by Henry, Jane
I would die if he ever knew what I fantasize about. I would shrivel up and literally die. Change my name and go into witness protection or something.
He would maybe think I were some sort of stalker, but I swear I’m not. There’s a major difference between admirer and stalker, and I know where I stand.
“Taara?”
I jump when I hear Stefan’s rumbling voice from the doorway behind me.
“Oh! I didn’t hear you coming,” I say nervously. I turn to face him. He stands in the doorway, leaning one hip against the frame with his arms crossed on his chest. Piercing blue eyes meet mine, but they’re kind and a little curious, and so tired I want to take his hand and lead him to bed myself.
Was I sniffing his sheets? Stroking them lovingly?
God.
He only smiles at me, those blue eyes crinkling around the edges making my heart flutter in my chest.
“You’re a good girl,” he says gently. “I appreciate that you take the time to prepare my room for me.” His voice is deep and husky with exhaustion, but I feel it right down to my very toes.
“Of course, sir,” I say to him, bowing my head. My cheeks heat as I make my way to the doorway, closer to him, but he grabs my arm when I draw near. I freeze. “Sir?”
Is he angry with me? Did I somehow break a rule?
But when I look at him, he releases my arm.
“There’s no need to run away,” he says, his brow furrowed. I swallow hard, my heart racing so hard and fast I’m dizzy. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, how your mother’s doing?”
“She’s about the same, sir,” I say. My voice sounds so soft and quiet following his. “I saw her yesterday. She misses the food of her homeland, but she gets confused. In one sentence, she’s asking for bolani and the next she’s begging for solyanka.”
He smiles. She hasn’t had bolani, the traditional stuffed bread from her home country, in decades, but the common Russian soup she’s had more recently.
“In any event, she has no use for the chicken pot pie and burgers they serve at the facility.” I smile and feel my cheeks flush deeper, suddenly afraid that I might sound ungrateful. His brotherhood pays for her care, and it’s not cheap. “The food is delicious, though. They feed her well. She just misses some things she’s had for years.”
“I see,” he says. “Do you remember Tomas from Boston?”
I nod, a little confused why he’s bringing him up. “I know who he is, though I don’t believe I’ve met him.”
“He and his wife Caroline will be visiting tomorrow. His wife is a chef and cooks the most delicious traditional Russian food you’ll ever eat. I’ll have her bring your mother some dishes while she’s here.”
My heart squeezes and to my embarrassment, my eyes water. “Thank you.”
But he’s already turning away from me. “Think nothing of it.” He’s walking toward the bathroom. “Now go to bed, Taara.”
His back is to me. I’m dismissed. I feel as if I’ve been doused with cold water. But it’s after midnight, and I don’t think my stern Russian master has any patience left for a silly girl like me. Or perhaps there’s something on his mind. If there was, I could—no.
“Good night,” I whisper, as I leave.
I never sleep well, and tonight’s no exception. I toss and turn, but don’t question whether or not something’s amiss. It’s normal for me to have disrupted sleep. I spin things in my mind, my fears about my mother’s wellbeing, whether or not I spoke out of turn to Stefan.
As usual, I sleep fitfully, until finally I wake in the early hours of the morning, somewhere deep in the shadows between midnight and sunrise. I yawn, roll over, and sigh. I might as well get up and start making Stefan’s breakfast.
But I blink in the darkness when I think I hear a door open and shut. Did I imagine that?
I always get up before Stefan and spend some of the morning in the solitude of the garden. I’ve been taking pictures of the blooming spring flowers, and making a collage of the photos at morning, midday, and dusk. I have a full week’s worth catalogued.
I sit up in bed and pad to the doorway. I open it, listening. The fire has died out. I must’ve imagined the noise. Quiet reigns over the grounds as I step outside, dressed still in my pajamas and holding my phone switched onto camera. I frown when I turn the door handle. It’s unlocked. Stefan never leaves the doors unlocked.
