“I even loved the goats. I would loll in the grass in the sun while the goats grazed. They would come to me and nuzzle me. They would play.”
“It sounds beautiful,” he says. “So peaceful.”
“You would love it. You would love the mothers there too.”
“Hmm…”
I snatch the bottle from him. “You would.” I drink. “The most amazing thing was when I found the icon.”
He tips his chin to the shelf. “That one?”
“No, it was an old one, thought to be lost. I was on a hillock with the goats, and I saw such a sweet bright light. Like nothing you’ve ever seen, Viktor.”
I don’t know what makes me tell it. I think because it feels so natural to be with him. I tell him how the light shone from Jesus’s face. How the goats gathered. How it felt in my heart. How I ran back to show the mothers, and what they said.
He smooths his thumb along my cheek. I close my eyes. The pull of him is so fierce. The need of him. I want suddenly to be skin on skin with him. I want to drink him up with my body. “You were happy?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to go back?”
“I will go back. But only after rescuing the women. I won’t leave until they’re safe. But then, yes. To go back is my heart’s desire.”
There’s a long silence. He takes the bottle and drinks. He looks so troubled.
My heart pounds. I want to soothe him. Touch him.
I settle my palm onto his chest. He’s so thick and hard with muscle. I feel myself turning to him, like a flower. I don’t feel lost when I touch him. When he kissed me roughly that time, I didn’t feel lost.
Turn back, I say to myself. Reverse. You are drunk.
I say this to myself even as I slide my hand across his skin. Even as I touch his rosy nipple, puckered in a swirl of hair. He sucks in a breath as I touch the other, pulse hammering.
He puts his hand over mine—to try to stop me? I drink in the feel of him. He holds me with his gaze. His belly rises and falls as his breath comes fast.
Then I realize my breath is coming fast, too.
“What do you want?” His breath has gone ragged. It sounds staccato to my ears. I slide my hand lower, fingers under his belt. He clamps a hand onto my wrist. “Lisichka.”
I want this man—all of him. I shouldn’t, yet I do. I climb onto his lap, my arms around him, hands clinging to the massive muscles of his shoulder. “I want what the old Tanechka had, just for a moment.”
He shudders out a breath and sets his hands on my cheeks, cradling my head like it’s the most fragile thing on earth.
“I want to feel you around me.”
Suddenly he’s flipping us around so he’s on top of me, laying me out like a dark feast below him. “Are you sure?”
“No,” I say. The truth. “I’m not sure. When I touch you, I want you. And I feel lost.”
His brown eyes soften. “You’re never lost when I’m in the world.” He dips his head to mine for a kiss.
He slides his body against mine as he kisses me, sending pleasure between my legs. Again and again he slides against me, forcing the pleasure through me. Slowly he sits up, straddling me, looming above me.
I slide my hands up and down his hard thighs, spread over me like mighty tree trunks clad in fabric, taut from bearing his weight. He watches me carefully as he moves his hands to my collar. In one wild motion he rips my shirt in two, baring my breasts.
I laugh in surprise. I think about how he said I don’t like smiley sex, but I like this.
He kisses a line down my belly to my waistband. He unbuttons my jeans and shoves them and my panties all the way down, off the ankle without the metal iron. He kisses back up my bare legs.
My heart pounds as he nears.
He pauses at my sex.
I gasp as he licks me there once and again. I hiss out a breath as he spreads my legs even farther apart, licking there.
I grab onto his hair as he licks me, teases me, nips me, a horrible, perfect, wonderful torture. I don’t want him to stop this magic.
And he doesn’t.
Even when I cry out and break apart, spinning in feeling, he keeps on. He keeps me spinning in pleasure. I’ve barely come down when he’s over me, putting on a condom onto himself. He holds himself over me, caging me with his massive arms.
He runs his fingers over the underside of my forearms, gliding gently over my skin.
It feels like sparkles and light.
But his expression is savage. He is not a good man. I look away.
“Look at me,” he says.
