by V. Theia
PRINCE CHARMING
By V. THEIA
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Names and characters are the property of the author and may not be duplicated. The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.
PRINCE CHARMING
Cover photo: depositphoto.com
Cover Design: V. Theia. ©2020
Published by V. Theia 2020.
All Rights Reserved
DEDICATION
To us all, for surviving this challenging year. 2021 is going to be better. It has to be. But don’t forget to read the terms and conditions before you sign on the dotted line!
CONTENTS
COPYRIGHT
CONTENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
Also by V. THEIA
CONNECT WITH ME:
ONE
“A fish out of Russian water.” – Marianna Yahnotov
It felt good to sweat.
Even better when Marianna Yahnotov knew it was because she had exerted herself in the kickboxing class. She ached in muscles she didn’t know she had as she swiped wetness out of her eyes and reached down to grab the sports bag.
Though she waved to a few of the girls in her class, that was as social as she got.
She glanced at them in an animated huddle and felt a ping of envy.
She once had girlfriends to hang out with, do silly things with like coffee dates, but not anymore.
How crazy she’d forgotten how to make friends.
With her shoulder length black hair knotted in a messy bun, she pushed her arms into a white, faux fur hooded coat, leaving the women only class as unnoticeable as she arrived.
The chilly air of the early November day hit her full in the face.
In Russia, where temperatures regularly plummeted to below 20 degrees, the cooler Colorado days were virtually summer on her face.
It snowed on and off in September. Now it was bitterly cold, and Marianna smiled as she crossed the street to the diner.
Each store front along Main Street was recognizable, now she’d been in Armado Springs as a free woman almost a year.
Free, yet not free because she had no actual legal papers.
And no solution in sight.
Marianna lived under the radar, fearful of everyone’s motives.
It was a town like thousands of others. She could have gone anywhere, but she felt safe here. And that was why she stayed.
Not the only reason.
After picking up a small bag of homemade cheese crackers from the diner, and a flat white coffee, she turned right on the corner, heading for her apartment. A police cruiser car parked outside of the hardware store had her feet stopping quick.
Marianna felt nausea going through her body. The police officer behind the wheel wasn’t even looking at her, he was reading a newspaper and drinking from a to-go cup, and yet she felt the flee instinct take hold.
Turning around, she took the long walk around the block instead.
Only when she was out of sight of the police car did her heart return to a normal pattern.
Marianna didn’t cause waves.
She didn’t get into needless arguments with people in the grocery store over the last pumpkin spice cronut. Nor did she jaywalk or do any other number of infractions that may attract attention. She flew under the radar and was not risking her identity and lack of legal papers to trip her up now.
Sending a wave to the sweet old lady inside the flower shop, before she took the stairs at the side of the building to her apartment. The scent of fresh lemon greeted her as she snicked the three locks behind her and slid the security chain into place.
The four rooms were not all that big, but she loved this apartment, it came fully furnished, which had helped her penniless state at the time. It boasted high ceilings with white panel walls, hardwood floors and offered Marianna security enough that she felt safe each night when she went to bed.
It was thanks to her boss she had both a job and a roof over her head, not questioning why at the time when he offered his help. A despairing woman will take the hand of anyone when she’s drowning.
Marianna waited ever since for him to call in his favor all these months later.
Men expected a woman to pay for their generosity.
That’s how it’s always been in her life.
Nothing came for free.
Pushing that specific man out of her mind, she slid out of her coat, hanging it on a peg by the door, then tossed the bag of crackers on the two-person table in the kitchen.
Lana Del Rey sang when Marianna pressed play on the second-hand stereo, turning it up loud before she headed for a much-needed shower.
Afterward, she finished the coffee and crackers, then she blitzed her already clean apartment because she hated being idle. Having nothing to do meant she focused too much on her unhappiness.
No, that was not altogether right.
She was no longer miserable as she once was.
Despair made a person do reckless things in pursuit of better.
One poor decision after another meant she now lived with the consequences.
It was easy to channel her emotions when she was scrubbing the kitchen tiles.
While her hands plunged in hot soapy water, it was easy to forget the life forced upon her and to dream of the life she wanted.
She was a mother, and no one here knew that.
Her heart ached for the day she would hug and kiss her children again. Until that impossible day came, she worked hard.
She hoped she got decent sleep tonight.
Insomnia and heartbreak made for a very good team.
They were long-term friends to Marianna.
