Twisted Tales of Mayhem: 2019 MMM Special Edition Anthology

by Sapphire Knight

  Krasivaya.

  "Nice fucking timing, asshole," I mutter out loud.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Demetri

  "Sergei, have all my associates arrived?"

  "Yes, sir."

  I straighten my tie as I climb out of the limo with my cell phone pressed against my ear. "Good." Pressing end, I tuck the phone into the inside pocket of my blazer and step inside my office building located in the heart of the city right next to the waterway. I was informed an hour ago about Yerik's death—his murder, but word tends to travel fast within our circle. By now, everyone will have heard of his demise and the way he met his maker. The problem is who in the hell would want to kill a man already on his deathbed? Despite the fact he didn't have enough energy to walk on his own; he still had a clear and present mind. He had all his wits about him. However, that also made him a sitting duck for many of his enemies. It's a known fact a couple of well-known wealthy businessmen tried to off him a few times in the past. Maybe they finally saw their opportunity. Still, why not wait for him to die? Yerik had his hands and money in many adventures, so there is no way of knowing just yet the what or the why.

  My leather shoes clack against the black marble floor of the lobby as I make my way towards the elevator.

  "Good evening, Mr. Volkov," the young receptionist greets me as I walk past.

  She's beautiful—a petite brunette. As we pause for the elevator doors to open, I notice Victor's gaze is locked on her. I clear my throat. "You may go home for the day, Natalia." I watch the blush turn her cheeks a soft rosy hue and her eyes quickly shift to mine.

  "Thank you, Mr. Volkov," she softly replies just as we step into the elevator.

  The ride to the top is swift. When the doors slide open, I find Sergei leaning over the desk of my personal assistant Anya who has made it known to me in the past she is profoundly uncomfortable with his advances. "Sergei," I bark.

  "Mr. Volkov," his eyes dart from me to Victor. "It's good to have you home."

  "I believe we had a conversation a few months ago about your interest in Anya."

  "Yes, my apologies, Mr. Volkov."

  Standing directly in front of Anya's desk I make myself clear for the last time on the matter. "It is not me you need to apologize to. I believe you owe Anya an apology." I level him with a hardened stare.

  Turning his attention from me to Anya he looks down and offers his apology. "Forgive me for my unwanted advances. It will not happen again." Anya says nothing, but nods then she goes about her business.

  Victor steps to the side of me towards the boardroom to my right and opens the door. Inside, all the men I requested except for Vadim, the son of Yerik. Given the circumstances, I'm going to let it pass for the time being, but I will be making a trip to his home after this meeting is over. "Gentlemen, thank you for waiting, you'll find yourselves compensated for your time." I continue to stand at the head of the table. "So," I look around the table, "Yerik is dead. Shot in the head to be precise." The men in front of me give each other conspiring looks. "Initially I called this meeting because it has come to my knowledge one of you has gone behind my back." I don't out the deceiver just yet. "You see. I provide you with my services and my merchandise. However, recently my goods have made their way into the hands of a known associate of the Petrov's." I start to prowl around the table. "I tag my merchandise. I keep records of all serial numbers. I contacted Yerik Petrov himself after I was informed of this, which he stated he had no knowledge of but quickly investigated the matter for me. To both our surprise it was true." The man I do business with from South Russia stands. "Sit," I demand clutching his shoulder, slamming him back into his leather chair.

  "Mr. Volkov, I—"

  "Save your breath, Mr. Gulin. I give no second chances. It seems very suspicious that mere hours after the news and investigation Yerik himself ends up dead." Muffled sounds from the other men whispering amongst themselves fill the room.

  "I—I. I didn't kill Mr. Petrov," Gulin stammers.

  "Victor, please escort Mr. Gulin out of my building." Victor snatches him by the arm. "We no longer have business with each other Mr. Gulin, and furthermore, you have no protection under the Volkov name as well."

