The Enemy in My Bed

by LK Shaw

  Her footsteps fade, and I turn to face Pierce. His expression is one of concern. I expected disgust. Even hatred. But the only thing in his eyes is worry.

  “So, he told you everything?” I ask.

  He nods. “At least his version of it. I’d like to hear yours. If you’re willing to tell me.”

  I shift until I’m sitting. My back hits the cabinets, and I pull my knees to my chest. “What is there to tell? That the whole time he held me captive—that every time he raped me—he made me believe that I was Mikhail’s daughter, too? That every time he came inside me, he laughed, joking about what kind of baby we might have with a brother and sister as its parents?”

  Just the memory of it makes me want to vomit again.

  “That’s why you reacted the way you did when I forgot to use a condom,” he says, his voice flat.

  “Yes,” I answer even though it wasn’t a question.

  “How did you discover he’d been lying the whole time?”

  “My mother was a terrible mother. I think the only good thing she ever did in her life was swear to me that there wasn’t a chance that Mikhail was my father. She showed me my birth certificate. I’d been born in a small town in New Mexico.” I’d cried for days when I’d learned the truth, both from relief, but also for the innocence that Maksim had destroyed and I’d never get back.

  “Jesus,” Pierce whispers.

  “Now you know all my secrets.”

  He scoots across the floor and pulls me into the cradle of his body, hugging me tightly to him. I sag against him and breathe in his comforting scent. We remain on the floor until his phone beeps. He pulls it from the back of his pants and sends a text before pocketing it again. He holds my face between his hands.

  “Maksim won’t be leaving that room alive,” Pierce says. “I know you lost your chance with Mikhail, but he wasn’t yours to kill. Because it wasn’t him that sold your sister to the Polish. It’s entirely your choice, but I’m offering you the opportunity for closure—revenge—whatever you want to call it.”

  I stare into his eyes and understand what it is he’s saying. This is my chance to kill Maksim. To make him pay for all the suffering he caused me. Caused Anya. I only have to take it. Can I really do it, though?

  I nod. He studies me a moment longer and then releases his hold.

  “I’ll call Theresa and see if she can stay with Anya for a little bit.”

  Pierce pulls me up from the floor, and we head out to the living room to wait.

  I stare at the closed door in front of me. The cool air skates across my skin, and I shiver. Pierce’s clean fragrance mingles with the almost moldy scent of the tunnel. My feet are frozen to the floor, unable to take a single step in any direction.

  A part of me wants to run up the path, jump into the back of the town car, and never come back here again. Another part of me wants to open it and confront the monster who’s haunted my dreams even more than Death did. I want to put my past to rest. I just can’t make myself move.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know,” Pierce says, his finger pushing back a few strands of hair that have managed to fall over my face.

  I nod absently, not taking my eyes off the door. All this time I thought Mikhail had been the one to sell Anya to the Polish, but it had been Maksim. I want to know why. I’d missed my opportunity to kill the father. Am I capable of killing the son?

  My palm shakes, but I hold it out for the key. Pierce drops it into my hand. The weight of it is heavy. I inhale a deep breath, and insert the metal into the lock. The metallic click pierces my eardrums. Before I question myself any further, I push the door open and stare inside the room.

  It’s just as I remember it, only this time, the chains aren’t empty and it’s blood dripping down the drain as opposed to my own waste. I step into the room, Pierce on my heels. The door closes behind us, and I try not to flinch as the latch catches.

  Maksim looks different than I remember. It’s not even his blood-soaked body or his mangled face. He just seems…smaller. Lesser. I suppose torture will do that to someone. A groan comes from him, but he manages to raise his drooping head. He stares out at me from a single eye socket, and smiles at me through a blood-smeared mouth.

  “Sister,” he greets me with a choked cough and the same arrogant smile that is distorted with pain.

  “I’m not your sister,” I snap, finding my voice.

  He seems to pout, but it turns into cruel laughter. “So you found me out, then.”

