“She wants you to talk to Pippa, considering she’s always liked you. She thinks Pippa’s refusing to listen to us because we’re her parents,” Slasher chimes in, and I nod in agreement. Children never want to listen to their parents. It’s a fact of life.
“I’ll speak to her, if I can. Where is she?”
“Outside in the SUV with her siblings and two of our men.” Katya’s quick to explain. We turn the corner and I see a flash of caramel colored hair near the breakroom, and we don’t have anyone with caramel colored hair. The only person I know is Pippa.
“You go on out and I’ll meet you there in a minute. There’s something I need to handle,” I explain and Katya heads on with Slasher at her side.
Walking to the break room, I lean against the door frame and stare at the rebellious teenager. “Want to tell me how you managed to sneak out of that SUV with two of your parents’ men on guard?”
Pippa turns around with a devious smile and a terrifying sparkle in her eye. “It’s not that hard when your siblings are younger and start screaming on command. I have them trained well.”
“Your mother’s going to have a heart attack when she realizes you’re not in the vehicle.”
“She has a heart attack if I’m not in the exact room back in Tennessee that I say I’m going to be in. For fuck’s sake, if I go take a piss, she has the men on high alert.”
“Language, young lady,” I grumble, shaking my head at this one. If I were her parent, I’d be freaking out too.
“My dad doesn’t give a flying bologna though, he just tells me to ease up on things. Why can’t Mom be more like Dad?”
I shrug, knowing a bit more about Katya’s past then Slasher’s. Katya’s been through some shit, some seriously fucked up shit. “She . . . I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but you’re almost an adult now and I’m sure your mom will tell you when she’s ready, but she’s been through some stuff, Pip’, and I’m certain she doesn’t want you to go through anything like she did, so that’s why she’s worried, probably.”
“Ya know, it’s really crappy you tell me to mind my language and then say I’m almost an adult.” Pippa cocks a brow, and dammit, the kid’s got me.
I sigh and motion for the girl to come with me. “C’mon, we don’t want your mom to freak out. Just try to wait until you’re eighteen about the tattoo, and I promise I’ll get Dema to do something really sick on you, but fuck, just wait another year.”
“But it’s another year,” Pippa groans, like it’s the most unbearable thing in the entire world.
If someone would’ve told me years ago that I’d end up being close with Katya and her family, I would’ve said they were crazy, but here I am. My prison sentence ended up giving me more purpose in life than anything else ever had. If I could see Stefan Dalca face-to-face, or even my sister, I’d thank them both.
I begin walking Pippa out toward the doorway but stop when I see Meghan rising from her chair. She’s either finished with her client or she’s taking a break. “I’m going out. Can you cover me for the rest of the day?”
“Uh, yeah. Everything okay?”
I give her a stern stare. She knows better than to ask me shit like that. I continue on and lead Pippa back to her parents’ SUV, where Katya starts cursing in Russian and chastising her for running off like that. Slasher stands there and shakes his head, probably used to Pippa and her rebelliousness at this point.
Meanwhile, I walk around the building and head for my car. I need to go speak to Dema and I need to do it now. I’ve dug myself in deeper with the lie, not only with Rytas but with Katya and whether she likes it or not, we have to continue this. She confessed shit to me last night that I didn’t know how to accept, but now I’ve had time to think about it and I firmly believe this could be our opportunity.
I park outside of her home and go to the doorway, knocking my knuckles against the wooden door. An elderly woman opens it and furrows her brows together. She obviously doesn’t know me and I tell her I’m Dema’s boyfriend, introduce myself and ask her how she’s doing. The moment I say I’m Dema’s boyfriend an elderly man comes up and shakes his cane at me, then offers me vodka.
I’ll play nice with her grandparents for now, but then I’ll be going to her bedroom and having a conversation with her. One she’ll either hate, or love. Regardless, it’s one we need to have, because at the end of the day we don’t have another fucking choice.