Ah, damn, she’d invited herself to another pity-party. The fourth one this week.
Marianna was not unhappy.
She was just not happy either.
Existing in a place between here and there.
There was a gaping wound in her chest and one she would not make the focus of her day. Not only because she hated being tearful, but it was also the day she got to talk to her babies.
It motivated her to keep working as diligently as she could.
As Lana Del Rey, Marianna’s favorite singer, continued, she dusted the brown coffee table in front of a cream couch, then fixed a small salad to take with her for lunch later. And then she dressed in warm leggings, an oversized blue knitted sweater
and comfortable white tennis shoes.
Funny how things change so drastically in a decade.
Marianna was now thirty-one years old.
In her twenties, she’d lived for fashion and the frivolous things she deemed so important. Living her twenties being inseparable with her friends.
Partying, laughing, doing incredibly irresponsible things.
There was very little money, and what she had, she wasted. If only she’d been a little more money savvy, she wouldn’t be in this mess now.
One by one, her friends left their wild lifestyle behind. They got married, had children.
Her village of only five thousand people didn’t offer much career wise.
The hair salon she’d worked at for five years earned her very little.
While she did not get as far as a marriage license, her two babies have always been Marianna’s pure light.
She would never regret her children.
Even if it meant reliving those appalling four months she was dating their father.
Marianna didn’t have hang-ups about her looks or her weight.
She’d always been pretty okay with both.
She wasn’t what you’d call academic. Though, she’d strived to better herself in whatever she was doing. Her goal from the age of sixteen was to learn English, the language of the free world. Lack of funds meant she had to teach herself in whatever way she could. Finding solace and education from books.
No, her flaws were not about vanity or her education.
If only they were.
Seeking adventure and fulfilment was perhaps the biggest mistake of her life.
It would sit inside her dark places forever.
One bad mistake snowballed, and now she was in a country illegally because she was brought by men who promised her a lucrative life.
Abuse.
Lies upon lies.
Promises broken.
Used as a commodity, she’d forged on as best as she could.
No woman ever thinks she’ll be that one who gets her life stolen.
Marianna was one of many the Bratva used. She had it marginally better in comparison with some of the other girls who were repeatedly drugged and sold.
Treated like a pet in a cage.
She hated herself for being taken in by lies and assurances.
Unexpected rescue came from a group of bikers. Only when she became lucid from whatever drugs they had forced her to take, she stole clothes from the hospital and sneaked out before the authorities could speak with her.
She’d never looked back.
Within a few short hours, snow dusted the sidewalk as she bundled into her coat and took the short walk five blocks away to Charming Souls gym.
There was a spike to her pulse when she entered the sprawling building. She nodded to the receptionist, Molly, but didn’t stop to chat. Afraid to get close to anyone in fear of what she might tell them. She was there to work hard, not make lifelong connections.
Office management was her job description. But she did a little of everything, including cleaning down the machines when lazy members wouldn’t do it. She restocked vending machines and refilled coffee and juice stations. She made sure the dirty towels were put out for the laundry service to collect at the end of each day.
Keeping busy made sense.
“Yo, Marianna?” She heard, and the fine hairs at the back of her nape stood on end.
The voice was baritone deep. It was a growl, the voice you expect to see belonging to a madman.
But it was her boss when she turned around.
An unsmiling boss.
“Yes, Sir?”
Wearing blue denim and scuffed biker boots on the bottom half. The top half of Tag was covered by a long-sleeved undershirt, and his Renegade Souls leather vest with the Grim Reaper trademark sewn into the back. She’d looked at that vest many times when avoiding the oceanic blue eyes. She knew it said Colorado Chapter on the front and below that patches read: Sergeant at Arms, and One percenter.
Usually he flashed her a smile.
They were not friends, but not-not friends either.
He’d helped her, provided her with a job and a place to live.
She’d visited him many times in the hospital when he was badly injured and temporarily blinded during one of his cage fights.
Sometimes he bought her lunch for no reason. Or dropped off groceries with little explanation. It’s only food, Marianna.
It was not only food to her. Nothing came for free.
But her aversion to growing closer to anyone put them in a weird place of boss-employee. Friend-not friend.
She approached, and he jutted his chin for her to follow him into the office.
Her tummy muscles clenched together, whining out a protest to turn around and leave.
She was used to the fight or flee instincts, you could say it kept her alive many times.
Was she in trouble?
Did he discover her secret?
He’d given her no reason to fear him.