The command makes my sex throb. I turn my gaze up to him. He is not a good man, but I want him to make me do things.
Watching me, holding me with his gaze, he brings his arm down between us and guides himself to my entrance, pressing his manhood between my legs. I feel the fat bulb of his head, pressing at my entrance.
I suck in a breath, stunned by the hugeness of him.
A little warning bell goes off. I can’t have sex with him. A nun is supposed to be betrothed to Jesus.
“Wait!”
He doesn’t wait. He fits his hand around my neck—and he squeezes. He squeezes my neck with the claiming pressure he promised.
My pulse bangs against his fingers. My sex pulses with electricity. It feels like magic goes through me.
He squeezes harder.
The squeeze is like a hypnotic command. This dangerous pressure that tells me I’m his. That he’ll take me in whatever way he wishes.
“More,” I gasp.
He squeezes my neck and shoves my legs further apart, spreading me open wide. Then he thrusts inside me, filling me with his hugeness, with pain and possession.
The feeling of him inside me is perfect beyond imagination.
I cry out in agony.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Viktor
I fuck her fast and hard, spearing her. I’m the man who doesn’t deserve her, but I take her anyway, working her body as if it belongs to me. It’s what she loves, to be pounded into oblivion.
“You belong to me, lisichka.”
She whimpers and digs her nails into my shoulders. I growl and hold her, take her, giving her everything I am. I close my eyes as I give her everything.
On and on I go, slow and savage now. I slide against her clit. Her orgasm likes to run and hide. But I’m a lethal hunter.
“Wait,” she says, breaking me from my reverie. “Wait.”
I slow. “What?”
I’m surprised to see her eyes so clear and bright. Her eyes are usually unfocused by now, drifting into the mind-numbing sensation we both so love.
Now she sees me.
I don’t like it. I feel naked suddenly—more naked than I ever have before.
“Slow,” she says.
I suck in a ragged breath. “Slow? Slow is…” Too much, I want to say, too frightening.
“I want to feel you,” she says. “You.”
It breaks me a little bit.
“Please.”
I hesitate, but she watches my eyes so trustingly. Depending on me. I move my trembling hand from her neck to her cheek. “Like this?”
“Like that.”
I close my eyes and move into her slowly. I don’t know how to do it—it’s too much. But I pull out and press in, loving her nakedly, shaking with every slow thrust.
“Open your eyes,” she whispers. “Let me see you.”
I want to say that I can’t. But it’s too much truth to say it, and it’s too much truth to look at her. I think she’ll see what I’ve done to her, and it’s all too much truth.
Eventually, somehow, I force myself to gaze at her.
The affection in her gaze overwhelms me, and dimly I realize that the tears on her cheeks are mine. I’m fucking her and crying.
I know that I should let her go, to bring her back to the convent, the one place she had peace.
But I can’t.
“Forgive me,”
I grate out, burying myself in her goodness.
“It’s okay, Viktor.”
“It’s not.”
She arches under me, pulling me into her. She’s coming. I know it before she does. Her sex clenches around me, milking me. She cries out, pure as a bell.
I hold her, kiss her as she comes. I hold her until the last shudder leaves her body.
Afterwards I come, quick and violent. I collapse beside her.
We lie side by side. It’s almost like old times until she sits up and sucks in a great gasping breath.
“Tanechka?”
She draws her slim legs to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks, pants bunched at her ankles, chain leading out.
“Tata?”
She regards me uncomprehendingly.
I move toward her, thinking to embrace her, but she pushes me away, then clasps her knees once again. Her voice sounds gravelly, dredged from the center of her. “What have I done?”
I follow the line of her gaze to the Jesus icon.
“The light,” she says. “The sweetness. I’ve forgotten it all!”
My heart twists.
“What have I done?”
“It was me who did it,” I say. “My fault, not yours.”
She shakes her head, but it’s true. I chained her up. Gave her booze. Fucked her while she was drunk. Choked her when she resisted, knowing what it would do to her mind. Threw her into Daliani Gorge.
