Beyond Measure: A Dark Bratva Romance (Ruthless Doms)

by Henry, Jane

  “Starving,” I tell her. When she reaches me, I sling an arm around her waist, lean down and inhale her scent. “Do you know how to cook the food of my homeland, little detka?”

  “Of course, I do. And which name do you mean now?” she asks with a coy little smile. “Baby or brat?”

  “That depends. Have you misbehaved?”

  Her little smile makes my chest tighten and my breathing hitch. She has no idea how her eyes light up when she’s flirting with me, how her cheeks flush with color when she submits to me. And her ignorance of her beauty is part of the appeal.

  “Of course not, sir.”

  “Then you’re my baby,” I say, pulling her even closer to me and burying my face in her hair. I run my hands through the soft mass, breathing in deeply, before I whisper in her ear. “But I hope you misbehave soon.”

  “So soon?” she whispers back. “My butt still aches from the punishment you gave me.” She swallows hard, resting her head in the crook of my neck. “And honestly, it isn’t the only thing that aches.”

  She needs me to make good on my promise.

  “When will dinner be ready?”

  “Twenty minutes.” Not enough time for what I plan to do.

  “How will you cook enough potatoes for an army in twenty minutes?”

  Her eyes twinkle and she beckons for me to dip my head low so she can whisper to me. “We don’t need those potatoes for this evening. But I overheard you saying that your new recruit needed to be humbled, so I’ve put him to peeling potatoes. They’ll keep in water.”

  I smile at her. “You’d be a good mother, sweetheart. We would make a good team, you know, you and I.”

  Her eyes cloud, but I don’t push the issue.

  She shows me around the kitchen while everyone performs their final preparations. “Now, husband, out to the dinner table. We will serve you momentarily. And I’d like to get ready for dinner.”

  “I’ll go back to our room with you and we’ll both get ready.”

  She gives me a teasing look. “Tomas, if I go with you back to the room, we’ll never make it out in time for dinner.”

  She has a point.

  So, I join Nicolai and Yakov at the table and have a cold beer before she comes. It feels good to sit here with my brothers, preparing to eat dinner served by my wife, and I know the plans I have for the evening ahead.

  “You let her in the kitchen?” Yakov asks curiously. “Are you sure that’s wise?’

  “Of course,” I tell him. “It’s something she’s passionate about, and I want her to feel at home. And what harm could befall her there?” We’re so heavily guarded, I know she’s safe.

  Yakov scorns. “It’s servant’s work.”

  I nod and take another pull of my beer before I respond. “We’ve all done our part in hard labor, Yakov. Have we not?” Nicolai was in the military and served as bodyguard for his Atlanta brotherhood for years. Yakov has a history as a bricklayer in Russia before he became Brava.

  “But she’s a woman.”

  “It doesn’t matter. There’s no shame in honest, hard work.” I shrug. “And it matters to me that she can pursue her passions.”

  Yakov’s lips thin before he takes another drink.

  “What is it?” I press. “What concerns you?”

  “You grow too soft with her, too easily,” he says. “A spoiled woman will not learn to respect her husband. And as leader of our brotherhood, many look up to you.”

  “He has a point, brother,” Nicolai chimes in.

  Unbelievable. These two fell so hard for their women it’s become a running joke among the brotherhood.

  I snort. “And who was the one who bought a puppy for his woman not a week ago?” I ask Yakov.

  “Of course I did,” Yakov says. “He’s a pitbull. He’ll protect her in my absence.”

  “She bought him a raincoat, Yakov.”

  He shrugs. “That doesn’t mean he won’t protect her. And it definitely doesn’t mean she doesn’t obey me when I demand it.”

  I turn to Nicolai. “And who was the one literally massaging his pregnant wife’s feet? Hmm? And I’m the one who’s grown too soft?”

  Nicolai rolls his eyes. “I’ve known Marissa longer than I’ve known any of you. And believe me, she knows what I expect of her whether I’m giving her a foot rub or drawing her a bath. In fact, one of the reasons she’s so devoted is because I take such good care of her.”

