Beyond Measure: A Dark Bratva Romance (Ruthless Doms)

by Henry, Jane

  Ilya is recovering. He lost a finger thanks to Andros, but I daresay the boy is stronger than he was before. And having been through what he has, he now follows Tomas’ instructions with utter precision. And he’s so very good to me, Tomas has hinted about assigning him as my primary bodyguard in his absence.

  We reach the office, and Stefan is already waiting outside.

  “Tomas,” he says, nodding to my husband and shaking his hand. “Caroline.” He embraces me and kisses first one cheek, then the other. He takes both my hands in his and beams at me. “You look lovely tonight.”

  “Careful,” Tomas grunts, though his lips quirk up at the edges. I know he’s only joking good-naturedly, though.

  “Relax,” Stefan says. “You two look perfect together.”

  “You’re getting soft in your old age,” Tomas says. “Where is Nicolai?”

  “Nicolai’s back home,” Stefan says, but offers nothing else at first. “Let’s go sit down.”

  Tomas opens his office door, ushers Stefan in, and takes me with him. Instead of sitting by his desk, he has me sit on the little loveseat. Stefan sits in an armchair directly across from me, Tomas goes to pour everyone a drink. I decline, but Stefan and Tomas both take shots of vodka.

  Tomas settles down next to me, tugs me so that I’m flush against his side, and wraps his arm around my shoulders.

  “Marriage looks good on you, brother.” Stefan smiles at him.

  “Thank you,” Tomas says. He squeezes my hand. “Caroline makes it easy.”

  “That pleases me.”

  They sit silently for a moment. “What brings you here, Stefan?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about the San Diego brotherhood,” he says. “How have things gone? Have they upheld their end of the agreement?”

  “Absolutely,” Tomas says. “They’ve been nothing but compliant.”

  “Good,” Stefan says.

  Tomas grows serious. “Now to the real purpose of your visit?”

  Stefan smirks. “There’s no pulling anything over on your husband. You know that, Caroline?”

  I smile. “Oh, I do.”

  Stefan nods, bringing his fingertips together. “I came for a reason you likely won’t suspect, Tomas.”

  “Oh?”

  Stefan nods. “You’re right. I have grown softer in my old age, yet harder in others. More stubborn, as it were.”

  Tomas waits.

  “I left Nicolai in charge in Atlanta,” he says. “Because I’d like to step in as temporary pakhan for the next two weeks.”

  “What?” Tomas looks perplexed, but Stefan carries on.

  “You two need a proper honeymoon,” he says. “In the past few decades, as I’ve been in this position of leadership, I’ve witnessed countless unions. Those that go on with business as usual often struggle over time. But those that make their relationship of paramount importance? They thrive.” He pauses, giving the words time to settle, before he continues. “And I want to see you two thrive. No one deserves it more.”

  “You came here to tell me to take a vacation?”

  “No, Tomas. Not a vacation. A honeymoon. In fact, your brothers have already made the arrangements.”

  My heart is lighter than it’s been in weeks. Time alone with my new husband?

  Oh, hell yes.

  “Do it,” I whisper. “Tomas, we must.”

  “Must we?” he says tightly.

  “Of course. You don’t want your brothers’ gift to be in vain, do you?”

  “Caroline,” he says warningly, but Stefan nods.

  “She’s right. They’ve given up their own time and money for you. Step away, Tomas. Let others take control for a little while.”

  I place my hand on his shoulder. “Please?”

  Leaning over, he kisses my cheek, then shakes his head. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can ask while giving me that look that I could refuse. Alright, little detka. We shall go.”

  I’m elated with this turn of events, so excited I can barely contain myself.

  I’m going away. With my husband. Alone, just the two of us.

  He leans over and whispers in my ear. “You are in so much trouble.”

  My pulse races with excitement. I lean over and whisper back. “I can’t wait.”