  I stare at him…and feel nothing. Nothing but anger. There’s no fear. No shame. Just rage.

  “Why did you sell my sister? She didn’t do anything to you.” That is the only thing I care about. What Maksim did to me in the past doesn’t matter. My future—Pierce—does.

  Despite the pain he must be in, he manages to sneer. “Nothing?” he lashes out. “That little bitch was going to destroy everything I worked for.”

  “How?” I cry. “She’s an eighteen-year-old girl who loves clothes. How was she going to do anything?”

  “My father was going to let her have it all. He planned on grooming her to take his place as the head of our organization.” Maksim laughs maniacally. “Mikhail was a dirty old man who lusted after his precious daughter. He planned on keeping her for himself. He thought if he gave her everything she’d never had before, he could make her love him. It was pathetic.”

  I cover my mouth in horror. Mikhail had wanted Anya, his own daughter, like…that? Father and son were both sick.

  “So you sold her,” Pierce says.

  “She deserved it,” Maksim spits. “Just like you did.”

  I fly into a rage and run across the room, pounding on his chest, face, any place I can reach. “She was just a girl,” I scream, continuing to slap and punch until I can barely catch my breath, and my arms fall to my sides in exhaustion.

  Maksim’s breathing is raspy and wheezing, and his chest and face are smeared with blood. I glance down and it covers my hands. I should be horrified, but I can’t muster the energy to care. The only thing I want is for this to be over. I want to move on with my life—with Pierce.

  Numb, I make my way to the sink, washing the dark red liquid from my hands and stare as it circles the drain, first turning pink, then clear. Pierce appears at my side and shuts the water off. I look up at him and nod. Then, I turn and walk out the door, closing it behind me. I collapse against it, inhaling deep breaths, and letting the cool air wash through me. Seconds pass, and a gunshot sounds inside the room. I don’t even flinch.

  A sense of peace surrounds me, and I rise and take a few steps back to wait for Pierce. I’m ready to go home. It doesn’t take long before the door opens and he exits the room, locking up behind him.

  “I’ll have one of our men take care of the body,” he says.

  It’s finally over. My old life no longer exists. It’s time to begin a new one.

  Epilogue

  2 weeks later

  * * *

  I glance around the room. Of course, everyone is staring at us. They’re staring at me, rather. I’m the outsider. The interloper. The Russian who has infiltrated their organization. No matter that I’m doing it on Pierce’s arm. I spot a couple of women whispering behind their hands. We pass through the throng of people, each one dressed in fancy suits and even fancier dresses while they sip their champagne. They’re all here to celebrate the wedding of the head of their organization and his lovely Irish bride.

  “This is such a bad idea,” I say softly, fidgeting with the seam of the most expensive piece of clothing I’ve ever worn before.

  Pierce glances down at me with his fierce expression. “What is?”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Me. Being here. In a room full of Italians.”

  “Don’t forget the Irish,” he says, not the least bit concerned with that I’m saying.

  “That’s even worse. Everyone here hates me.” I cringe at my whiny tone.

  “They don’t even know you yet. And not
everyone here hates you. In fact, I can think of four or five people who are pretty fond of you.”

  “Five out of several hundred doesn’t really make me feel better.” Except it does. I do have a few allies here. I only wish a couple more of them would show up.

  As though my wish is being granted, Francesca comes threading through a crowd of people, waving over her head in greeting. She gives me a hug as soon as she meets up with us.

  “I’m so glad you guys made it.”

  A moment later, a dark-haired man maybe a few years older than me, with a hard cast over the lower half of an arm, limps over. Francesca smiles shyly at his arrival. “Mila, this is my friend, Giovanni. Gio this is Mila.”

  This is the bodyguard that had been shot by Mikhail’s men the night they captured Brenna. I give him a polite nod. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  He returns the gesture with a tight smile. His cool greeting isn’t a surprise, nor do I blame him for it. The Russians almost killed him that night. I’m sure I’m nothing but a reminder of those who hurt him. My gaze darts to Francesca. And of those who hurt her.