  “Precisely.” They quiet when I speak. “And this is no different. In her home, Caroline was not allowed in the kitchen. She was mistreated and abused. She shall not be here. She will do her duty to me as my wife, and I’ll expect no less.” I harden my voice. Though these two are my brothers and fellow Bratva, I’m still their pakhan. “But I’ll allow her in the kitchen if she wishes. There will be a time and place to ensure her loyalty and obedience. Just as there’s a time and place for you to show your loyalty and obedience to me.”

  They nod and both of them grow sober. “And I won’t hear another word about how soft I’ve grown with my wife.”

  “You need to take time to get to know her,” Yakov says.

  I’ve had enough of their admonition.

  “We have the rest of our lives to get to know one another. We’re wedded to each other.”

  “Tomas,” Nicolai says warningly. “You’re infatuated with her. Don’t forget who her brother is. It’s in her best interest to earn your approval. She’s on her best behavior now, but it won’t always be that way.”

  In the far corner of the room, I see Caroline in the doorway. She’s changed into a clean dress, brushed her hair, and waits for me to beckon her to come.

  I smile at her and beckon for her to come to me and speak to Yakov and Nicolai in a low whisper she can’t hear. “This conversation is over. I don’t want to hear another word from you two about how I treat her.”

  But I can’t shake their warnings. Am I infatuated with the newness of us? I can’t forget where Caroline came from, and I know that. But sometimes, sincerity and integrity overcome abuse. Sometimes, those who are repressed and hurt rise above the cruelty they’ve suffered, and beauty rises from the ashes. My gut says she isn’t playing me, she hasn’t merely put on a show.

  I’m tempted to tell them to leave us. I don’t want to be reminded of what they’ve said to me while I dine with my new wife. I want to enjoy her alone. But I decide instead to compromise. They can stay with me for now, but we’ll eat dessert alone.

  I can’t ignore their warnings that play in my mind. I can’t ignore my most trusted advisors. Is she really who she appears to be?

  Chapter 16

  Caroline

  I prepared for dinner tonight as nervous as a young girl about to go on her first date. But tonight isn’t our first time together. My body still hums with need, still remembers the pain of his punishment and pleasure he’s granted me. Yet my hands shake when I fix my hair, and I need to have Eliott help me zip my dress.

  At first when I came back to the room and found a note from Eliott, I found it a bit over the top.

  Ring me to help you prepare for dinner.

  Who am I, that I need the assistance of someone for such a silly, daily task? I fumbled with my preparations until I realized I couldn’t quite do it alone.

  So I called. He came in less than a minute, beaming from ear to ear.

  “I’m glad you gave me this opportunity,” he said, then in minutes, my dress was zipped, my makeup fixed, my hair done.

  “I can’t do this every day,” I tell him. “I mean, eventually I need to be able to handle my own—beautification or whatever.”

  He grins and wags a finger at me. “And why can you not do this every day, mmm?”

  I shrug. “It seems so shallow and unnecessary.”

  He shakes his head. “Mon amie, you still think like a single girl and not like the wife of the pakhan. Your appearance is of vital importance. When you present yourself as haggard or unkempt, it reflects on your respect for your
husband.”

  I laugh out loud. “Eliott, not having a personal assistant fix my hair and makeup hardly makes me unkempt. Need I remind you, the majority of women take care of their own appearances?”

  “Hush,” he says, dismissing my protests with another wave of his hand. “The majority of women are not wife to the pakhan. Eventually, you will learn how to prepare. But don’t put me out of a job quite yet, yes?”

  So, I let him get me ready. But now that I face my husband, in this massive, impressive dining room, surrounded by those powerful, muscled men he calls brothers, I lose a bit of my resolve. I look to him and wave, then feel heat creep up my neck. I waved at him, like we were friends meeting up at a bar. Gah. And his reaction doesn’t soothe my nerves. He beckons to me sharply, a scowl on his face.

  Did I do something wrong? I hate that I fear this, but I do. He’s my husband, and I wish to please him.