She looks wild, almost—feral with grief.
It cracks me open. That and the slow sex—it all cracks me open.
Maybe that’s why I feel as though my heart is being ripped out again. What did I do to her? “It’s my fault. Please—I’ll take you back to Donetsk.”
Tearfully she shakes her head.
“It’s my fault, Tanechka, not yours. I did this.”
“Killing and fucking and drinking? I did it.”
“I’m the one who betrayed you. The gorge—”
She bats my hand away. “Unchain me. Let me go to the church and confess.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“More dangerous than this?”
I’m not sure how to answer that.
“I did this. I did it all,” I say.
Tires squeal nearby. The sound of vehicles converging. These aren’t the regular sounds of this neighborhood. I grab my phone and text Yuri with a “?”.
Nothing back.
A tingle runs up my spine. I pull on my clothes and my holster. “Get dressed, Tanechka.”
She looks up at me, so small, so tearful.
“We may have to leave.”
She doesn’t budge.
“You want me to take you out of here naked?” I shrug as if I don’t care. As if the world’s not crashing down around my heart.
Downstairs a door bangs. No—it’s a shoulder. People trying to get in.
“Put on your clothes!” I bound down the stairs, piece drawn. I nearly collide with Pityr coming up.
“The American Russians,” he says. “They’ve turned.”
“What?”
He tosses me my rifle and pushes me back up. “We’re surrounded. Yuri was hit—only in the shoulder.”
“Where is he?”
“Out of here. Safe.”
My phone goes off. Aleksio. “I’m coming, Viktor. Hold them off.”
Tanechka has pulled her clothes back on, thankfully. I throw Pityr the keys to her ankle cuff, and I run to the weapons safe. I grab two grenades and a nine and get to the window. They haven’t gotten in yet. The Russians reinforced this condo—steel construction techniques. Their own cleverness foils them.
“What’s going on?” Tanechka asks.
“Stay down, close your eyes, and plug your ears!” I break the window glass with the butt of the rifle. Then I crouch and pull the pin from the grenade. “Ears!” I say again.
When her ears are safely covered, I toss it and crouch.
Alarmed voices. The sound of men scrambling. The blast of a grenade shakes the floor. I straighten up and start shooting, clearing the street. Pityr takes up position on the other side, taking people out. Tanechka eyes the Glock.
“No,” I say. “Not for you.” Sirens sound in the distance.
This is very bad. If the American Russians turned, it’s Bloody Lazarus who turned them. The cops won’t be interested in saving us. The cops may be interested in fighting us, too.
I take a few more shots. Fire is returned. Windows break. The beautiful nest I made for my Tanechka is going to burn.
“Aleksio has a bulletproof Hummer,” I say. “He’s coming.”
Tanechka nods. I wonder whether I could put a gun in her hand. She used to be so fierce in a fight like this. Dependable. Black cap on her head covering the bright target of her hair. Would her body still remember? It remembers so much.
But I’ve damaged her enough today. “Stay down.”
I suck in a breath and rise up to shoot again. They were supposed to be our brothers, these Russians. I should’ve been more attentive. I should’ve seen this.
This is on me. And if Yuri is hurt…
More shoulders slamming the door below. A window breaks.
“The roof,” I say to Pityr. “We torch this place and take the roof. The way Tanechka did. Okay? Tanechka, you ready?”
She nods, goes to the fireplace. She’ll start the blaze. She knows to do this. Is she remembering it all?
I call Aleksio. “How far are you?”
“Two minutes,” he says.
“We’re going over the rooftops to Reston Ave.”
“Neva Street is better,” Tanechka says.
“Scratch that—Neva Street,” I say. “Come up the south alley.” We talk tactics. I’m going to lob out another grenade. I nod at Tanechka, and she sets the bedspread on fire.
“Davay davay davay,” Pityr calls from across the hall, wanting us to hurry. “On your call.”
“You first—with Tanechka.”
“No. I’ll stay!”