The opposite, in fact. He wanted her to trust him.
Tag was the man who carried her from her nightmare.
If she allowed herself to trust anyone here, it would be him.
A year ago she’d been tricked into boarding a boat to the States. And forced into a sex ring. She was no longer that woman.
Pain healed.
Secrets remained.
There was only one way to find out why he looked so sullen.
With her shoulders back, Marianna let Tag usher her into his square office ahead of him.
The bluest eyes she’d ever seen, watching her every step.
TWO
“One is a lonely number.” - Marianna
There was something very unnerving about the way Tag watched her.
It was not dangerous.
Nor was it seductive.
Any feelings a normal woman would experience were burned out of Marianna.
Yay for being a sexless cabbage.
It was such a female conundrum to wonder why he didn’t at least flirt with her, but one best not dwelled on.
“Is there something I can help with?” She asked carefully.
English was not her first language. She often struggled with certain words or phrases, fortunately she listened to everyone’s chatter and picked up things quickly. Tag had always been patient with her when she verbally stumbled, though she’d been learning more and more in the past months.
Not academic, she’d thrown herself into speaking clearer. Learning all she could from romance movies, romance books and CNN. It was another of her secrets.
“Don’t look so worried, darlin’.” He smiled then, flashing his straight teeth behind thick pink lips. It was always a fast perusal of her body. A man thing, she thought. He streaked over her leggings and loose-fitting sweater before returning to her face. “Wanted to check in, haven’t been by for a few days, everything going okay?”
Oh. Yes, she had noticed his lack of presence.
When Tag was around, everyone knew it. She knew it.
Lowering her shoulders, Marianna nodded. “Da. I mean, yes, Sir. Everything has been,” her mind checked through the translation and finished by adding, “uneventful, thank you.” Because of his injuries not so long ago, he now sported a faded white scar along one side of his cheekbone where he’s had reconstruction to fix the bone. It didn’t ruin the godlikeness of his features.
Not at all.
He was so much bigger than he seemed from a distance. Nothing steroid-like as she’d seen with the gym meatheads. He possessed a leaner strength, hidden by denim and leather most days.
Tag was a tall man, towering well over six feet two if she had to hasten a guess. She’d seen him working out in boxing shorts many times, so didn’t have to speculate at his body type. It was fit and lean with muscles. A weathered brawn, slab upon slab of inked steel. Definition on every limb, not an ounce of body fat, many would drool over. Not her. She looked at him—n
ot as a woman would—and saw how his jawline was sharp and curved into a strong chin. Dusted in fine wheat colored hair to match that on top of his head. He wore it in the style she’d seen a lot of men wearing here at the gym. Shaved around the sides with a step to the longer hair on top. He kept it neat and swept off to one side.
Being in Tag’s presence always put an anxious gallop into her heart.
It raced through her chest, and she forced her feet to hold before she skittered off like a lunatic.
Lord, she was pathetic to get this worked up over a man who’d been nothing but kind.
She was not afraid of men.
Only bad, untrustworthy men like her ex-boyfriend who’d sold her a lie.
“That’s good,” he leaned back in the leather chair, a smile inching up one side of his mouth. She knew why everyone called him Prince Charming, though his MC name was Tag. Because he was extremely and naturally charming. It was no surprise the gym had the highest rating of women members. They all hoped to have Tag teaching one of the boxing classes.
She might be dead from the throat down, but she recognized a handsome man when she was in front of him.
Tag was beautiful.
A man sculpted by a talented angel and given all the attributes a woman’s dirty fantasy could conjure. She watched his long-tapered fingers reach for a sheet of paper on his desk, his head bowed, giving her free rein to roam her gaze.
The blue-eyed fighter biker was not married.
Women flocked into Charming Souls like they were going to a rock concert. All because of him.
They were flapping bees around pollen in hopes he would notice them.
As beautiful as he was, as kind, Tag unquestionably suited being a biker too.
From what she knew of them, he may not have a scraggly beard, as was her limited knowledge of bikers from her books. And he looked as though he stepped out from the pages of a model catalog, but he was all biker.
A slight aura of danger, the sense a person gets when they know not to trifle with someone. Tag had it. Even with his easy smile.
She had a lot to be grateful for, to him and his biker club. Whether or not they meant to, they broke her free from a hellhole.
He shifted his eyes back to her and Marianna felt the familiar galloping in her chest again. She’d limited these alone times for no other reason than she knew she needed to.