Chapter Nine
Dema
The paint brush in my hand flows over the canvas while I listen to “Mindfield” by Crucifix in my ear pods. A while back Trista sent me a music video link with this song attached and right now it makes me feel as if the song was written to describe my life. I’m an outcast in a world where no one really wants me around. It’s why I lose myself in my art.
Whether it’s on skin or canvas. I’ve even done pieces made of metal where I sculpt them into something meaningful. It’s how I work through things filling my mind, taking over. Sometimes I feel myself slipping back into a dark place in my life. A place where only I and the tattoo artist know about the markings as he did a damn good job in covering them up.
When I finished school, I went back to the States for a week and Trista and I went to the Devil’s Ink in Franklin where she made me an appointment with a tattoo artist who she’d heard about being one of the best.
Burner’s the one who designed my entire sleeve, asking me to trust him as he freehanded while talking to me about the slits in my wrist. Him and I spoke for a while as he told me nothing was worth trying to end the pain. There’s always absolution to be found, it’s just a matter of where you look for it.
Since then, no one knows what I’ve been through in the past five years besides Burner and my best friend back in the States. I have a hard time dealing with things mentally, unfortunately I’ve always been that way. I bottle it up and then when it comes out there’s no putting it back. If I can’t find a way to release it, I turn to doing something to myself without meaning to.
Earlier when I saw the time, I called out of work. I couldn’t face Kronid. Considering I haven’t slept a wink I’ve had a lot of time to think since he dropped me off. I’ve come to terms with the fact he’s who he is and I’m who I am. At least I think I have.
Stepping back from the painting, I take a good look at the beauty that’s coming to life with the reds blending with the black, the face’s features hard and chiseled yet looks soft upon touch. The eyes are what really draw me in, as I stare into the eyes of a man I painted without intending to do so. Then again, my mind goes where it wants to.
My music switches over to Struggle Jennings and Jelly Roll’s song “Love Won” when I realize I’m not alone in my room anymore. I glance to the door to see who it is, sometimes my grandparents like to peek in on me to see what I’m working on. I like to think they’re proud of me for being who I am. Only it’s not either of my grandparents, but rather, the man from the painting himself.
Oh. No.
“Um, how long have you been standing there?” I ask, pulling one of the ear pods from my ear.
“Long enough to know you’re not sick,” he shrugs and steps fully into my art room then closes the door softly behind him.
“Uh, yeah. . . about that. . . I’m well, um, I kinda needed a mental health day. So, technically it can be counted as a sick day,” I mutter and turn away from him.
“That is understandable after what you went through last night. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping to see you at the tattoo parlor, and speak with you of course,” he says. I can sense his movements as he stares at all the random pieces, I’m either working on or getting ready to send to those who’ve bought something. “You have quite the collection here. You do them all yourself?”
“Yes.” I nod.
“Impressive.” He nods in return.
“What’re you doing here?” I ask, breathless by the compliment he’s just given me.
“Like I said, I’d hoped to s
peak to you at the shop but now I need to speak with you,” he states, coming to stand in front of me. I lift my gaze to meet his as I tilt my head back. I barely register the slight tremble in my hands as he slowly takes the paint brush and palette. Kronid sets it on the table next to my easel.
I don’t speak since I can’t. My voice is lost as I become fixated on his beautiful dark hazel eyes.
“As I said, I need to speak with you. I did something today I’ve never done before. I lied to Katya, which now puts not only your life at risk but my own,” he says.
“Why would you do that?” I croak, finding it hard to believe what he’s saying. A knot forms in the pit of my stomach and I can barely calm myself down.
“Why do you think?” Kronid quirks a brow. “I thought about what you said last night, about what I said, about all of it. I’m thinking we play this out. Rytsa said he wouldn’t believe us right away and he came back again this morning. I had to tell Katya about us, about what happened last night. She cannot know you and I weren’t together. So, I need you to go along with this and we give this a real shot between the two of us. If we don’t, we might both be dead.”