  “There you are.”

  Everyone turns at the new voice. Brenna and Jacob approach, the former with a huge welcoming grin. She, too, envelops me in a hug. It’s a bit surreal being embraced by these two women. We should be enemies, yet they’ve made me feel more welcome than I have before in my entire life. Her husband greets me with a polite, “Mila.”

  “Emilio,” I reply with a small, but just as polite, smile. The name Jacob is reserved for his wife and two cousins, but his giving me permission to call him another name besides Mr. Ricci is a huge sign of his acceptance of me. Of my relationship with his cousin. It’s a courtesy I won’t ever take for granted.

  Pierce leans down and gives me a soft kiss. “Jacob and I have some business to discuss. Will you be okay here?”

  Brenna wraps one hand around my arm and pulls me against her while she waves him off with the other. “She’s in good hands. Go, take care of your business.”

  The way she says it earns her a glare from both Pierce and her husband, but the two men, as well as Francesca’s friend, Giovanni, move away, leaving us alone. Brenna turns toward me with a little twirl. “Thank god, they’re gone. Let’s go get a drink.”

  The three of us head over to the bar. She and Francesca order a glass of wine and I order a soda. We move to stand against one of the walls and observe the crowd of people.

  “This has been the most exhausting night of my life,” Brenna says. “I’ve met more people than I thought possible, and being Jacob’s wife I’m expecting to learn and remember all their names. It’s a terrifying prospect. I hadn’t realized how many families were part of the syndicate.”

  Francesca laughs. “You don’t have to memorize them all tonight. There’s plenty of time. I don’t think anyone expects you to know all their names before the party ends.”

  “Still, it’s intimidating.” Brenna huffs out a breath. “Anyway, how about you, Mila. Are you having a nice time?”

  I nearly laugh out loud. “I’m not sure I would call it nice. I’ve gotten quite a few cautious looks and more than enough glares. I understand Emilio prepared his captains at some meeting, but it’s still a bit nerve-wracking being in the company of hundreds of people who think I’m their enemy.”

  “Everyone will come to love you in no time. They just have to get to know you,” Brenna tries to reassure me.

  I appreciate her trying. We stand there chatting and watching the crowd. My eyes keep drifting to the same spot across the room.

  “Who is that?” I discreetly gesture at the statuesque woman with the perfect hourglass figure who’s been staring at me with pure hatred ever since we walked in the door.

  Brenna and Francesca’s gaze follow the direction. The latter sucks in a breath and starts coughing.

  “Are you okay?” I ask

  She clears her throat a few more times and takes a sip of her wine. “I’m fine,” she says, but looks decidedly uncomfortable.

  “Francesca? Do you know who she is?”

  Her eyes won’t meet mine. “Her name is Gianna.”

  “Why has she spent the whole night looking as though she’d like to claw my eyes out?”

  She shifts nervously, but finally blows out a breath. “She was Pierce’s mistress.”

  That nauseated feeling drops into my gut again. “Oh.”

  “He hasn’t seen her since he met you,” she rushes out.

  I take the woman in again. From her sleek brown hair pulled over one shoulder in a perfect side pony tail to the body-hugging royal blue dress that only accents every dip and curve of a figure I’d kill for. “She’s very beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful, too,” Brenna adds. “Don’t pay her any attention. She’s just jealous.”

  I try to smile, but that ugly green monster fills me with doubt. I can’t compare to her. My boobs may be overly large, but otherwise I’m practically a stick. My hair is still a short, ragged mess that looks like a child cut it. Plus, she’s Italian. The type of woman that Pierce should be with. One who won’t make him have to always prove his loyalty.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, you need to stop thinking it,” Francesca scolds.

  “You’re right. Pierce is with me now. Whoever was in his past doesn’t matter.” I look away from the other woman, and the lie slips easily from my lips.

