Ruthless Doms Boxset

by Jane Henry

  I walk to him, my hands shoved in my pockets. “How the hell do you know that matters to me?” I ask, feeling like a petulant child. “Her mother’s death fucking killed her. And if she’s with me, she only experiences more tragedy. More violence. More fucking death.”

  We walk together toward the compound, where our men are convening this afternoon.

  “Larissa called Laina, who told Marissa, who told Nicolai, who told me,” he admits.

  “That’s bullshit. Like seventh fucking grade.”

  He shrugs. “Unions within the Bratva matter,” he says.

  “Of course they do, but this is no fucking union.”

  I wish it was. God, I wish it was.

  Tomas just raises a brow in my direction and doesn’t speak at first. Finally, he shakes his head and chuckles. “You mean to tell me you have no feelings for Taara?”

  My silence makes him laugh out loud.

  “Fuck off,” I mutter, not wanting to deal with him right now.

  “Christ, we’re having a pissing match now, are we? I haven’t even had a shot yet.” Demyan stands outside the entrance to our meeting room, rolling his eyes heavenward.

  “You can fuck off, too,” I tell him, though I love these two like the brothers they are, and even if they sometimes make me want to beat the shit out of them, they are family.

  “Stefan,” Demyan says, sobering. “I saw you two in Russia. You can’t hide the way you feel about her any more than she can hide the way she feels about you.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to have this conversation,” I mutter.

  “Right,” Tomas mutters. “Who was the one who pulled away first?”

  “I said, I don’t want to have this conversation,” I say through tight lips.

  Demyan smirks. “If you don’t, I’ll call the girls down and we can get Taara’s side of the story.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  But now he’s deadly sober. “Sure as hell would.”

  I curse him out in Russian, but he doesn’t even flinch.

  “Fine,” I finally admit. “I decided it was too dangerous for her to be with me. She’s too young, and she has her whole life ahead of her. I can’t let her get close to someone like me.” I swallow hard. “Seeing her in that room, knowing they got their hands on her—”

  “Tell me about it,” comes a voice behind me. Nicolai joins us, his hands in his pockets and his blue eyes that mirror mine meeting mine unblinkingly. “Tell me what it’s like seeing her at the mercy of another man.”

  I know Nicolai knows this pain badly. He witnessed his own woman fall victim to the slave trade himself.

  I sigh.

  “Or mine,” Demyan says. “You do know Larissa was captured by my men as punishment for theft against the brotherhood?”

  “And you know Caroline was arranged to be wed to me by her brother, to pay off his debt,” Tomas finishes. “So, go on, Stefan. Tell us how you don’t want your woman endangered.” Tomas reaches for my shoulder and squeezes. “Just because Amaliya died doesn’t mean Taara will suffer the same fate. For all you know, she’ll outlive you by decades, bury your sorry ass and live in the lap of luxury with your money for the rest of her life. And honestly, with the age difference between you, there’s a fucking good chance.”

  That makes me unwillingly smile.

  I look at each one of them, and it finally seems so clear. So damn clear. They’re right.

  Tarra is withdrawn, but she just lost her mother. She’s deep within the throes of grief, and I can’t fault her for literally anything she does right now.

  “Let’s have our meeting,” Demyan says. “Taara is in good hands. Give this time to pass and take good care of her in the meantime. And when all is said and done? You make your move.”

  I swallow hard. “I will,” I say. Christ, I love these men. “Thank you.”

  He punches my shoulder. “Good, then let’s get this meeting over with. Someone told me Caroline’s cooking us dinner?”

  Tomas’ eyes light up. “Wait until you see what she has planned for us.” The two of them enter before us, and Nicolai lags behind to walk in with me.

  “You alright?” he asks me.

  I nod and scrub a hand over my brow. I’ve been taking care of Taara and seeing to her own wellbeing, but I haven’t slept well in days.

  “You need some sleep,” he states.

  “I do.”

