Fearless III

by Amarie Avant

  “Nyet!”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Danushka snarls. “My brat doesn’t owe you shit, Yuri. Get going.”

  Ignoring her, he stares at me. “I don’t believe you. Okay, so I fell in love with a whore. Taryn was a trick. Maybe I do shit like that on occasion, but you, Vassili, you.” Yuri shakes his head. “You love Zariah. You’re my brat!”

  He lunges himself at me. His fat head slams into my rib. I flip over the low seated chair, landing on my feet. Yuri isn’t that quick on his toes. A vase goes crashing to the ground with him on top of it. I hold out my hand. He slaps at it. “Fuck you, Vassili.”

  “Fuck you, Yuri.” I stare down at him.

  “We are brats!” His breath is heavy as he clambers to his knees and up to his feet.

  The glimmer in his eye causes me to duck before he reaches out. He stumbles over his feet. Too angry to fight. At times, my cousin has been known to get a few good hits in before the takedown, but not today. The mudak acts like Zariah and I are his parents, and we’re getting a . . . Divorce.

  Fuck, I hadn’t thought about that. Pride won’t allow me to sign those papers, no matter what. The devil on my shoulder reminds me that’s another way I’m like my father. We’re both unwilling to let go of the best love we’ve ever known.

  Yuri swipes another arm out.

  I offer a rare smile and wink. “Don’t do this, Yuri. You look like a fat, fucking idiot.”

  “Oh, I do?” Again, pure emotion moves him. Like he tried to do, the tip of my index finger pushes at his skull with enough force to set him straight. Well, my strength and his emotion. A crowd is around us. Mostly Italians but a few loyalists turned traitor on Anatoly for Horace. My eyes land on Mikhail.

  A solid left bounces from my jaw. I wriggle my jaw. Yuri follows up with an uppercut. I block. My right fist slams straight into my cousin’s forehead. All the hatred in Yuri is dead to me. He’s sprawled out on the ground.

  “He’s sleep,” I tell Mikhail. “Take this fat fuck, and the two of you can go home.”

  My oldest cousin’s skin tinges red, his jaw set. Danushka continues to twirl the shiny gun in her hand.

  “Don’t make the mistake of thinking my brat made a request,” Danushka says in a soft voice. “Nyet, that was a command, Mikhail. And because your little fat brother is asleep, I’ll send my car to the airport. If you leave without being a thorn in my side, I’ll pay the coach airfare too.”

  Mikhail’s voice is a low rumble. “Fuck you, piz’da.”

  My sister laughs. “You know, traveling coach is the cheapest it gets. So that just means, now you find your way home. Guys—”

  “Don’t touch him,” I grit out. If these mudaks help Yuri out, by way of tossing him out like trash, Mikhail will die today too. He’s not having it.

  I snap, “Get your brat and go, Mikhail.”

  I reclaim my seat.

  Danushka settles back, and I don’t even turn around to watch them leave. “Should we send for the girls again? I feel like this tension needs to ease, Vassili. I’m sure one of them can please you while you get your tattoo.”

  “Nyet. I just want to get it done. Girls later.”

  10

  Zariah

  Our first night as husband and wife returns to me.

  Vassili kneeled and worshiped my body, and I got the perfect taste too. How sweet my pussy was as it peppered my new husband’s colossal cock and spurred my addiction. My slick, wet walls climbed off the most massive erection I’d ever seen in my life. I scooted down and threw my lips around the crown of him. All the sweet juices surrounding his shaft glossed my mouth.

  His voice was delectable, and he groaned while my tongue toyed with the jelly I’d offered. My lips and pussy were magnetized to his dick. A heady delirium surrounded me. I couldn’t determine where I wanted his hot semen to go. I applied pressure around his dick, working my lips down to his balls. I continued with the cock-sucking fest until Vassili’s fist yanked at my hair. His hands claimed my hips. Electricity flew across my skin as my walls plunged on him.

  A deep, low laugh came from his powerful abdominals, rumbling against my inner thighs. “You look like you’re in heaven, Zar,” he’d said, sitting up somewhat. The action forced more cock into my pussy, widening my slick walls for him. “You don’t know heaven yet, girl. I’ll take you there tonight.”