  “You look stunning,” he says with pleasure when I reach him. Standing, he places a possessive hand on my lower back and kisses my cheek. My heart does a crazy little skip in my chest at the gentle kiss. I’m pleased with his praise.

  “Thank you. I felt silly calling Eliott, but I needed help.” He pulls out a chair for me and I sit. I look down at the table and reach for the napkins to steady my shaking hands. “Eventually, I’ll know how to do these things myself.”

  “Then I’d have to fire Eliott,” he says. “Are you sure you want that?” Though his eyes twinkle at me, I can’t help but take him seriously.

  “Would you fire him if I didn’t need him?”

  “Relax, Caroline,” he says, but he looks as if his mind is elsewhere. “Eliott is here to serve you. Allow him.”

  One of the kitchen staff approaches me before I can respond, and I answer her question about which dish to serve first. When I turn back to Tomas, he’s scowling. What have I done?

  “I’d prefer to serve you the food I—” I begin, but before I can finish my sentence, he shakes his head sharply.

  “I allowed you to cook, but under no condition will you serve me or my brothers. You are not paid staff, Caroline. You are wife to the pakhan.”

  I feel as if he’s doused me with cold water, the pleasure I felt just moments ago at his praise dashed that quickly, and now he’s scowling again.

  Did I imagine any tenderness on his part? Was it merely in my head, thinking he wanted to let me pursue my interests and actually have some semblance of normalcy to married life? And as I mull on this, I feel my own irritation rising. Maybe he only patronized me to placate me, and now he wants me in my place.

  How could I have ever thought he could ever love a girl like me?

  I look down at my handsome husband, unable to meet his eyes. I’m no longer hungry for the food that I made.

  What if he’s no better than my brother? What if I haven’t escaped to a better place but chained myself to a man who will never love me, who will make me bear his children, and who’ll punish me if I step a toe out of line? It’s a sobering and fairly nauseating possibility.

  “Stop pouting,” he snaps, when the server brings us the first course, salad, followed by pierogi.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and try to take a bite of the food, but I’m practically choking it down. I finally put my fork down. My tongue feels too big, my mouth dry.

  After a moment of silence, he furrows his brows. “Why aren’t you eating?” His tone makes me stiffen my spine and snap my gaze to his.

  “I’m not hungry,” I say, unable to mask the petulance in my voice.

  “I don’t care if you’re hungry or not. Eating isn’t an option. You’ll eat a decent meal without question.” He dumps food onto my plate with a scowl.

  I cross my arms on my chest and glare at him. I’m aware that I’m acting like a toddler, but I don’t want to eat anything against my will, and he’s being a jerk.

  He takes a large forkful of pierogi and makes a low sound of approval.

  “Christ, this is good, little detka,” he says. “You made this?”

  The lump in my throat softens a little. “I did,” I say. I’m fighting this so hard, but I can’t help but still like his praise. “I made it with assistance, but I did teach them. And I’m glad you like it.”

  I take a little bite myself. He’s right. It is good.

  Maybe he just needs to eat a little, for after half a dozen enormous bites, his plate is empty, and his gaze has softened a bit. I follow suit and eat.

  “Good girl,” he says with approval. “That’s much better.” They bring in the main dish as planned, and now my grumpy bear of a husband actually smiles.

  “Is that befstroganov? I haven’t had that in a decade or more. If you can make befstroganov and well, I may have to reward you. I might even overlook the little attitude you gave me earlier.” I had a suspicion a rich meat dish in a creamy sauce over noodles would go over very well with him.

  I hide a smile, but when he takes a huge bite and groans out loud with pleasure, I don’t bother hiding my smile anymore.

  “You like it, then?”

  “This is delicious,” he says. “It’s the best I’ve ever had.” It seems my grumpy husband doles out praise and punishment in equal measure. He’s giving me veritable whiplash. I feel like I need to hold on tight to survive the ride.

  After he’s finished his portion, the final dish comes out and we both eat heartily. He pushes himself away from the table after eating literally three times what I do, and I eat a good amount. Wiping his mouth, he looks at me with approval, nodding slowly to himself.