  “I have an idea,” he says. “We’re still a few weeks away from Marissa having the baby. Why don’t you take Taara away for a little while? Just the two of you. Head to the mountains or beach or something.”

  I shake my head. “Not now,” I tell him. “But thank you, I’ll think about it.”

  He nods. “Anytime.”

  Today, the entire brotherhood is here, as well as conference calls joining us with the rest of Tomas’s crew in Boston and Demyan’s in Moscow. We have to deal with the aftermath of what happened in Russia and decide where this leaves us. I take my place at the front of the room and sit at the head of the table. My brothers join me.

  “Welcome, to the pakhan of both Boston and our sister group, Moscow,” I say. The men clap their hands in greeting, then silence descends on the room. “We need to debrief all of you as to what happened in Moscow and where this leaves us.”

  The meeting is well underway within minutes. Tomas confirms that those in America who were undercover for the slave trade have taken down the operation, the most duplicitous among them now in jail. He assures us that because he and I did not partake in the trade and are on record for denouncing any connection with the group, as well as being responsible for the ending of the trade in America, we will not be subjected to the legal prosecution the others face.

  Demyan explains that the Thieves have extended peace, and they’ve formed a solid alliance with the Moscow brotherhood. “That strengthens the power we hold in Russia,” he says. “And now that the corrupt leaders of their organization have been outed, they no longer pose a threat.”

  “That isn’t the only threat against us,” one of my men says. “The last time we convened, you were taking Taara Khan as prisoner because she witnessed an execution.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Taara has proven her loyalty to us.” I tell them at length what she did in Moscow, how she put herself on the line. And to my surprise, Demyan shows them footage from Taara’s undercover job.

  “I believe she is an innocent,” Nicolai says. “I no longer believe she is a threat to any of us.”

  I can see in my men’s faces that his words carry weight. He’s earned creditability as their leader in my absence, and as the leader now. Though I’m still pakhan, they know he is the future of our brotherhood.

  “As do I,” says Demyan.

  “And I,” says Tomas.

  My throat tightens at the show of allegiance, at their defense of Taara.

  “Taara Khan is not only innocent, there’s something you should know,” I say, getting to my feet. “I love her. She belongs to me. And as such, you will all treat her with the respect due to a woman of the Bratva.”

  They murmur in agreement and nod their heads. My chest expands with pride, and I swallow hard. “As you know, she’s lost her mother. We will bury her with the highest honors and take care of Taara.”

  We conclude the meeting taking care of all orders of business, and I’m confident my men will honor me in this. Taara is not a threat. She is one of our own.

  Now I just need to convince her of the very same.

  Chapter 20

  Taara

  The days pass in a blur. We bury my mother’s ashes, and Stefan sees to it that she’s given high honors, her funeral and arrangements made with painstaking care. It’s beautiful. It’s brutally painful.

  I am so thankful for Marissa, Caroline, and Larissa, for all they’ve done for me and helped me with. But though my heart aches for the loss of my mother, I long for connection with Stefan again.

  Nothing’s been the same since we return
ed here from Russia. He touches me with concern and tenderness… but like a brother.

  Is that all he is to me?

  At first, I wonder if he’s giving me some space, knowing that I’m grieving the loss of my mother. But as the days go on, and he doesn’t give me anything more than the most platonic affection, I wonder.

  Has he moved on? Is he no longer interested in me at all?

  It’s the weirdest kind of break up in history, because it’s a break up that never happened. We share the same bed. He holds me and tucks me in and kisses my cheek or forehead tenderly. But I want more. I want so, so much more.

  I haven’t called him daddy since the day my mother died.

  And I want to. I want to so badly my throat gets all tight when I think about it. But there’s a chasm between us that feels miles wide, and I don’t know how to bridge it.

  I feel helpless to make the first move. If he rejects me, it will kill me. I don’t think I’d survive the pain of that. How could I? I’ve never loved anyone as I love him.

  Demyan and Larissa fly back to Moscow tomorrow, and Tomas and Caroline to Boston the following day. And I wonder… what does his brotherhood think of me?