  Arousal enveloped me as I worked my hips. Vassili’s swollen cock caressed every inch of my valley. We were going to screw until his cock made me go blind. His fingernails clawed into my thighs, and I welcomed the piston club as his cock jumped in and out of me. My tits bounced; my ass looked gorgeous behind me. And what looked gorgeous before me? Mounds of muscles and tattoos, and my hot Russian beast. He worked me so hard my pussy ached for split seconds at a time before swallowing his cockhead and welcoming him into me.

  “Oh shit, baby, I’m not going to make it,” I screamed. The slick, sensitive folds of my pussy clamped down around him in an attempt to hold him there. Shit, I had lost every ounce of my mind. In that single moment, I prayed to keep him right there, fucking deep inside of me. There was so much power in my pussy as it orgasmed around him, squeezing and squeezing him.

  “Fuck,” Vassili groaned. He stopped pumping me up and down. He’d said the most beautiful words a man could ever say, “Suck daddy’s cock, Zar.”

  With my walls attempting to milk him, I climbed down and tasted all the good we created.

  Floundering for air, I awaken from the dream I’ve had for over two weeks. My body is in an erect position on the bed; sweat clings to me. A few tears begin to twine with it before I drag myself from the bed.

  This is hell. This is the hell I chose all because Vassili Karo Resnov drew me back to him like a moth to an unquenchable flame.

  Like a robot, with no heart in its chest, I do all the things that strong black women do. A shower burns my skin, helping to further wake me up. A little while later, I put my hands together to pray over the table before I eat a wholesome breakfast.

  “So, Mom, I know you had a cruise to go on…”

  “It’s almost autumn.” My mom waves her fork at me. “I don’t know why my high school friends wanted to go on a cruise at this time. Those cheap heifas.”

  I push my lips up into a smile. “Yeah, but your version of cheap was one of the most expensive cruise liners.”

  “Yup. Couldn’t afford peak season. Honey, I got the insurance. I’ll cancel in the nick of time. Don’t worry, either. I’m only waiting to do so because they’re going to have words for me. They can have those words while they’re flying to Miami.”

  “Oh, mom,” I groan, picking up my fork. “Just go.”

  “Then who’s going to watch Cutie Pie? Taryn is unpredictable. Her hussy of a mother—”

  “Momma, the 1950s called. Hussy has to go into the time capsule. Let it go.”

  With a snigger, my mom washes down the pancakes she made, by way of a large glass of orange juice. She proceeds with the same attitude and the same tired, old storyline. “The hussy had her tits all out around my ex-husband. Listen, I’m over Maxwell. Done deal. But there’s a bro code, the same as there’s a sistah girl code. That bitch—”

  “By all means, revert to hussy.” I almost smile because my mom and colorful bad words don’t mix. Zamora Haskins is the light in my dreary life. I can’t smile because my heart is in the pit of my stomach. I reach over and pour a few more cheerios onto my daughter’s table.

  “I’m staying. Besides, Sammy is coming to dinner tonight.”

  “I have dibs on Samuel Billingsley, Mom. He’s my mentor. Not your flirt buddy.”

  “Girl, that man is a dark chocolate dream. He could be both. He is still willing to do an intervention for you and Vassili.”

  “You can’t still be team Karo,” I scoff.

  “I’m team Killer Karo and Team Vassili—my son. I refuse to believe he’s done”

  “We’ve had this discussion.”

&
nbsp; “No, I’ve had this discussion, you get all tight-lipped. Humor me, Zariah. Who is the culprit? You. Him? Who!”

  “We’ve changed.” I’m up from my chair, the robot in my brain has enough fuel to move forever.

  Move and not think about Vassili.

  Doing so is the hardest task I’ve ever had. My lips press to Natasha’s forehead. And instantly, I’m floored by the thought of him not seeing her. Sure, she’s been cranky, but he cannot see her…

  With my purse over my shoulder, I head toward the side hall. The garage is at the end of it. I toss over my shoulder, “My coworker has the divorce papers ready for me to review today. This discussion is final.”

  “You need Jesus,” is all she will say.

  Much of the day passes by before I head into Tyrese’s office and knock on the door.