I quietly shut the door behind me and make my way to the garden. It’s so early, it’s hard to see my way, but I know this path by heart by now. I go to the arched walkway at the foot of the garden, surrounded by bushes and shrubbery and trees, all in early spring bloom. I use the camera on my phone, as it takes excellent shots, and I aim it to take a photo when I hear voices approaching.
I freeze, panicked.
They’re coming closer.
Oh, God. I’m not alone.
I don’t know who it is, but the men who live here are dangerous, and I don’t want to be seen. And as the voices draw closer, I can hear them, angry and hushed, and someone is whimpering.
Oh God.
Just in time, I fall to the ground and scurry behind a shade of bushes. I hope no one can see me. Thankfully, it seems the men are otherwise preoccupied.
I peak through the greenery, shocked to see Stefan and his son Nicolai dragging a man between them. They don’t speak, and I can’t make out their expressions in the darkness, but the way they’re holding the man between them scares me. He’s gagged and bound. A prisoner, then.
My breath catches in my throat when the man trips and neither of them stop. They’re yanking him along like he’s a worthless bag of garbage. Good Lord, I’m terrified. I’m shaking, my belly swirling with nausea.
I don’t need to know who he is. I don’t need to know what he did.
Stefan and Nicolai are Bratva.
They’re going to hurt this man.
Maybe even kill him.
At first, I think they’re taking him to the compound, when they turn abruptly and head straight toward me.
On hands and knees, I scramble as quietly away from them as I can, but I can still hear them. I will die if they see me. What if they think I’m spying? But the further I go trying to get away, the closer they come. I finally give up, falling to my knees behind the cover of thick shrubbery.
Oh God, oh God. I don’t know where to go or what to do. I’m shaking, trying to keep as inconspicuous as I can. Clouds shift, and moonlight catches the man’s face. His eyes are swollen, his face bloodied. He’s already been beaten. They’re bringing him here for another reason. I’m shaking so badly I’m frozen in place.
“I don’t want our brothers involved in this,” Stefan says tightly. “We have his confession. We have him on record admitting he collaborated with Myron. We know he tried to harm Marissa.”
Myron. Marissa.
Oh, God.
Marissa is Nicolai’s wife. She was sold into slavery by her traitorous father Myron. Their story has become legend among the staff. Nicolai gave up everything to hunt down the men who had her, to punish those who stole her, and bought her for his own. He joined another brotherhood under an alias. Nicolai now owes his allegiance to both the Atlanta Bratva and the Boston group. With Stefan’s help, they killed her father and every single traitor who was loyal to Myron.
Except, apparently, this one.
Stefan takes out a keyring and inserts a key into a lock. I don’t know the area beyond the garden well. Where are they taking him? They open the door and drag the man in behind them. I stare when they shut the door. Have they locked it?
Like the fool that I am, I wait a moment, then scurry toward the door and try the door. It’s locked, of course. Why would I even want to go in? I have no doubt I don’t want to see what they’ll do next, but I can’t turn away, like a moth toward flame. That’s my Stefan down there and I want to be sure he’s okay. But I know there’s more to it than that. He’s the brutal, fearless pakhan. I’ve never seen him so angry, and though it t
errifies me, I’m enthralled.
My gaze falls on a small window. The basement light is on, and I can see everything from where I am. I fall to the ground and creep over on my hands and knees, just in time to see Nicolai force the man into a kneeling position. I stare, unable to move.
I can’t hear anything they’re saying, but I watch as Stefan paces the room. Nicolai holds the man by the hair and bares his neck. I cringe, my stomach tightening, as the man’s mouth drops open. I can imagine his whimpers and pleas.
Stefan steps to the side so I can no longer see his face from where I am.
He issues a short command to Nicolai. Nicolai nods.
I should shield my vision. Although I know the Bratva do wicked things, I’ve never actually witnessed it with my own eyes. And if I see them… I will myself to go, but I’m frozen in place. I can’t even blink or swallow. It’s like I’m petrified right here in this position.