  Struggling against Victor's hold, Gulin says, "word will spread. People will think I had something to do with Petrov's murder. I didn't—I would never—," sweat beads on his forehead and fear shines in his eyes. "The Petrov family will come after me, and I have done nothing."

  "That is not my problem," I answer. With a jerk of my head, Victor walks him out of the boardroom. The meeting doesn't last much longer after that point. The day is starting to turn into night, and I still have one more visit on my schedule.

  The Petrov estate is a thirty-minute drive from town. Already being made aware of my arrival, I'm greeted by Yerik's longtime bodyguard Adrik.

  "Mr. Volkov. Vadim and Mrs. Petrov are waiting for you in the family room. Follow me."

  With Victor at my side, we enter the Petrov family home and are lead into the room where Yerik's wife Elena and his son Vadim is sitting in a chair opposite of her with a bored look on his face as he smokes a cigar.

  I take in her red-rimmed eyes as I stop in front of her.

  "Mr. Volkov, thank you for coming," Mrs. Petrov extends her hand, which I grasp in mine. "Sorry for the loss of your husband, Elena."

  "Thank you. Won't you sit?"

  "Sorry, I won't be staying but a moment. I wanted to offer my condolences and extend my services in any way I can. Our families have had mutual respect for a very long time. If there is anything you need—" I offer.

  "We need nothing from you, Volkov. Your presence isn't wanted here," Vadim sneers.

  "Vadim," his mother closes her tired eyes, "please show some respect."

  He lets out a huff. "I don't answer to you," his eyes glance in his mother's direction before standing then directing his attention towards me, "or to a Volkov. I'm head of this family now. People answer to me."

  I step into his personal space. Vadim stands about two inches shorter than me and is the exact image of his father. Looks is all he gets from Yerik. Vadim has not one ounce of respect or honor. "I answer to no one."

  "I have just lost my husband, I do not wish to start a war or lose my son tonight," Mrs. Petrov pleads. Finally, Vadim retreats to the opposite side of the room and pours a dark whiskey into a glass tumbler.

  "After tonight, you are no longer welcome in my home," Vadim says with his back turned. Elena peers up giving me a somber look.

  "There is one thing I may ask of you?"

  "Certainly."

  "You fly to the states often. Misha doesn't wish to return home, not even for her father's funeral. I worry about her. She loved her papa. Could you see that she gets something?" Getting up from the couch, she retrieves an envelope from a table drawer. "Yerik wrote it just this morning—" she peers across the room. Turning my head, I eye Vadim who is watching intently. She hands it to me, and I tuck it inside my jacket. Their daughter had her reasons for leaving years ago. This life wasn't for her and Yerik knew it. She lives in the states now with a loving family and a happy life.

  "You have my word. I will hand it to her myself," I promise.

  Pulling in a shuddered breath, she excuses herself and walks out of the room. I don't bother to look back. I take my leave as well with Victor at my side, and we climb into the car.

  As the driver takes off Victor says, "he's gonna be a problem, sir."

  "Yes. He is." I agree.

  #

  Ascending the steps to Misha Petrov's townhouse, I survey the nearly empty Chicago streets. At seven o'clock in the morning on a Saturday the city is quiet; almost somber. As if the energy here knows I come bearing bad news, but when Misha's front door opens, and she appears in front of me with a red face and tears in her eyes, I know she has already heard of what has happened to her father.

  "Demetri," she greets with a sad tone. "I've been expecting you. Thank you for coming."


  Pulling Misha close to me, I kiss the top of her head. "I'm sorry about your father."

  "Thank you. Won't you please come in. Do you have time for coffee?"

  "Of course," I accept stepping inside, and Misha shuts the door behind me. I follow her into the living room, and her husband Brooks greets me. Brooks and Misha met six years ago when she moved from Russia to Chicago. Yerik had been worried about sending his baby girl out into the world alone and hired Brooks to look after his only daughter. Brooks owns a security company here in the city. They have been married for almost four years and had two children. Alena is two and Luka is three months.