  Epilogue

  One week later

  I sit in the darkness, by a crackling fire, nestling a cup of hot spiced cider in my hand. Tomas pokes the logs then rests his stick on the ground and sits in the fold-out camp chair next to me. I lay my head on his knee and close my eyes. The warmth of the flames and sounds of the flickering fire make me sigh with contentment.

  I never knew I could have anything like this. My love for him is endless, my joy complete. What I have here with him, this love between us, is so vast, it’s unfathomable.

  Beyond measure.

  “You know, poking it doesn’t actually change anything,” I say teasingly. “I know it’s probably some innate part of the male species to continually ram sticks into fires. I bet the Neanderthals did it. It doesn’t mean you need to.”

  “Did Neanderthals even know how to use fire?” he asks. “I thought they were alive before fire.”

  I smile. He would ask something like that.

  “You ought to know. You’re a direct descendent.”

  That earns me a hard whack to the ass I feel straight through my fleece-lined leggings. “Hey!”

  “Hey yourself,” he says, but his tone is teasing. I’ve never seen him so relaxed. We’re staying at a cabin deep in the woods in northern New Hampshire during peak foliage, surrounded by a canopy of burnt orange, deep red, and golden yellow. It’s as far away from civilization as I’ve ever been, and I love it. The cabin itself is immaculate, with an enormous king-sized bed covered in a handsewn quilt, large stone fireplace, rustic kitchen, and running water—my one request.

  In the morning I make pancakes and fry bacon on a cast iron griddle, while he brews coffee on the stove. We eat until we’re sated, hike deep into the woods, roast marshmallows by the fire at night, and make brutal, savage love whenever we feel like it.

  In short, it’s heaven. And we’re here another week.

  “You know,” I muse, while I watch a log snap and fall in the fire before me. “I like that the money San Diego paid covered our honeymoon. It seems fitting, somehow. Like it’s a dowry or something.”

  “Or something,” he mutters. The money they were forced to relinquish more than paid for our honeymoon. I’m glad that it did, though I don’t know if he cares much. He wants as little to do with San Diego as possible.

  “You know what else?” I wonder out loud.

  “You’re wondering a lot, Caroline. Why don’t you rest that mind of yours a bit?”

  I yawn widely. “I don’t want to.”

  I could fall asleep just like this. By the fire, with the warmth of the flames surrounding me and my husband’s fierce protection beside me. I can’t even remember what I was going to ask him. It doesn’t matter. I have everything I need, right here. Well...there could be one more thing...

  Minutes or hours later I wake when Tomas stands with me in his arms. I blink and yawn. “Why are you carrying me?”

  “You fell asleep,” he explains. “And it’s time I get you to bed.”

  I’m so sleepy now.

  My head hits the pillow, and he tucks me into bed.

  But there’s something I need to tell him.

  As I’m drifting off to sleep, I can’t keep it in any longer. “Tomas?” I end on a yawn.

  “Yes, love?”

  I roll over with my back to him. “My period is late.

  His arm slung around me tightens. “Your what?”

  I yawn again. “My period.”

  He sits straight up in bed. “My God,” he says. “Are you serious?”

  I can’t help but giggle. “Totally.”

  He’s walking around the cabin, pacing. “Are you ever late?”

  “Not at all.”

/>   “My God,” he repeats. “Where can we get a test?”

  I laugh and smile to myself, half asleep. “Nowhere near around here. But that’s okay. We can take one when we get home.”

  Maybe it would’ve been smarter to tell him when we were closer to a pharmacy. He reaches a hand to my belly. “Any kicking yet? Are you ill?”

  I snort. “God, no. We have to test. And even if I am pregnant, it’s way too early.”

  “We have to test,” he mutters. I fall into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  Two months later

  “Twins,” the doctor pronounces. Tomas beams, stands, and paces the room, running his hands through his hair.

  “Twins?” he asks.

  “Twins,” the doctor repeats.

  I only swallow hard and watch my husband absorb this information. Two babies instead of one? I bite my lip. I’m overwhelmed and a little awed.

  “Don’t you worry, baby,” Tomas says. “I’ll hire a nanny. You already have a cook and cleaners. You’ll see how easy this is.”