I stare at the doorway as Stefan steps toward it, as if to block it. His arms are on his chest and he’s watching Nicolai. He nods to him and Nicolai cocks his pistol. The man begins to cry and though I can’t hear what he says, I can imagine him swearing his innocence. Though I don’t know the story, I suspect he lies. If Stefan has ordered his death, he’s no innocent. If these two are going to execute him, there’s good reason, I know it.
The man sobs. I’m shaking so badly I can’t still the trembling in my limbs. The man faces his last moments on earth, probably begging for his life, and even though I know he likely deserves to die, I can’t bear to hear it. I cover my ears, not bothering to swipe away the tears that stream down my cheeks. I hate this. I hate knowing Stefan is complicit. I hate seeing this with my own eyes.
Nicolai pulls the trigger. I flinch, expecting an explosive sound, but the shot is almost silent. Despite the fact that they’re on their own property, they’ve chosen to hide this, to use a silencer.
The man’s screaming immediately stops. His body falls to the ground with an ominous, sickening thud. I cover my mouth to stifle the scream that rises within me as Nicolai shoots another round of bullets, each one making the man’s body flinch and shudder and crimson blood stain the tattered clothing.
Bile burns the back of my throat, and my stomach clenches with fear and nausea.
I cover my face. I wish I hadn’t seen any of this. I want to run away and eradicate this from my mind. This was a terrible, terrible mistake. I’m going to be sick. My hands are wet, and I don’t know why, but I quickly forget my predicament when a strong hand comes to my neck. I scream in utter terror when I’m lifted straight up off the ground and into the air. I flail, trying to get away, and can’t see who holds me.
“Well, what do we have here?” says a familiar voice. I crane my neck and can barely make out the form of Rafael, Nicolai’s best friend. The massive giant of a man plops me down on the ground in front of him, fixes me with a ferocious stare, and pulls out his phone. “Don’t you fucking move.”
The next minute, he’s talking into his phone. “Got you a present, boss.”
Chapter 3
Stefan
I hear a scuffle outside when my phone rings, but I’m distracted, watching a body on the ground in front of me twitch in the throes of death. It’s not a sight one gets used to.
I answer on the first ring. Rafael. He tells me he has a present for me.
“You have a present for me? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Caught someone spying outside the window to the interrogation room.”
“Who the fuck was it? We’re still down here.” It matters. Another brother is a problem easily fixed, someone else another thing altogether.
“I don’t know her name. It’s that girl that cleans your house?” There’s a question in his voice.
Jesus motherfucking Christ.
No.
Taara?
Nicolai meets my eyes. He’s doing clean-up now, the body already removed, mop in hand. This room is specifically designed for easy clean-up and disposal. Normally, we’d call help to come and do with this sort of work, but we don’t want to involve more men from the brotherhood than necessary. That said, we’ll tell them all that happened so everyone’s abreast of what’s gone on.
“What is it?” Nicolai asks, mopping sweat off his brow with the back of his sleeve when the door to the room opens. Rafael enters, dragging in a furious, terrified, disheveled Taara.
Nicolai groans out loud. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He straightens up, glaring at Taara, and I swear to God even though he’s my son and I feel about the same as he does, it’s all I can do not to deck him for looking at her like that.
“Thought we’d only have one death on our hands tonight,” he mutters, wiping his hands on a rag like he’s a mechanic who’s just finished an oil change. He shakes his head, and Taara starts crying.
“God! Oh my God!” Tears stream down her beautiful face, but she can’t wipe them away because Rafael holds her wrists by her side. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to see anything. It’s… I can’t… I’m going to—”
Then she turns to the side, bends over, and literally retches all over the floor.
Nicolai shakes his head. “Motherfucker.”
I can’t believe she came out here, that she saw this. My hands shake, and I can’t decide if I want to turn her over my knee for spying on us, or hold her to me and tell her it’s okay. That yeah, she just witnessed brutal, cold-blooded murder, but she’ll be alright. That everything will be alright. Instead, I just shake my head and jerk my chin to Rafael.