  “That was a meal fit for a king, Caroline,” he says. “Thank you.”

  “Did you save room for dessert?” I’m so pleased he’s happy, that he enjoyed this meal that I made, my heart feels light as a feather. I wish I wasn’t so sensitive to his approval, so eager for his praise, for my logical mind warns me this places me in danger...in a state of raw vulnerability where I can so easily be hurt.

  I wish it didn’t matter to me as much as it does, but I can’t deny the fact that his approval thrills me. Somehow, I feel winning the heart of the beast makes me victorious, empowered. He’s no easy one to love, but I can’t help but want to.

  “Dessert will be served in our private rooms,” he says, standing. Reaching a hand out to me, he lifts me to my feet. “We have much to discuss, and I have no more patience left. I want you alone, now.”

  I get to my feet, suddenly nervous. What will he do to me when we’re alone? He’s made reference to his tools and the wicked things he wishes to do to me.

  Will he make good on that promise?

  I get to my feet and take his hand. It’s hard leaving the dishes behind, knowing the staff will care for them. I wasn’t treated like this in my former home. Though kept apart from waitstaff, I was never waited on. I fixed my own meals and kept my own counsel.

  It was a lonely life.

  “This food was delicious, Caroline,” the man with a shaved head who witnessed my marriage says.

  “Thank you.”

  The redhead sitting next to him, Yvonne’s husband, nods with approval. “I agree. I haven’t had a meal like that in years.” He smiles up at me. “Maybe you can teach Yvonne?”

  I look to Tomas on instinct, and I can tell he approves of my silent request for permission when he gives me a small nod.

  “I’m sure we can arrange that.” But his voice is tight, his eyes hard when he looks at them. “Come here.” He offers me his arm. I take it quickly, bow my head and follow him out of the dining room.

  Ilya stands in the doorway, frowning.

  “We didn’t eat potatoes tonight,” he says as we pass. “Why did you have me peel so many?”

  Tomas stiffens. “Watch your tone, Ilya.” He doesn’t like that the young recruit is unhappy with me. I hold up a hand to tell him I can handle this.

  I give Ilya the truth. “Your pakhan thought it suitable to humble you with menial work. Your pakhan is my husband, and it is my duty to ensure he’s o
beyed. But your work didn’t go to waste, Ilya. You’ll see what delicious meals we’ll make tomorrow with the food you’ve prepared.”

  H nods his head. “Thank you,” he says, then looking at Tomas, he apologizes. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Tomas fixes him with such a stern look, I wonder at Ilya’s ability to stand in his presence. He’s uncompromising, but he seems fair enough. Well, mostly. I’m still not sure why he got all grumpy with me earlier.

  “Clean the dishes after tonight’s meal, and we’ll speak in the morning.”

  I’m so in my head I don’t realize we’ve made it all the way to our room, and when he opens the door, I start to tremble.

  “Are you afraid, little detka?”

  “Yes.”

  He unlocks the door, pushes it open, and ushers me in.

  “That’s good,” he tells me. “A little fear can heighten the experience.”

  My heart beats faster.

  “Go to the bedroom,” he orders. “And lie down on the bed. The only thing you may take off is your shoes. Understood?”

  I nod and walk to the room tentatively. I wonder what he has in store for me. It seemed easier submitting to whatever he asked of me before, but now I’m not so sure.

  Do I disappoint him?

  Does he intend to use me like Andros did? If he does, he’s no better. He might pretend to be kind, and he might be fiercely possessive of me, but it’s only because I’m his and he protects what’s his.

  Is it wrong that I like that?

  I flop on the bed, frustrated and annoyed at myself, but I don’t know what to expect from him. He’s so damn unpredictable.

  I lay on the bed fully clothed, trying to school my features. I don’t want my annoyance to show, because I already know that won’t go over too well with him. I hear him on the phone.

  “Bring the dessert to my room,” he says. “Leave it outside the door on a tray. And be sure everyone knows not to disturb me until the morning.”