  “Come in,” he calls out.

  Upon complying, I’m given a shock full of eight-stack! Tyrese is seated at his chair, pulling into a royal blue polo. “One of my clients’ children spit up on me at court today…”

  My eyes are sliding up to his warm brown face and those damn dimples. When I reach his eyes, they’re sparkling. Hands on hips, I snap, “Well, you could’ve said just a moment. Or something.”

  “I think I covered the or something.” He winks. “It’s lunchtime. Where would you like to go?”

  Nowhere. Food tastes like shit while the love of my life is in a different country, with a deranged sister, and whores galore. Of course, I don’t share that. I offer a shrug. “I have a Lean Cuisine in the freezer. I’ll pass.”

  “Forget Lean Cuisines, Zar.” Standing up, he starts to place his wallet in the back of his slacks. “Miss Zamora is from the south. I know you like better meals than—”

  “Mr. Nicks.”

  “Oh, hell no, Zar. I’m no longer Mr. Nicks. We’ve had this conversation before.” He wags a finger.

  “Keep doing that, I’ll bite it off.”

  “Is this sexual harassment?” He places a hand at his chest. I turn to leave. Tyrese is around me in seconds.

  “I’m not in the mood,” I bite out. “Anyone could’ve completed the divorce documents for me. I could’ve done them myself—” and cry all over the paperwork. “But I asked you …”

  “Why?” He cocks a brow.

  “Why what? We-we aren’t compatible anymore.”

  His dimples deepen. “I meant, why me? Why did you want me to help you, Zariah?”

  I stare through him for a moment.

  “I offered—”

  “An intervention? Thanks! You’re not the first.”

  “Yes. You strike me as the stay married forever type.”

  “What kind of statement is that?” I grit out.

  Tyrese shoves his hands into his slacks. “It’s an assessment. Alright, no lunch. I looked over your assets and created two documents. You sure you want to dissolve your relationship and walk out with nothing?”

  “Positive.”

  He sucks in his bottom lip, chewing on it a bit. “Zariah, are you afraid of—”

  There’s a commotion in the front of the tiny firm. The man has a Russian accent, deepened by emotion.

  My eyes narrow slightly, catching the familiar voice. “I have to…”

  “You can tell me anything.” Tyrese clasps my arm, his thumb massaging over my skin.

  “Zariah!” I spin around to see none other than Yuri! He places his hands on his knees, breathing erratic.

  “What’s wrong?” I start out of Tyrese’s room, but he’s offering my in-law a bottle of water.

  The innocent, teddy bear takes it and sits down at his desk. At first, I’m livid at my coworker’s manipulation. The damn attorney is trying to be nosy. A sinking feeling lines the bottom of my gut.

  “Yuri, what happened? Is Vassili—”

  Vassili

  They say keep your enemies closer. I’ve never had a problem with that. As an MMA fighter, submissions are king. I go to war in the cage, and then I put mudaks asleep. I keep them close until their breathing tapers off, and their muscles are putty in my hands.

  Or they tap out.

  But there’s no fucking way in hell I wanted to be this close to Danushka. The bitch is continuously at my side. If I were in my right mind, I’d think that her plan for me to have the seat and for her to give the orders was bullshit. Just something she’d said. There will be no seat for me at the table of seven. Won’t be a table for this cunt either.

  Now we’re seated around the table. Me. The bitch. Horace and Don Roberto. The Italian has this look about him. Like he was passed over for the motherfucking Godfather movie.

  My gaze is across the room. My mind is on my wife. Where is she? What is she doing? How much does she hate me right now? Shit like that.

  “We would like to open up a few more seats, Vassili.” Horace clears his throat. “What are your thoughts?”

  My thoughts? That you’re imitating my father and doing a fuck-over job at it. This isn’t the Bratva, not with an Italian. I glare through him. So far, they treat me like a king. “Open all the fucking seats you want.”

  “You’re still boss of all bosses, brat. Well, you and I.” Danushka smiles.

  “And this piz’da has a seat at the Resnov Bratva?” I glance at the Italian. What is this, a little gang?

  “Young man, I am fluent in your language. Do not call me a cunt,” Don Roberto says.