  Is he crazy? But still, it’s cute how excited he is.

  “If you say so, handsome,” I say with a smile. “Can you tell the genders?” I ask the doctor.

  “Looks like a boy and a girl.”

  I grin at Tomas and he grins back, beaming at me with so much pride, my heart squeezes.

  “I love you,” I tell him.

  “And I love you.”

  * * *

  Seven years later

  “Be careful,” Tomas says. “That’s hot!”

  “Honey, she’s been using a skillet for a while now.” I grin. “She learned from the best.”

  “From the best?” he says with a teasing scowl. “How many times have we seen the doctor for a burnt hand or a cut with a kitchen knife?”

  I wave a hand to brush him off. “Oh, don’t be silly. A chef must learn to use real tools.”

  “Real tools my ass,” he mutters.

  “Or real tools on my ass,” I mutter back in his ear, so only he hears.

  “Darling, not in front of the children,” he says with mock reproach.

  “Afraid you’ll get me pregnant again?” I whisper back. “Hard to get a pregnant woman pregnant.”

  I rest my hand atop my swollen belly and smile at him. I never dreamed I’d have any children, much less two sets of twins.

  “And anyway, I wasn’t talking about me, but Camila.”

  Shortly after we came back from our honeymoon, I asked Tomas to hunt down the chef my brother fired. It seems so long ago now. It took some time, but he found her, and to my delight, he hired her for our own kitchen. It makes my heart squeeze to see Camila working alongside my own children.

  We’ve long since outgrown the lavish apartment in the compound and have settled down in suburbia just north of Boston. The Boston Bratva is alive and well, though the San Diego brotherhood collapsed after failed leadership about five years ago. The men I knew have scattered to different brotherhoods. I’m grateful. Knowing they’re no longer banded together somehow makes it easier to live my new life. To accept that I have a new family, and I’m the mom in this one.

  “This looks delicious,” Tomas says approvingly at the simple meal of grilled cheese and homemade tomato soup. Our daughter, the spitting image of me, shoots him a toothless grin.

  “Thank you, daddy,” she says.

  “Let’s hope it’s edible,” her brother says.

  “Edible?” Tomas repeats. “Behave yourself and be kind to your sister.” But he shoots me a wink. “That’s a pretty big word for a little boy. Must come from all those books your mother reads you.”

  “Must be.” We eat while the kids chatter about their friends at school, the playdate at the park, and how they can’t wait for the leaves to change.

  “Mom, today I learned about California,” my daughter says. “The teacher showed us pictures. I want to go some day.” I freeze, but Tomas takes it in stride.

  “San Diego is a beautiful place to visit,” he says. “What is it that you want to see there.”

  “The zoo!”

  He lapses into great details about a zoo in Maine, and my daughter claps her hands, San Diego forgotten.

  But I’ll never forget it.

  And I’m glad that I won’t.

  Remembering where I came from, and the pain of my past, gives me reasons to be grateful for the simple blessings of my life.

  Though still bound to the Bratva, Tomas works hard to make sure his family is distanced and protected, and I do the same. We maintain as much normalcy as we can, and most days are perfect, simple perfection.

  “Will you tell us about your family someday, mama?” My daughter looks up at me with her large, curious eyes.

  I smile at her. “Sure thing, baby. My family is made up of my fearless, fierce husband. Two precocious six-year-olds. And soon, another set of babies that will grow into mischievous children.”

  She smiles. “You’re talking about us.”

  “I am. And Uncle Nicolai and Aunt Marissa, Uncle Yakov and Aunt Yvonne.”

  My daughter takes a big gulp of milk and swipes her hand across her mouth. “We have the best family.”

  Sometimes family isn’t bound by blood but loyalty. Sometimes family is found, not born.

  I reach for Tomas’ hand across the table and squeeze.

  “The absolute best.”

