by A. C. Bextor
“He broke my heart.”
“And it hurts more now because you care for him.”
“Why do you stay here?” I question. “If you know what he’s so capable of, why do you help him?”
I’ve never truly wondered why Vlad’s men have always remained so loyal. He’s not a nice man. He acts with pain, violence, and death. Surely, there’s so much more to him to be able to earn the allegiance of so many.
“I’m here because, deep down, Vlad is a good person. And he deserves the happiness you gave him a glimpse of.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“The things he does to protect you and his family don’t change the person that he is.”
“Doesn’t it?” I question, giving Abram my eyes in attention. “He’s killed. He’s sold women. He’s not a good man.”
“Take him or leave him, sweetheart, but Vlad is yours just the same,” Abram puts simply. As he moves to stand, he says at the same time, “That’s if you still want the ogre. I see by the looks of you that he didn’t harm you when he could’ve. And technically, Klara, he absolutely should’ve. He had every right.”
My mouth drops open as Abram looks down. His eyebrows are knotted in subtle irritation.
The irritation is directed at me.
“You shouldn’t have gone where you weren’t invited. You promised you wouldn’t. You challenged Vlad, and it wasn’t your place to do so.” As I motion my hand to object, Abram moves his between us to keep me quiet. “Vlad does what he does without having to ask anyone’s permission. You witnessed this tonight. I hope you’ll never witness it again.”
I won’t witness anything like that again. Though there’s not a lot I can do to change my circumstance without leaving those I love, I refuse to bend on my belief that beating someone, no less killing them, is a hazard in this life I’m willing to accept.
“You’re free now. I’m leaving the door open. I’ve been instructed to let you go.”
“Free,” I mutter quietly to keep from laughing.
“You’re obviously angry,” he tells me. “In time, that anger will ebb. I’ll tell you, Klara. Your world is what it is because of him. He’s always provided for you. He’s always protected you. For that, he doesn’t need your forgiveness, but he deserves your respect and understanding.”
Two weeks later…
“Rueon?” I call, gaining his attention as I stand at the main bathroom entrance.
Since the door was open and the light was on as I passed, I turned my head to find him fixing his hair. I’ve never seen him give himself this careful of attention. Lucky for him, Rueon’s always been naturally attractive—boyish with a rough edge.
Looking from him to the mess he’s made on the bathroom basin, I question, “What are you doing?”
Turning to me, he blushes. Timidly, the man I’ve come to love like a brother quietly confesses, “I have a date tonight.”
My eyes widen. I make no move toward him, but raise my brows with surprise. Rueon doesn’t date. Although over the last few years as he’s gotten older and wiser to the ways of young women, his confidence has grown. This has led him to be not so much of a serial dater but, much to my disappointment, a serial player.
Last year I’d been down with a cold for days and wasn’t sleeping. When I went downstairs to get medicine from the kitchen, I found Rueon and a girl he swears wasn’t but three years older than him in the throes of raw and brutal sex.
Thankfully, he’d been behind her, bending her over the couch. I didn’t see any parts of either of them I shouldn’t. However, I have an imagination, and the image has been burned in my head ever since.
Sick or not, the next day I had a sit-down with Rueon where I explained women like the one he was with don’t sustain the tests of relationships. He seemed to ignore my advice and go about his way.
Looking at him now, I’m hoping maybe some of what I said took.
“You have a date? As in, you’re taking a girl out, just the two of you, on purpose?”
Smiling, lending way to his amusement, he gives me a view of his perfect white teeth.
“Yep,” he answers. Turning in place to face me completely, he stretches his arms out wide. “How do I look?”
Taking in his clothes, slacks and a nicely pressed pale gray button-down shirt, I smirk at his sock-covered feet.
“You’re not wearing tennis shoes with that, are you?”
“You’re not helping,” he errantly snaps, turning to check his hair in the mirror again.
Leaning my shoulder on the door, I ask, “What’s her name?”
“Adeline.”