“You first!” He doesn’t like me doing the suppressing because it means I’ll be the last up. It means I’ll be in the most danger. But I’m his superior. He’ll obey.
And this is how I best protect Tanechka—by giving her and Pityr the best cover to run the roof. It cannot be otherwise.
“Now!”
Tanechka leads the way to the attic. The fire’s spreading. I stay.
When I hear them punch out the window up there, I begin strafing, clearing the street. When I can no longer see through the smoke, I run to the hall and head up to the attic.
I cough. My eyes water. I waited too long, but I know where the window is. I climb up and out. Once on the roof, I hurl the grenade. Then I run.
I meet them hanging over the fire escape.
I cough, catching my breath. “Go!”
We climb down.
Aleksio screams up to us. Tanechka drops first—right onto the hood like a pro. Pityr goes next.
Gunfire from the corner.
Aleksio shoves open his door and starts shooting up the street. I go for it, dropping down. I feel the wind of a bullet near my leg. I get the fuck down onto the street and in.
Aleksio roars off before we even get the doors closed. The back window cracks under the impact of multiple rounds. I spin around. “Tanechka?”
“Get the fuck down!” Aleksio says.
“Tanechka?”
“I’m okay,” she says, wide-eyed, crouched.
I slide back around. “Where’s Yuri?”
“With Mischa,” Aleksio said. “He’s fine. He was across the street when they surrounded the place. They started taking guys out and got it. Check yourself, brother.”
“I’m okay,” I say.
We get on a main drag out of the city. Aleksio tells me he’s been trying Konstantin. No answer.
“He’s okay,” I say, but really, it’s just that he has to be. “We’re the only ones who know where he is. Probably out with his ducks.” Still, it’s
worrisome.
There are many stoplights, some of them red. Aleksio goes through one, then another. We gun it, putting in the distance, heading for Konstantin’s place.
“Listen to me—they didn’t send Kiro to Stillwater prison,” Aleksio says. “He was sent to Oak Park Heights. Criminally insane shit. Don’t forget it.”
My heart thunders for what Aleksio doesn’t say. If one of us is killed, it’s up to the other to get to Kiro. “We’ll get him together.”
“Right. Here’s the thing—he was sent there but he’s not listed. Maybe under an alias. We have to figure it out. That’s where we are with it.”
“We’ll get him,” I growl. “If I have to burn the place down myself.”
“Maximum security. Can’t go in hot. Gotta go in smart.”
We’re heading past Lombard when red cherries light behind us.
“Fuck,” Aleksio says. Chances are good that they’re not after us because of our traffic violations. “Don’t worry—I’m gassed up.”
“Gotta get clear before the choppers come out,” I say, stating the obvious.
He guns it down a main artery. That’s when we see the train.
“Fuck,” Pityr says.
“This is good. We can do this.” Aleksio races up the frontage road, racing the thing with the cops hot on our trail.
Aleksio loves to call me a madman. He’s no different.
We get almost level with the engine when we come to the crossing, a line of cars stretched out, like a wall in front of us, stretching out to our right, the train coming up on the left. I spin around in my seat. “Hold on, lisichka.”
I don’t have to tell her. She’s wide-eyed, holding on to the door handle and the back of the seat. Pityr’s riding with a stony face. He, too, holds on.
“Here we go!” Aleksio veers left over the tracks in front of the oncoming train, barely clearing it.
The train barrels by behind us, a thundering wall of steel between the cops and us.
For now.
“We have to ditch this vehicle,” Pityr says. “This Hummer is burned, burned, burned.”
“Agreed.”
Moments later, Aleksio pulls into a commuter parking lot. It’s perfect—many cars nobody will miss for hours.
We all jump out. Pityr hotwires a Mazda. I go to Tanechka. “Are you okay?”
She looks up at me, as if she doesn’t comprehend the question. It’s a stupid question, yes. She’s lost everything—again. Because of me.
Wicked Mafia Prince: A dark mafia romance (Dangerous Royals Book 2) Page 18