I want Rafael’s hands the fuck off of her.
“Give her to me.”
He shoves her in my direction, and I catch her before she falls, her beautiful black hair brushing my arms. I swallow hard. She’s in huge trouble, and this isn’t going to be easy.
“We can’t let her go, boss,” Rafael says. “You know how I feel about innocent lives, but she’s seen too much.”
“I agree,” Nicolai says. He’s throwing sawdust all over the floor for clean-up, and he won’t meet my eyes. “We always abide by the rules.”
Why do they think I’m not going to abide by the code of law that binds me to the brotherhood? Do they actually suspect I won’t? Then I realize I’m holding the girl to my chest, one hand on her lower back and the other cradling the base of her head, comforting her. I release her, spin her around, and cuff her wrists with my hands.
“Taara’s worked for us since she was a child,” I say. I look her up and down. She sure as fuck isn’t a child anymore.
“Doesn’t matter,” Nicolai counters. “We don’t bend the rules for fucking anyone.” Part of me is proud of his insistence on abiding by the Bratva code. He’ll make a good pakhan someday.
But this is Taara.
“I agree,” Rafael says, his eyes on me. “But I know you’re partial to the girl. You don’t have to do it. I will.”
I wish to fucking God I hadn’t trained these two so well.
Taara trembles and shakes her head. “I won’t say anything to anyone. Oh, God, I promise. I won’t! Never.” She’s sobbing freely now. “Just let me go. You don’t want more blood on your hands, do you?”
“Sweetheart, you have no idea how much blood I have on my hands,” I tell her. She doesn’t. She doesn’t have a fucking clue. “Suffice it to say, a little more won’t matter.”
I have no intention of killing her, but I want her to know how serious this is.
She only cries harder.
I give her a rough shake. “Stop that,” I order. “I don’t want you throwing up again.”
But it isn’t just that. I hate how weak I feel, watching a woman like her cry. Taara is an innocent in this.
“What the hell were you doing spying on us?” I say, shaking her between my hands until her teeth rattle, because I’m pissed that she made herself complicit in this. She’s put herself in danger… even if that dangers because of me. My men saw her. She deserves to be killed, though he
r crime is simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But if she told the authorities what she’d witnessed, at best, my son’s life would be ruined. His child practically fatherless. His wife little more than a single mother, raising their kids while her husband served life in prison. At worst, he’d face the death penalty.
My anger rises, and I shake her again. “Why weren’t you in the house? Were you spying?” I want to hurt her.
“I found this,” Rafael says, showing me her phone. “And it was on camera. She was fucking taking pictures.”
Nicolai curses and takes a step toward us, the look in his eyes menacing. He knows as well as I do what’s at stake. Involuntarily, I pull her to me and shield her from him, moving my own body in front of her.
“Stop,” I order Nicolai. “And listen.”
His brows shoot up in surprise. He opens his mouth to protest, then closes it and bows his head. He may disagree with my methods or logic, but I’m still his pakhan.
“We’re not making a hasty decision with her,” I tell them. “I want to hear what she has to say.” I turn to Taara. “Explain yourself.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “I come out in the early morning to take photos,” she says. “I didn’t know you were here until I heard you. Then I’ll admit, I did come over here to see what you were doing, but I didn’t mean to spy. And I’d never, never tell anyone anything.”
“Enough!” Nicolai fumes at her. I feel my nostrils flare and my chest expand with the sharp intake of breath I take to steady myself. My son is a good man, but in this moment he’s overwrought.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter. “I don’t know what the fuck to do with her.”
Rafael cocks his head to the side. “We know what the code declares we need to do.”
I do. But I also know I’m pakhan. I’m capable of breaking that code if I think I have justifiable reason, and I fucking do.
“I’m not killing her,” I state with finality. “No way will I end the life of a woman as dedicated to serving our brotherhood as Taara.” She sobs quietly, closing her eyes as if to accept her fate. “And both of you would do the same. I know you would.”