“Where did you meet her?” I ask, fearing his answer to be along the lines of brothel, street corner, or gentlemen’s club.
As Rueon fusses over with his hair, he answers, “Around.”
This isn’t much of a relief.
“Does Vlad know her? Does he know anything about her?”
“He should. She’s Maag’s goddaughter.”
“That Adeline?” I admonish.
“The one and only,” he answers assuredly.
Adeline Winters is a beautiful young woman. Long dark hair, falling in wavy tresses down her shoulders to her back. Deeply accented blue eyes, as well as high cheekbones and full lips I’d kill to have. As a kid, Maag used to bring her in to help us in the kitchen. I didn’t like her. She was a spoiled child. Maybe the little snot has matured by now. At least I hope she has.
“Where are you taking her?”
“Wherever she wants to go, I guess.” He shrugs.
“Oh, Rueon. No. This is a big deal. Surely, you’ve given some thought to what she may want. Did you buy her flowers? Chocolates?”
Turning, he tosses his comb on the basin. He leans his hip against it and narrows his eyes on me. “Is that what Vlad did for you?”
“No,” I reply quietly.
Rueon has witnessed how turbulent my relationship with Vlad has become, but I haven’t confided in him at all. I know better. He’s the soldier of Vlad first, my dear friend second. I’ve respected the line in our relationship.
Besides, if Rueon knew how things were between his boss and me right now, he’d spend all his energy trying to sort us out for fear he or Vlad would lose me.
“What do I gotta do?” he asks. “This is the first date, mind you. Don’t expect me to do anything fancy.”
“Have you ever been on a real date before?”
“Sure.” He shrugs again. “Lots.”
“I mean dates that don’t end in the backseat of your car, or say, in the living room behind the couch.”
Giving me his signature smirk, dimples included, he shakes his head. “Never will forget that, will you?”
“I can’t!”
Smiling, I step closer and grab his wrist to straighten the end of his shirt over his watch where he fumbled it through the buttons. In his effort to clean himself up, he hadn’t taken the time for the small details.
“Well, you could stop on your way and pick up some flowers.”
“Flowers are fancy, Klara. Gleb said not to go overboard.”
Gleb. The forever single father of one.
“Stop saying ‘fancy’ and listen to me.”
“Right. Go on,” he encourages, handing me his tie from the towel rack and bending his neck so I can drape it over his shoulders. “Give me your best advice. Because you’ve had one love in your life and never went on a single date ever, you’d be the best option for imparting wisdom on the topic, right?”
Ouch.
Pressing forward and ignoring his sarcasm, I suggest, “Take her to dinner. Let her talk. Don’t discuss the family, either. Make this only about you and her.”
“I can do that.”
“And when you take her home, don’t kiss her.”
“What?” he snaps, not appreciating that piece of advice.
And he wouldn’t, being that he’s a hot-blooded man-child. He’s also taking advice from a twenty-one-year-old woman w
ho’s in no position to give said advice, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe he’ll listen.
“Why can’t I kiss her?”
“Do you care about this girl?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles.
“Rueon,” I warn, my voice unrecognizably authoritative.
“Yes, Klara. I care about her.”
Shrugging as if he shouldn’t be disappointed, I reply, “Then don’t kiss her. Respect her.”
Rolling his eyes, he covers my hands with his own and messes with his tie.
“Did Vlad not kiss you on your first date?” he queries, catching my eyes in the mirror.
Truth be told, to this day, Vlad and I have never been on a date. I’ve never dwelled on the fact that there’s never been romance between us. Until the last couple weeks, I’ve been satisfied with the passion Vlad and I always share.
“Hey,” Rueon calls. “What’s wrong?”
Looking at him and feigning a smile, I brush off my self-pity and tell him, “You look gorgeous.”
He rolls his eyes again at the compliment. “You say that to all Vlad’s men.”
“Nope, just you,” I lie.
Once he’s finished the tie, he turns to me for final pass. I nod my approval, and then he leans down to grab my arms before leaning farther to kiss my cheek. Just as his lips brush my skin, his grasp on my arms becomes painful.