  Before Moscow I was his captive. His prisoner. Before that, his housekeeper.

  What am I now?

  So, I do what I always do. I clean his house and fold his clothes and arrange his bed—our bed?—so it’s neat and welcoming. And I wait. I sit on the steps, wearing a ratty old pair of jeans, scuffed flats, and a sweater, because it’s air-conditioned and chilly in here. And I wait.

  The sun’s already set by the time he comes to me. He opens the door, steps in, then gives a start when he sees me sitting on the steps.

  “You alright?” he asks.

  I only shrug, because I’m not super sure how to answer his question.

  He kicks off his shoes and hangs up his keys, then steps over to the stairs.

  “Taara,” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

  But I can’t speak. If I do, I’m afraid I’ll cry again, and I’m so, so tired of crying. I finally take a deep breath and let it out, take another one, and finally get the courage to speak. So I walk downstairs, and head for the couch. I fold myself in the corner and think about what I want to say before I speak. Finally, I take in a deep, shuddering breath, and let it out slowly, while I turn to him.

  “So… I have a question for you.”

  “Yeah?”

  He leans against the doorframe and arches a brow at me, and holy hell is he hot. God, he’s so fucking hot it hurts, all muscles and tats and badass leaning all casual against the rail.

  I swallow. “Am I still your prisoner?”

  His eyes gentle, then. He uncrosses his arms and walks toward me, then sits beside me. He takes my hand in his. “No, baby,” he says. “Hell, no. You’re not my prisoner. When we had the meetings of the brotherhoods, we made that as clear as possible. You are not our captive. Demyan even showed footage of the work you did.”

  My nose tingles as it does when I’m about to cry, but I rub it with the back of my hand. Where does that leave me? Where does that leave us?

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  I clear my throat. The next question is harder. But I’m a woman of the Bratva now, and Bratva women are brave.

  “Thank you. So now I’m your… housekeeper?”

  “My housekeeper,” he repeats, his voice taut and his eyes narrowed on me. I watch as his nostrils flare. “Housekeeper?”

  Okay, so maybe not the right response.

  “What… well, what am I?” I ask, feeling my own anger at his rejection boiling up. I look down at the floor, because his eyes are beautiful and I’m going to cry. “I mean… where do I stand with you?”

  “Baby. Look at me.”

  So, I do. Even though it kills me, I do. I lift my eyes to his questioningly.

  “You’re mine, Taara,” he says, in a low whisper. “Don’t you know that?”

  I shake my head. “How can I?” I whisper back. “You’ve pulled away from me. How am I to know what I am to you? It isn’t...it isn’t something I can take for granted.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says. “I couldn’t, Taara. Being involved with a man like me puts you in danger.”

  “But you’ll protect me,” I say. I swallow hard, take a deep breath, and square my shoulders. “And if I’m yours, I’ve got the power of the Bratva to protect me as well.”

  He’s so close to me now I could touch more than his hand, and I’m waffling between shoving that barrel of a chest away from me, and wanting to touch him.

  “You do,” he says, reaching for me. I don’t push him away. His voice softens when he draws me close. “You do, babygirl.”

  Babygirl.

  It’s the sun breaking through clouds after a storm. The sound of songbirds tweeting after a long winter.

  The sweetest, most tender word I didn’t know I needed to hear until he said it.

  I close my eyes. I take a breath. I gather my courage, and ask him, “Then why don’t you treat me like your babygirl anymore?”

  With one hand on my back holding me to him, he runs his fingers through my hair. “You were mourning the loss of your mother,” he says, and for some reason that makes me angry.

  “So?” I ask, and this time I do push him away. “What does that have to do with anything? Are you crazy? You make literally no sense, you know that?”

  “Taara,” he growls.

  “What?” I ask, trying to get away from him. “Hey, you’re no innocent in this,” he says. “You pulled away from me, too.”

  “You pulled first,” I say petulantly, and that makes him laugh. The sound of his laughter makes something inside me melt, and a warm tingling suffuses my limbs. He smiles at me, and that easily, I smile back.