Wow.
My mind is reeling right now.
“Let me get this straight, you put your ass in the line of fire to save me from a mad man. Now we’re stuck together because of what you did to keep me from having a bullet put in my brain.”
Kronid nods with a straight-lipped expression.
“Dema, I couldn’t bear to see you hurt because of something that could have been prevented. I told you already I wanted you for a long time. Now’s our shot, so let’s take it,” he states clearly, so clearly in fact he’s taking over the conversation, showing how dominant he can be in every retrospect.
“I know you did, Kronid, and I also told you the same. I’d never lie about something like that. I learned a long time ago to never lie to those who mean something to you. What is it you want me to do? Lie and say we’re together when in reality we’re not.” I sigh, becoming a little irritated. I can’t help it. I’ve not slept or had coffee. Basically, it means I’m a bitch in the morning without it, and it doesn’t take much to set me off.
How the fuck have we gotten into this mess?
Chapter Ten
Kronid
“Did you not listen to a fucking word I said?” I snap at her, turning back to make sure the door’s shut. After schmoozing her grandparents for the last thirty minutes I want to make sure they don’t think I’m some asshole with an anger management problem.
Dema doesn’t say a damn thing, so I take a step toward her and repeat myself, accentuating every word. “Did you not listen to a fucking word I said?”
She curls her lip up and scrunches her nose, reminding me of what Elvis would look like if he was actually a smokin’ hot chick. “I heard you loud and clear, asshole.”
I shut my eyes for a moment and open them, before taking a step closer to her. My chest is pressed against hers and she breathes in and out quickly. I clear my throat and stare into her dark blue eyes, the same shade as the ocean on her right sleeve tattoo. “I know you’re the only fucking person here for them, the only person they have left. I know enough about you to know they’d be lost without your help, how you prepare their weekly medications, do the cleaning, most of the cooking, and everything else. All of which I learned in the last thirty minutes of me spending time with them. What I knew prior was that you lived with your grandparents as their primary caregiver after your parents died, that your mother moved to the States after leaving Russia. But you moved back after your parents died, choosing to stay with the only family you had left. You said all this to Meghan and myself when we interviewed you for the position at Pins and Needles. Knowing all of that, how was I supposed to stand by and let him kill you? I’ve fucking told you I want you, Dema, so just let me fucking take you.” I hiss, glaring at her with all my might.
Dema opens her mouth slightly from what I assume is shock. “I-I don’t understand why you care so much.”
I shake my head and suck in a deep breath. “You don’t listen to half the shit I say. Femei nenorocite, ascultând doar ce vrei!” I step away from her, throwing my hands in the air and muttering in Romanian about how women only listen to half the shit people say. I look from her to the window and then back to her, “De ce nu poți lăsa asta să fie? Ți-am spus că te vreau, cum te poftesc și apoi îmi spui că fanteziști despre mine și asta? Te comporti de parcă nu vrei să ai nimic de-a face cu mine. Nu te înțeleg, Dema. Nu te înțeleg nenorocit, dar mă face să te doresc și mai mult. La naiba, Dema.”
“Chto ty, chert voz’mi, govorish’?!” She snaps at me, asking me in Russian what the fuck I’m saying. Sometimes I get so pissed I speak in Romanian, so I must’ve been doing that.
My eyes widen and they’re about half ready to pop out of my damn head. “I asked you why you can’t let this be, I told you I want you, I told you I crave you. You told me you were grateful it was me you were in that position with last night and now you act like you want nothing to do with me. I don’t understand you, Dema. I don’t fucking understand you. But even with saying that, it only makes me want you more.” I walk back over to her and push her up against some sort of wooden table next to her easel. It’s a few feet away from where I put her color palette, and as my body presses against hers, backing her up, with every step she doesn’t know what to do, how to act, how to even compose herself. It’s exactly what I want. “If we don’t make it look like we’re together, we’re both going to die. I’m not out here looking for death and I’m certain you aren’t either. I’ve lied to one of the most powerful women in the world about us, saying we’ve been together for a while. I’ve lied to a very dangerous man about us being together. I’ve even lied to your grandparents about it. We are together now, Dema, because I won’t be killed for this, for lying to save your life. And I won’t let you get killed. Otherwise, it was all for nothing.”