  Author note:

  Thank you so much for reading Beyond Measure: A Dark Bratva Romance, a stand-alone entry in the Ruthless Doms series. The Ruthless Doms series is a spin-off of the Wicked Doms, so if you’re looking for more dark romance, take a peek at a few previews that follow. And thank you so much for your support!

  ~Jane

  PREVIEWS

  Priceless: A Dark Bratva Romance (Ruthless Doms)

  Previews

  I look at the sea of faces in the cramped, humid high-school auditorium.

  Cheerful. Youthful. Full of hope and promise and pride.

  But I see past every one of them.

  I'm not here to observe the masses getting their rolled-up diplomas and marching off to college, holding flowers from grandparents and parents and boyfriends, posting goddamned selfies all over social media. I've ignored every word the politicians and speakers said, more intent on the conversation around me than anything. I see every eye that looks at her. Everybody within arm's reach.

  I know each exit in this school, and every few minutes run my thumb along the cold metal I have tucked into my pants and the knife in my boot.

  Ever vigilant. Ever watchful. Because this is my job.

  I don't give a shit about anyone else in this place.

  The rest are faceless, nameless, my focus on the one girl who stands out from the crowd because of her sheer, vibrant beauty. The belle of the goddamned ball. She's reckless and impulsive and brilliant.

  My charge. My ward. The girl I've been commissioned to protect for four years.

  The longest fucking years of my life.

  Marissa Rykov.

  Seventeen years old, just two days away from her eighteenth birthday. On the cusp of legal adulthood.

  And the daughter of my father's best friend.

  Off limits, in every fucking sense of the word.

  I've been Marissa's bodyguard since she was thirteen years old. I've stayed in the background, attempting to give her the freedom a burgeoning teen needs, but honest to fucking God, screw that. I failed on that end. I could count every hair on her head. I could tell you the name, date of birth, location, and history of every single damn person she’s interacted with, and every boyfriend knew exactly who I was. I got to know them, too, and each has a folder on file with detailed background checks. Slightly over the top for teen-aged kids, and the files were admittedly slim, but I have no regrets.

  She was just a child when we met, innocent to the ways of The Bratva. Ignorant of the work her father did.

  And now, as she prepares to go off to college, it's my job to keep
protecting her.

  I've kept myself aloof. Detached.

  She's a child.

  But as I watch her walk across that stage, her brilliant smile lighting up the whole fucking Northern Hemisphere, my heart squeezes, and I swallow hard. Jesus, I'm proud of that girl. And I'd give fucking anything to keep that smile on her face.

  I look away and school my features. I shouldn't have allowed my admiration to show even for a second. If anyone... anyone suspected how I feel about her...

  My phone buzzes, and I ignore it at first, watching as Marissa walks down the stage on death-defying heels she should never have been allowed to wear. I swallow hard as her father embraces her and hands her flowers. She scans the auditorium, as if looking for someone, when her eyes meet mine.

  I give her a small nod before I turn away and answer the phone.

  "What is it?"

  Laina, my younger sister, is on the line.

  "Do not take your eyes off of her, Nicolai."

  I'm instantly on guard. I swivel around to look back at Marissa, my pulse racing when I see her father at first, but I don't see her. She was here a second ago.

  "What the fuck are you talking about?" I hiss into the phone as I push my way through the crowd to get to her.

  "I overheard something I shouldn't have," Liana says, her voice shaking.

  "Tell me." My voice comes out in a choked whisper.

  Where the fuck is she?

  I knock a lady's bag off her shoulder in my haste to get to her. "Hey!" she says, but I plow on, ignoring the angry crowd I shove aside, making my way toward the front of the auditorium.

  "I can't speak freely right now," she says. "I'll call you as soon as I can, but listen to me, do not let her out of your sight."

  And then I see Marissa. Bending down to pick something up, then laughing as she adjusts the ridiculous square graduation cap on her head.

  I exhale a breath I didn't know I held.

  "You fucking tell me what's going on, Laina."

  "I'll call you right back."

  The phone goes dead. Cursing, I shove it in my pocket, keep my head down, and take my place beside Myron, her father. He shoots me a curious look.