The air in the room evaporates as Vlad’s dark, hoarse voice echoes in the small room. “Get your fucking hands off her, Rueon.”
“Boss, I—”
“Do it now,” Vlad rages.
Rueon tilts his chin and there his eyes meet mine. I hate the loss of his excitement as it immediately turns to worry.
I haven’t spoken to Vlad at all since he had Abram tie me to that cross where he threatened to beat me if I ever interfered with his business again. He’s tried talking to me, but I either walk away or stare past him, not truly giving him my attention. Before that night, if he wanted me all he had to do was take me. Since, he hasn’t tried. I miss him. This goes without saying.
To this day, I have no idea what Gleb did with Josef’s body, nor have I asked.
“I’ll find you later,” I whisper, stepping to the side and giving Rueon room to leave. “Flowers and conversation,” I whisper louder, this time not caring if Vlad expresses a reaction.
Rueon says nothing, his expression remaining blank, and he doesn’t chance another look when he steps around me to leave. I note he’s careful not to touch me, as well. This gives way to the murderous expression Vlad must be holding at my back.
Once Rueon’s clear from the room, Vlad grabs my waist, roughly pulling me to him and pinning my back to his chest.
Seething, he brings his mouth to my ear and hisses, “Rueon isn’t to ever touch you.”
Rolling my eyes, knowing he can’t see, I sigh.
“You’ll talk to me sooner or later, Klara,” he claims, reaching to the hem of my dress and lifting it until it meets my upper thigh. His fingers burn against my skin as my anger continues to rise. “The longer it takes for you to give in, the less patience I’ll have left.”
“And then what, Vlad?” I clip, staring at the bathroom floor. “You’ll punish me again? Tie me up? Whip me?”
This was the wrong thing to say.
Before I’ve finished speaking, Vlad’s body tenses. The rigidity of his hold strengthens to the point of pain. When I wince, Vlad turns me in place and pushes my body against the basin. My lower back echoes in pain but I keep my lips drawn tight, refusing to give him satisfaction.
He reaches to the nape of my neck where he roughly fists my hair and tilts my head.
Face-to-face, mouth-to-mouth, he threatens, “If chaining you up and beating you like I did that man whose only purpose was to hurt you is what you want, then ask me nicely and I’ll see it gets done.”
“Fuck you,” I whisper, fear falling away to anger. “I hate you.”
Speaking to him this way hurts. But I’ve been pushed too far.
“You hate me,” he repeats, pushing himself into me, pressing his rigid cock into my stomach. “You don’t hate me, beautiful girl. You want me. And when I’m driving myself into you again, you’ll admit it and this whatever it is you think you’re doing will be done.”
“Whatever it is I’m doing is my decision. Isn’t that what you said to me? My decision? And until I’m ready to forgive you, I won’t.”
“I have needs, Klara.” A sliver of pain crosses my chest. I know what he’s about to say. “If you don’t take care of those needs, another woman will.” The sliver of pain tears open, splitting itself into a deep gash of agonizing hurt.
“Do it,” I test.
The intensity in his eyes, the abrasiveness of his voice, the addiction to him I’ve always had threatens to break.
Taunting me, he questions, “I’ll be leaving to visit a stable. Would you like to come with me so you can watch me fuck another woman because you won’t let me fuck you? If you don’t give yourself to me, Klara, that’s what I’ll be forced to consider. Another woman.”
“You wouldn’t take a whore,” I deny, remembering when he swore to me he’d never do that.
“Yes or no,” he demands.
“You promised me.”
When his mouth sucks the flesh of my neck and his hand lifts my skirt, traveling around my waist and below my panties, he squeezes my ass hard and lifts me to the counter. I don’t move for an escape; I wouldn’t make it past him, and my challenge would infuriate him further.
“If Rueon’s mouth or anyone else’s touches you again, blood will spill,” he frighteningly informs. “His and yours.”
