. I step inside and look around at everything in silence. I’ve never seen anything like this.

  The entryway is crafted in golds and creams, with a circular marble floor that gleams from the light of the overhead chandelier. There’s a large round mirror with a golden frame on the wall and below it, a matching table and framed landscape prints. Beyond the sitting room is a formal dining room and kitchen area, also decorated in cream and gold. I stare at the chandelier above the dining room table, little crystals dangling and catching the light. I want to explore every inch of this gorgeous home, every fine detail and luxury.

  “Tomas has outfitted this place well,” she says with a smile. “And before you came, he asked me for my advice.”

  “Your advice?” I ask. What sort of advice would a man like Tomas need?

  “Yes,” she says in her soft voice, and her pale face flushes pink again. “He asked me to help pick out some clothes for you, new bedding, and things like that. I hope you like them.”

  I walk around the apartment in a sort of haze, taking in the luxury detail. “Oh, I’m sure I will,” I tell her. “I’ve never had anything like this.”

  “I understand,” she says. “Me neither.”

  She leaps a foot when someone knocks at the door. “Are you expecting someone?” she asks. I shake my head no. Walking over to the peephole, she looks out. “Oh, that’s Eliott and his team,” she says, opening the door. “You’ll like him.”

  Unlocking the door, she opens it to welcome a very attractive young man who has spiky black hair and small round spectacles magnifying bright blue eyes. He wears a hot pink t-shirt and designer black jeans, and behind him he brings several men carrying so many things I can’t keep track.

  “Oooohhhh,” he says stepping into the large entryway. “Oh, my love, I cannot wait to get my hands on you.”

  He has a thick French accent and is immediately all up in my space. I blink in surprise. Tomas sanctioned this?

  “Caroline, Eliott is a stylist Tomas has hired to take care of you,” she says. “It’s time for me to take my leave. Enjoy, and I’ll likely see you this evening for dinner.” She’s gone, and I’m left with this team of people I’ve never met. I stand dumbly in front of them.

  “I’m…Caroline,” I say awkwardly, giving them a small smile.

  “Of course you are,” Eliott says. He’s got a heavy French accent, his hand anchored on his hips, he wags his finger in front of me. “And you are so beautiful, it comes as no wonder Tomas chose you.”

  I blink. Is he looking at the wrong girl? I must look bewildered because he throws his head back and laughs.

  “Oh, darling,” he says, drawing the words out as if they’re sticky and sweet like caramel, “little do you know what Eliott will do for you. We have disposable contacts so you can lose the glasses and stop shielding those beautiful eyes from the world.” He reaches for my hair. I flinch but he ignores me, gathering the insane, untamed waves between his fingers and twirling them. It feels immediately intimate and so shocking, I cringe. Would Tomas approve?

  And how can I be so concerned about what he thinks already?

  Eliott continues, unaware of my inner turmoil. “This hair needs a good cut and some highlights to bolster the body, but it’s thick and full and lustrous.” He makes a sound of approval. “What woman wouldn’t kill for hair like this.”

  “Are you high?” I ask him, completely baffled by his admiration. “This is frizz ball hair to the nth degree. It’s hideous.”

  “Oh, hush,” he says, playfully smacking my arm. “Sacrilege.” He snaps his gum and winks at me. “You wait to see what Eliott does for you.” He claps his hands over his head. “Come, team. Let us beautify the new bride.”

  Chapter 9

  Tomas

  I don’t like being apart from her. Though I trust the men I’ve sent to guard her and I trust Yvonne, and I even trust Eliott and his team of men who should be with her now, after what happened in Atlanta, I want her where I can see her. Where I can touch her. Where I can throw my body over her to protect her if any harm comes her way. But I am pakhan, and I have business to attend to.

  Yakov is in my office, one knee crossed over the other when I enter.

  “Yakov,” I greet.

  “Sir, how are you?” he asks. He wants to know how everything went. I fill him in about the wedding, briefly touch on Caroline, then tell him about the incident before we left.

  “Bastard,” he says. “I hate Aren Koslov. I’m glad you took his sister. Arranged marriage aside, you probably rescued her.”

  I don’t tell him that I agree with this suspicion.

  “I’m not sure I trust her yet, though,” I tell him. “I’m keeping her under a watchful eye. She’s willful and disobedient, among other things.”

  Yakov smirks. “Aren’t they all?”

  I roll my eyes at him, but he only laughs. Yakov was commanded by me to take a wife from a virgin auction. He purchased
Yvonne but has treated her with kindness and it shows. She’s dedicated to him, and clearly submissive. He’s throwing down the gauntlet. Men in our brotherhood don’t play by the rules.