  “Do something about it,” I growl. The old man should’ve waited until I really said something about him in Russian. He looks at me like I’m the idiot, but I’m not stupid enough to share that I am fluent in Italian too. His problem was showing his hand too soon. He won’t know I speak his language until he needs to know.

  Don Roberto scoffs.

  “Now, now, boys,” Danushka purrs. “We are setting the foundation for our new relationship. The first order of business, Vassili. Do you have any idea where our father is hiding?”

  “Dah. Nyet. Fuck, I don’t know. The mudak was slippery when we were kids, Danny.”

  Her gaze glues to mine for a few beats. “Well, it tseems our father is afraid of us, Vassili. Ha! Simeon is missing, too. What are your thoughts on our cousin, Simeon?”

  My heavy shoulders lift a little. “You mean besides Sim’s face looking like a dog’s asshole.”

  She laughs again. My hands tighten into fists beneath the table, nails digging into my skin. I have to play the fucking comedian.

  “He does, doesn’t he?”

  The door opens with a rush of air. A lanky Russian who traded teams comes rushing into the room. He breathes heavy, saying, “Horace, I have—”

  “Why are you here? Who said you could disrespect us!” Danushka says in a steady voice, cutting in.

  He apologizes to her, and then turns to me. “Horace gave express orders to let you all know of any updates on the fighter?”

  My chest tightens.

  11

  Zariah

  “Let’s chat in my office,” I reign in the fear that I felt when asking about Vassili. A split second ago, my heartbeat stopped. I didn’t consider Tyrese when asking if Vassili was safe.

  “Dah, that sounds better.” Yuri looks between the two of us. Something flashed in his gaze, and then he gestures to the empty water bottle in his hand. “Thank you.”

  “Tyrese Nicks, Esquire. Here, allow me.”

  Though he holds his hand out for the empty bottle, Yuri places the bottle in his left hand, then offers him a firm shake. Firm enough for me to notice the blood being snatched from Tyrese’s fingertips. I’d wondered if Yuri came to his conclusions when entering Tyrese’s office. Instead of tossing an accusation my way, he follows me out.

  Once in my office, I close the door. Yuri sinks down onto the couch in my office. He rubs his hand over his face as I lean against the front of my table.

  “How you holding up, kuzen?” he asks.

  “I’m alive. What’s wrong with Vassili? Is everything alright between him and Danny?” Heat
builds in the corner of my eyes. The tears that I told myself had no business staying there, clouding my vision for a moment. The hot torrents tumble over.

  Yuri leans forward, wide-legged. “Dah, he’s still with the bitch. Zar, don’t you cry over him. He’s . . . he’s an idiot.”

  “How are you?” I chew my lip. Yuri became a good friend of mine the day Vassili allowed him around me. My protective husband had nothing to worry about. Although his haste to enter my office is disconcerting, I ask him again, “Are you okay? You left Vassili?”

  “Nyet! That idiot got rid of me and Mikhail.”

  “Should I take that?” I gesture to his water bottle. “You seemed like you weren’t ready to part with it.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He hands it over. “I don’t trust attorneys, Zariah. Well, I trust you. Not the rest of these mudaks. I don’t need anybody with my fingerprints. So, you’ll make sure that gets to the trash?”

  “Definitely. When did Vassili part ways with you all?”

  “A day or two after you, Zar. So, you haven’t been chatting with him?” Redness flushes across his chunky cheeks as he asks, “The two of you are done?”

  I give a small nod.

  Yuri’s eyes close, and his hands scrub across his face. After a groan, he sits forward, addressing me. “We have to get Vassili back, Zar. We have to make sure nothing happens to my brat. He is my brat. Not hers. She’s a manipulative snake!”

  “I know.”

  “My father…”

  “Oh, Malich,” I murmur. Igor has yet to rest when Danushka ruined things. “How is he? I should come by?”

  “That’s a good idea. You and Natasha drop by. Malich wants nothing to do with the entire ‘snatching up kingdoms,’ power trip that Danushka is on. He’s lifting his protection from Vassili.” He paused, biting his knuckles. “I’ve called my brat over and over. I tried to tell him.”