  I shouldn’t. I should fight him, make him earn me back, but hell, when those blue eyes of his crinkle around the edges and his lips tip up, I’m a goner. I’m a fucking goner.

  “So, who will make the first move, then?” he asks, in a suggestive voice that makes my toes curl.

  Oh, God, I want him.

  “The first move?” I ask, and that stirs all kinds of things in me. Panty-dampening, nipple-tingling, dry mouth things. “Well I dunno. What do you have in mind?”

  “Oh,” he says teasingly. “I’m not so sure. Maybe… something like this?”

  He cups my jaw between both his hands, bends his mouth to mine, and brushes our lips together. I am so ready for him, my body goes all full-tingle just from the kiss, and I press my thighs together because the throbbing between my legs is instant.

  And then he’s tugging me to his chest, and my hair is wrapped all around his fingers, and I’m sniffling a little onto his shirt and he’s rocking me right there on the couch. “Get upstairs,” he finally whispers in my ear, “before daddy has to make you.”

  Daddy.

  I moan and kiss him again, but I must not move fast enough, for the next thing I know he’s lifting me up and over his shoulder, his huge palm crashing on my ass as he ascends the steps. I wiggle my butt and kick my legs because God that feels good, and he smacks my ass again, harder this time. I squeal but I close my eyes and breathe him in, because this is Stefan. He’s back. I’m his girl, and he’s carrying me off to his cave, practically dragging me by the hair and pounding his chest and I love it. I need it.

  He kicks open the door to his room and brings me in, tossing me on the bed as he tears at his clothes.

  “Clothes,” he grates out, tearing his t-shirt over his head. “Off.” I’d rather just lay here watching him strip and drinking him in with my eyes, but I know that look he’s giving me, and there’s no doubt in my mind that if I don’t do exactly what he says right now, he’ll spank my ass.

  Not that that would be a bad thing.

  So I whip off my top and toss it to the floor, followed by my bra and jeans, and just when I’m yanking them off my feet, his hands are on me, pulling them down
before he rips my panties off. Soon, the clothing roadblock has been removed, and he presses me down onto the bed, his heavy, muscled body above mine.

  “I love you, Taara Khan,” he rumbles in my ear. “And I’m sorry for being a dick.”

  “I forgive you,” I say. “And yes, you were such a dick.”

  He punishes me by pulling my hair back, but I love the way my scalp burns and tingles. “You didn’t deserve that,” he says. I don’t respond, because I’m all choked up again. All I do is cry these days, and I don’t want to anymore. I want to laugh. I want to scream in ecstasy and let him bring me to pleasure over and over again. I want to lay on his chest and tell him my dreams. I want to listen to him when he comes home after a bad day, when he’s had to make a difficult decision. I want to cook his meals and make his bed and do all the little domestic things I always have for him, because I love taking care of him. I love it so much it hurts to think of not having it.

  But then I can’t think anymore, because he’s pressing his swollen cock between my legs and teasing the head along my clit. I moan and spread my legs wider. He pins my wrists and kisses my temple, then drags his lips along the side of my face to my jaw, kissing along the way.

  “I love you, babygirl,” he says. “I love you so much.”

  He loves me.

  He really, truly loves me. And I know then that men like Stefan show their love in more than words. They show it in selfless giving, in vigilance and protection.

  “I love you,” I whisper back, my voice trembling. “I love you so much it hurts.”

  He holds himself above me, his eyes piercing mine with intensity and passion.

  “Yeah, baby?” he says teasingly. “Then give that pussy to daddy,” he says, and my insides melt into a puddle.

  The first thrust has me moaning, the second, forgetting who I am or how I got here. By the third, I’m riding the first crest of ecstasy and he’s building the sweetest, most perfect rhythm of pleasure. The feel of him in me, gliding in and out, electrifies me. I wrap my legs around his back as he anchors himself above me, his gaze never leaving mine with every vicious, perfect stroke of his cock.