  "Mr. Volkov," Brooks addresses offering his hand, and I accept.

  "Good to see you, Brooks. I hope you are well."

  A few minutes later, Misha returns with a tray of coffee and pastries. "How are the little ones?" I ask as she takes a seat next to her husband after handing me a cup. Even though the devastation of losing her father is written on her face the mention of her children makes her smile. I'm thankful Misha has her husband and children to cling to during this time. She will need them.

  "The children are wonderful."

  The three of us sit a moment silently before I speak again. "Do you have any questions for me?"

  Shaking her head, Misha places her coffee cup on the table in front of her. "No. I already know what happened to my father and who is responsible. I haven't been home to Russia since leaving and don't know how business has been as of lately, but I do know Vadim, and I believe my brother is behind this."

  I cut my eyes to Brooks, then back to Misha. "May I speak freely?"

  "Of course. I keep nothing from my husband. He knows of my family and my past."

  "Very well. I don't have proof, but I suspect Vadim is responsible for your father's death as well. Vadim has been persistent in taking over Yerik's role since he became sick. Your father knew the direction his son wanted to take the family business and was reluctant to hand over power. In the end, Vadim took it."

  "Have you seen my brother?"

  "Yes. I spoke with him face to face. If he is a smart man, he will heed my warning."

  "He won't," Misha says vehemently.

  "I know," I tell her. "Vadim will be dealt with in due time."

  Nodding her head, Misha drops the subject. She is trusting me to avenge her father's death and handle the situation with her brother.

  "Has Vadim tried reaching out to you recently? Do you feel he will be an issue for you? If so, I can have one of my men watch over your family."

  "Thank you, Mr. Volkov, but that won't be necessary," Brooks cuts in. "I've already taken the proper measures to see to my family's safety."

  Standing, I offer my hand to Brooks. "You'll call me if you need anything?"

  "Thanks, Mr. Volkov," Brooks nods.

  Turning my attention to Misha, I kiss both her cheeks. "I'll see myself out. Don't hesitate to reach out for anything."

  Reaching into my suit jacket, I pull out the envelope Mrs. Petrov gave me. "Your mother wishes you to have this." Taking the letter from my grasp, Misha takes notice of the handwriting on the front of the envelope and clutches it to her chest.

  "Thanks for coming all the way to Chicago, Demetri. I know how much my father respected you. It would have meant a lot to him you are coming here to check on me."

  Making my way outside, Victor opens the door to my car, and I slide into the back. Once he has taken his position in the driver's seat, he peers at me through the rear-view mirror. "Where to sir?"

  Without missing a beat, I give him the orders for my next destination. "Take me to her." Nodding, Victor pulls out into traffic. He doesn't have to ask who she is. He already knows. It's been a few months since I've seen Glory. I have decided we've been dancing around each other far too long. It's time to claim what's mine. What's been mine for two goddamn years. She's going to be pissed when I show up unannounced. I grin at the thought.

  Parking along the curb in front of Glory's apartment, Victor climbs out and steps around to the passenger side. Just as he's opening my door, I spot her rounding the corner of the building at the end of the street carrying two grocery bags. I'm not at all surprised to see her up and out this early in the morning. If I know Glory, she's been up for hours. I also know she jogs every morning before the sun rises. Seemingly unaware of her surroundings as she stares at the pavement in front of her while she walks, it takes Glory several beats before she notices my presence. When she does, her steps falter.

  With Victor flanking my left, I hold my stance. Glory and I hold each other's stare. A brief look of uncertainty crosses her face; one that says she's tempted to flee. I shake my head; warning her not to. In true Glory fashion, she squares her shoulders and continues towards me.

  "Well, hello asshole," she sasses coming to stand in front of me. "What brings you to Chicago? And more importantly, why are you perched outside my apartment?"

  Unfazed by her verbal tongue lashing, I chuckle. "I had business to handle, and now I'm taking you to breakfast."