“Kronid,” her voice cracks, and her eyes dart to mine. She’s obviously torn right now, not sure what to do or how to act.
“Don’t,” I pause for a moment, softening my voice so I don’t come across so brash. “Rytas will continue to check in. I know him, and I know what he’ll do. I’m trying to protect you, Dema, and in doing so I’m giving us the opportunity to try this out, to see if this means anything.” I wrap my hand around her torso and another on the other side as I collide my lips onto hers.
Her body stiffens before she relaxes as I claim her lips. I try to be gentle, showing her the way I want to kiss her, the way I would’ve taken her flower if I could’ve. A woman like her didn’t deserve what happened last night, but I’m glad it was me. She’s been a temptation being dangled in front of me for far too long, and I’m ready to take a bite out of the forbidden fruit. I only hope it won’t be my last.
Like last night Dema wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me closer, only this time she moans softly into my mouth. I push my tongue past her teeth, colliding with hers and groan as my cock grows harder under my jeans.
Fucking Christ. I want her so bad, so fucking bad.
I skim one hand up her torso while the other is planted on her hip, until I’m caressing her breast through her bra. She’s wearing some silky style shirt, so I move the fabric and her tit pops free. I break our kiss and trail chaste kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, until I’m sucking her nipple into my mouth, twirling my tongue around it. She leans her head back, biting on her bottom lip as she moans and the head of my cock pulsates at the sound of her pleasure.
Dema brings a hand between us, applying pressure over my pants, rubbing against my hardened, confined cock. I groan against her breast, begging for her to free me from my linen prison.
Her hand continues to massage my cock through my pants until she hooks onto the zipper and pulls it down. I’m quick to yank it free for her, desperately needing something. The impact of her skin against mine is almost too much. Her palm entraps the head of
my cock and then slides down my shaft, slightly tightening her grip as she does so.
I suck her breast into my mouth even more, moving the hand on her hip to her other breast, teasing it as well. I rip my mouth from her breast and look up into her eyes. “I want you so fucking bad, Dema,” my voice comes out in a rasp.
She nods once and grabs me by the neck, pulling my face back up to hers. I press my forehead against her own and she whispers, eyes glassy, making me feel like she’s going to cry. “Take me like you would’ve if he wasn’t there, like you would’ve my first time.” Her voice is pleading, begging for the sensuality and affection I couldn’t give her last night.
No words need to be spoken, I simply press my lips against hers and answer her with my kiss. I keep it sensual as fuck, delicate, and caress her lips with my own. She shimmies herself out of the matching silk pants and kicks them to the floor, opening her legs for me in the process. I sink my cock into her slowly, rocking myself back and forth so my intrusion isn’t too sudden.
Dema digs her nails into my shoulders as she kisses me, opening her legs for me more as she relaxes. I rip my lips from hers for a brief moment and look into her deep-sea colored eyes. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, ever.” I hope last night proved my vow is real, but I can only pray she believes me.
Now she needs to give us a chance—a real one.
Chapter Eleven
Dema
Laying in Kronid’s arms after the experience he’s just given me, makes what happened yesterday in front of those vile men feel like it’s far in the past.
Kronid took his time and showed me in ways of his touch how much he means what he said. He’s never going to let anything happen to me and I truly believe it. The way he held every part of my body makes me feel special. Even now as I lay with my head on his chest while his fingers stroke along my spine, I can sense his protectiveness of me.
Blood & Agony: A Dark Criminal Romance (Pins and Needles: Moscow Book 1) Page 5