  “She’ll learn to obey you,” he says, sobering. Given what we do and where we rank, she’ll have no choice. A glint of humor lights his eyes. “And if you’re lucky, she’ll enjoy it.”

  He fills me in on what’s happened in my absence and who to expect at this evening’s dinner. I check in on a few of our transactions and instruct him to clear Aren’s debt.

  “Tomas, you know the rule, though, right?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Consummate the marriage. Believe me, I know.”

  Yakov nods but doesn’t pry. A prideful man like him would know that I don’t want to take my new wife by force. I’ll want her willing participation, though a little struggle is welcome. Anyone could take a woman by force. It takes a much stronger man to seduce her. I’m too proud, and I want her begging.

  After going over everything I need to know, he leaves. I make the necessary phone calls for tonight. Lev, my brigadier, has made sure that food is prepared, the caterers coming this evening. He shows me pictures of the wedding cake he’s gotten me, and the reception hall decorated with pearly white balloons and flowers. It feels almost normal, that we’re celebrating our wedding reception this evening, and that I haven’t taken her against her will and brought her here in payment for her brother’s debt.

  I spend over an hour going over details with Lev, answering calls and issuing commands for the security for tonight’s event. After Aren’s henchman threatened my girl, I’m not too thrilled that I’ll be taking her into a crowded setting. I want her alone. I want her to myself.

  I want to own her.

  I wonder if she’s afraid, and if so, what it is she fears most. Is she curious? Hopeful? Will she ask Yvonne how she came to be here, and what will she think of me when she does? But as a woman raised in Bratva life, I assume she will not be a stranger to our ways.

  Several hours later, I’m ready to go to her and prepare for tonight, and when I reach my door, either side still flanked by guards, I hear voices talking within.

  “Eliott and his team are almost finished,” one of the guards says. I nod and open the door. When I step in, a hush falls over the apartment.

  I’ve taken women here before but none with any permanence. No one has even so much as spent the night in my bed. Now, not only do I have a woman with me, that woman is my wife. This is all new to me, and I’m not sure how much freedom to give her. The protection I’ve ordered is for her safety as well as supervision. She could run, though I wonder where she’d go. From what little I’ve gathered; I doubt she’d want to return to her home in San Diego.

  “Is that you, Tomas?” Eliott’s voice, prettied up in his thick French accent, comes from the master suite’s bathroom.

  “It is.” I kick my shoes off at the entrance, marveling at the way the housecleaners have prepared this place. There’s a decided feminine touch that wasn’t there before with flowers and even dainty throw pillows in my living room.

  I like it.

  It feels good to be home, and I feel a bit of the tension leaving me as I walk across the thick carpet toward the bedroom. I can pick out Caroline’s voice talking to Eliott’s team. I’ve only known her for a short time but already know the sweet but certain lilt. She’s speaking in hushed tones, though, so I can’t make out the words.

  “We are not ready yet, sir!” Eliott says. “Out!”

  But no one tells me to leave my own room. I open the door and enter.

  Eliott sighs. “Of course he doesn’t listen to me.” I give him a warning look, but soon get distracted by the sight in front of me. “I told you she’s not ready yet!” Eliott says, lifting his hands to shield her from me. “If you’d only give me a few minutes—”

  “Put your hands down.”

  Eliott isn’t Bratva but knows to obey. With a mournful sigh, he obeys and steps to the side. Caroline turns to me.

  I can’t help but stare unabashedly at the woman who sits in front of me. Gone are the cumbersome glasses, nothing shielding me now from her wide, beautiful eyes accented with thick lashes and arched brows. I don’t even notice her scar I’m so enamored with everything else about her.

  Her freckled complexion looks somehow softer, smoother, and though the freckles are still there, her face looks radiant. She glows, her cheeks faintly flushed, her delicate creamy skin begging to be touched. A light pink gloss adorns her full, pouty lips. I need to kiss those lips. Own them. Make them mine.

  Her hair that was once wild and untamed now frames her face in silky sheets, so full and beautiful it affects her whole appearance. She clutches the tie to the robe she wears as if to shield herself from me. It won’t work.

  “What do you think?” Eliott says proudly, as I walk slowly toward her, my arms outstretched. I want to gather her in my arms, but an irrational part of me fears that if I do, she’ll vanish like a ghost, as if this stunning woman in front of me is only a mirage.