  Francesca reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Exactly. Forget about her. She’s not important.”

  “Oh, shit,” Brenna mumbles.

  Our eyes shoot to hers, but she’s not looking at us. Instead her focus is over my shoulder.

  “You have a lot of nerve showing up here,” a bitter, angry voice says directly behind me.

  I turn and standing less than five feet from me is Pierce’s former lover. Shit, is right. She’s even more beautiful up close. If I don’t count the sneer on her face as she stares down her nose at me.

  “Hi, I’m Mila,” I say, trying to be polite.

  The woman—Gianna—curls her lip in disgust. “I know who you are. We all know who you are. You’re that Russian. Look at you, acting like you belong here. You will never belong. Everyone will always see you as nothing but the enemy.”

  Brenna opens her mouth, but a furious, baritone voice beats her to it. “What the fuck did you say?”

  In unison, we all spin around to find Pierce standing with arms crossed, his face a mask of pure rage. Something I haven’t seen since those first few days of our relationship. Jacob, with an equally fierce expression, flanks him.

  “Pierce, honey.” Gianna reaches out to lay her hand on his arm, but he knocks it away.

  “Don’t touch me,” he bites out viciously.

  Her face pales.

  “Jacob, get her out of here before I do something I’ll regret.” He steps over to me, completely ignoring the woman in question, as though she no longer exists.

  A small scuffle ensues as a couple men drag Gianna, who’s in tears, off, but then I lose sight of her.

  “She’s lucky you showed up when you did,” Brenna says. “I was about to start swearing. And you know I don’t do that.”

  Jacob chuckles and wraps an arm around her waist. “But it sounds so sexy coming from your sweet mouth.”

  She blushes three shades of pink, but I can tell the compliment pleases her. A phone rings and Jacob reaches into his inner jacket pocket with a frown.

  “Ricci.”

  His entire demeanor changes in seconds. Only moments ago he’d been smiling, affection for his wife obvious in his eyes. Everything disappears, and his face is a blank slate.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He disconnects the call and pockets his phone.

  Brenna’s hand rests on his chest. “Jacob, is everything all right?”

  He shakes himself out of wherever he just went and glances down at his wife and then meets Pierce’s gaze. “That was Marta. My father’s dead.”

  Second Epil
ogue

  My leg is fucking killing me. And there’s an itch under this cast I can’t reach. I swear it’s making me insane. It still hurts to breathe, as well. But I’m alive. Those Russian bastards tried their best to kill me, but I beat them.

  I take in the room until my gaze lands on her, and the crowd of people disappears.

  Francesca De Luca.

  She’s beautiful. Not just on the outside with her long, nearly black hair, big brown eyes, and perfect red lips. No, her beauty shines from the inside. Her kindness. The quiet strength that comes from battling demons that tried to take her out, but who she fought back against and won. Her sweet smile that makes me feel like it’s meant only for me.

  While I’d been bleeding out from the gunshot wounds following Brenna’s capture, she’d been the only thing I could think about. My one regret in life. That I hadn’t told her how I felt. Because I’d been chicken shit. Despite the fact I’ve worked my ass off to prove myself. Despite going from errand boy to driver to bodyguard, even if a shitty one. I’ve never been good enough for the mafia princess.

  She’s my boss’ cousin. The man who heads the entire Brooklyn Kings syndicate and all its associated outfits on the East coast. I’m the kid who grew up on the streets with a doped up prostitute for a mother and no idea who my father is. He could be any one of thousands of men. It doesn’t stop me from wanting her.

  For the last year, I’ve held back telling her how I feel, not just because of my insecurities, but because of her fear. The Russians may have hurt me, but they nearly destroyed her. There’s a funny thing about nearly dying that no one talks about. It makes a man realize what he has to lose. More importantly, what he has to gain.

  I’m done holding back. Francesca is mine. It’s time she understands that.

  * * *

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  THE BEAST I CAN’T TAME

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