  "Thanks, but no thanks. I have my breakfast here," she says holding up her bags, "and my breakfast companion is waiting on me upstairs," Glory smiles smugly.

  Giving Victor a signal, he strides to Glory taking the bags from her hands and places them in the trunk of the car. "I'm sure Bo can do without you for a bit," I say placing my hand on the small of her back, ushering her into the backseat. Once we're in the car, Glory huffs and glares at me. "You're so fucking bossy."

  Leaning back in my seat, I level her with a heated gaze. "Keep talking to me with that filthy mouth of yours Kravsivaya; it only makes me harder." At my confession I see Glory's eyes cut down towards my crotch and my apparent hard on causes her eyes to go big. Realizing she's ogling my dick, she snaps her head up and meets my gaze once again, and I grin. Giving me another nasty look, she rolls her eyes then turns to look out the window. Glory's problem is she wants me, but she doesn't want to.

  Arriving at a bistro two blocks from Glory's apartment, one I know is her favorite since she eats breakfast here every Sunday, I place my palm on her hip, pull her into my side and guide her inside. When the host shows us to our table, I pull Glory's chair out and allow her to sit before I too take my seat. "Hello, my name is Carol. Are you ready to order, or do you need a moment to look over the menu?" the waitress asks. "That won't be necessary," I say. "The lady will have Duck Confit Hash with water and a Mimosa. I'll have the Eggs Benedict, and a coffee."

  "Very well. I'll be right back with your orders," our waitress chirps.

  "I can order my own damn food, Demetri."

  "I know you can Kravisivaya. Ordering for you is not me taking anything away from you. I'm taking care of what's mine. You order the same dish every Sunday, so I knew what you wanted. When you're with me, you'll always get what you want."

  Sensing the sincerity of my comment, and not bothering to ask how I know so much about her, along with ignoring the fact I just called her mine, Glory decides to change the subject. "I know you said you were in town on business, but why come see me? Why all of this?" she asks gesturing around the restaurant. "I get that we have mutual friends, but we haven't seen each other in months. In the time we have known each other, your actions towards me have been all over the place. You're hot one minute then cold the next. Is it because of your past; because of your son Logan and the relationship you—?"

  "My past is not up for discussion," I snap cutting Glory off mid-sentence, but immediately regret my outburst when I see the look of hurt mare her face. Her hurt is quickly replaced with anger as she stands abruptly, tosses her napkin to the table and storms out of the restaurant. "Fuck," I hiss getting to my feet. Throwing a few bills on the table, I go after her. By the time I exit the restaurant she is already halfway down the sidewalk heading back in the direction of her apartment, and I take off after her. "Follow behind in the car, Victor," I call over my shoulder. Once I've caught up to Glory, I stay about three strides behind her.


  "Stop fucking following me dickhead!" she growls.

  "No," I say evenly and continue to follow her into her apartment building, onto the elevator, and down the hall to her front door.

  Turning on her heels, a heaving, red-faced Glory jabs her finger into my chest. "I don't know why you showed up here today, and I don't know what kind of twisted, fucked-up mind games you're trying to play, but you can't—"

  Before she gets a chance to finish her tirade, I grab ahold of her wrist, push her back against the door, and pin her arm above her head. Taking my right hand, I grab a fist full of her long auburn hair and pull her head back—slightly exposing her neck. Glory's breath hitches, and I notice her hard nipples protruding through her top. Taking one step further into her space, I shove my knee between her legs; allowing my hard cock to brush against her heated center. Before Glory can utter another word, I crash my mouth down on hers.

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  The Biker’s Protection

  Daphne Loveling

  His tongue traced a path down the length of her, lingering at her breasts as she rose to meet his touch. She whispered her need to him, whimpering as his fingers teased her open thighs and found her hot and ready for him. He slowly caressed her, then slipped a finger inside, pumping in and out as his thumb circled her swollen nub. She cried out softly, and then more loudly, riding his hand while he continued to suck and bite her nipples.