  “What do I think?” I repeat. “I think you and your team needs to leave this room.” Her eyes widen and she takes an involuntary step back.

  “Sir, I haven’t even dressed her yet,” he says, shaking his head, and I know if I was anyone other than the pakhan, he would slap my hand and send me out of here until he was done.

  “It’s precisely because you haven’t dressed her yet that you need to leave,” I tell him. “Now.”

  He actually has the nerve to chuckle, gathering up his team and rustling out to the door.

  “See you tonight,” he says. I overhear him whisper to his assistant in a stage whisper, “I predict we will soon see little Bratva boys and girls in this house. You watch.”

  The door shuts. They’re gone.

  She stands in front of me, eyeing me with a good deal of trepidation. Capturing her lips between her teeth, she looks shyly my way.

  “They did a good job,” she whispers. “I—” She freezes, and I wonder if she remembers my admonition not to make self-deprecating remarks. She was about to. “It’s sort of miraculous,” she finally mutters, like she can’t even believe it. I’ll let that pass.

  “Come here.”

  I quirk a finger at her. Though taken with her beauty, I haven’t forgotten my primary duty, to train her in obedience so we can fill our roles, so we can lead this group of men with the clear understanding of who we are and what our duties are. Holding my gaze, she comes to me, and it isn’t until she’s within arm’s reach of me that I realize she’s trembling.

  When she reaches me, I take her hand and tug her closer. She gives a little squeal and trots quickly to me.

  “Tomas,” she whispers, fear written in her wide eyes. “I don’t… please—”

  But I ignore her. Whatever it is she fears, she’ll face it and I will lead her. We don’t have the luxury of a lengthy courtship or weeks to get to know one another. Tonight, our hall will be filled to capacity with the most powerful leaders in America. My men will come in droves, expecting to see me arrive with my wife on my arm. An obedient, beautiful, submissive wife.

  I reach one hand to her thick, gorgeous hair, running my fingertips through it from scalp to tip. The first time I do it she tenses, but the second time she begins to relax. By the third, she’s leaning into me, her eyes closed. The faintest scent of honey and violets lingers, carefree and feminine. It stirs something within me.

  She’s ignorant to how beautiful she is. I’m losing myself to her already, and she doesn’t even know.

  I kiss her forehead, marveling at the silky feel of her skin at my lips. Dragging my hand along her shoulder, I draw it down, grasping her lower back and pulling her to me. She grasps my shoulders, anchoring onto me as I make my way down from her forehead to the apple of her cheek, the tip of her nose, the delicate chin, her graceful neck. But I don’t kiss her lips.

  I release her just enough so that I can grasp the sash to her robe.


  “Tomas,” she breathes.

  “Caroline. What do you have under that robe?”

  “Undergarments,” she says on a shaky whisper. One tug, and the tie comes undone.

  “Show me.”

  With her head bowed, she shrugs out of the robe and lets it fall to the floor. She stands in front of me now wearing nothing but a push-up bra and the thinnest pair of panties. I feel as if I’ve just unwrapped a gift of immense worth, and I’m not worthy.

  “Did they leave you clothes to change into?” I ask, looking around the room. Logically, I know they had to but a part of me wishes they didn’t. I want to keep her in my room forever with nothing but this robe between us. And I could if I wanted to.

  She swallows hard and points to a gown hung on a hook at the back of the bathroom door. It’s pale blue and edged in delicate lace and silver, almost old-fashioned yet low-cut enough to be modern.

  “I’ll dress you myself,” I tell her. “But first you will spend some time with me.”

  I can see her pulse at her neck, and when I take her wrist between my fingers, I can feel the way her heartbeat thunders.

  “You’re afraid.”

  “Of course.” She swallows hard.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  A pause before she responds.

  “You.”

  My cock tightens, the need to claim her hard and fast all consuming. I want to show her where fear can take us while at the same time giving her more to fear. She doesn’t know what I have stored in this room, the tools in my closet and in the table beside the bed. The instruments of torture and pleasure I’ll use to command her body to orgasm over, and over, and over again.

  “When do we have to go?” she asks, lifting her fingers to her neck, an automatic move of self-protection. “I should maybe get ready, you know. It looks hard getting into that dress and my hair will have to be done again. And makeup. Maybe everything. You should maybe even call Eliott back.”

  It’s cute how she’s trying to distract me, as if mentioning a commitment will somehow make me forget I have a beautiful woman who is all mine standing in front of me. As if I don’t command the time we arrive tonight. I could call everything off with one word. I answer to no one.