“You’re an ass,” I state. However, this time I push further. “This is your fault. Our end was your fault.”
At this, his head rears back. If I thought the monster within him was enraged before, the fire set in his stare now pales in comparison to whatever I’ve seen. Without a moment’s notice, Vlad reaches between us, unbuckles his belt and, with a swift flip of his wrist, he pulls it from his pants.
Admittedly, I fear this. A long time has passed since I’ve ever felt threatened. Even being tethered in that shed as my father once was all those years ago, I didn’t sense immediate danger of Vlad’s temper.
The belt drops, the buckle breaking the tense silence against the floor. His hand moves back, this time drifting beneath my skirt. I hold his gaze, accepting his challenge. He won’t rape me; he doesn’t have it in him. He’ll threaten to, though. And he’ll lose. Angry or not, I’d give myself to him before I’d ever let him live with the thought that he physically violated me.
“You’ll let me touch you,” he grinds out, bracing his hands on either side of my body.
Using only his waist, he spreads my thighs and steps between them. His hands wrap around my back, bringing me to the edge of the basin where he thrusts, his carnal need so much stronger than his will to deny it.
“Remember what I told you the night you found me in the kitchen?” he questions, moving the material of my panties aside but stopping his fingers just outside my entrance. When I offer no reply, he continues. “You fixed my hand. I told you that you had no reason to ever be afraid of me.”
“I remember,” I admit. “I also remember later you promised you’d never hurt me.”
“I haven’t. And I won’t.”
Pushing on his chest, I tell him, “You already did.”
His finger slides inside, and my eyes close at the abrupt intrusion. Not because it’s painful, but because as always my body reacts to his touch. Careful, cautious, loving, or painful, vicious, and rough—each always exciting the lustful, longing hunger.
“You don’t hate me,” he argues, surging his finger in and out of me, then using his thumb to manipulate my clit into surrendering my body to submission. “You fucking miss me. Your body wants this.”
“No,” I lie.
Lowering my head, my eyes focus to his other hand as he unbuttons and unzips his pants with p
recise determination. The round head of his bulging cock, so remarkably beautiful, comes free before he strokes the tip with his thumb.
Damn it, he’s right. I have missed him. Terribly. In the dark, whether he’s by my side or not, I miss him.
“Open yourself to me,” he coaxes gently, leaning in and kissing my neck, still using his fingers at my core. Thrusting himself into his other hand, my insides clench around his fingers. “My beautiful girl,” he mumbles despairingly, biting and then sucking behind my ear. “Take me inside.”
At his words, my so-far-unwavering reluctance folds. Lifting my head, tilting my face toward the ceiling, I do as he says and spread my legs farther apart. Using both hands, he grasps my legs from behind and jerks me forward, to the very edge of the basin, where he wastes no time in driving deep.
Frantically and with angry thrusts, he pushes inside me without care. As though he’s so thirsty for what he’s missed, he drinks from my mouth, twisting and turning his head, using his tongue to explore every inch.
I start to sway in place, my body locking on the edge of orgasm. Vlad thrusts one final time, releasing into me with a savage moan so loud it echoes off the narrow walls, piercing my ears. Once he’s finished, his body shudders and then… he’s gone.
Gone.
I sit alone, in a haze of shock and surprise, as he adjusts himself in his pants, bends down to grab his belt, runs his hands through his hair, and then walks to the door.
Before making his way through it, Vlad turns in place only to threaten, “I meant what I said, Klara. If Rueon’s mouth ever gets anywhere near your body again, I’ll string you both up to that cross and my whip won’t be aimed to miss its target.”
“I see you’ve managed to fuck up just about everything since I’ve been gone,” Faina sullenly comments as she steps out on the deck, sliding the heavy glass door closed behind her.
“You made it home safely, I see,” I utter, testing my sister’s spirit after the probable wear and tear Vory put on it while she was away.
Faina’s been gone only a couple months, but it’s the longest we’ve ever been apart. Other than, of course, when she disappeared for nearly a year.
