by Henry, Jane
“It was the woman we saw,” she says. “But she must’ve been wearing a wig at one point. Her hair wasn’t violet anymore.”
“No?”
“And she was the one giving instructions. She said the shipment had been delayed, and she was the one that ordered you killed.”
I blink in surprise. In our line of work, our brotherhoods are run by men, and traditionally those in charge within our circles are men. It’s rare for a woman to have any place of authority in our ranks.
“How odd,” I say. “What else did you find out?”
“Not much,” she says, worrying her lower lip. “But we know she was with Mikhal, we can surmise that she’s somehow joined with San Diego.”
“Yes,” I agree. “And what little I heard tonight also confirms this. So, our next course of action is to find the source in Russia and join with Demyan’s men to bring them down.”
She nods and yawns widely. “Yes.”
“Get some sleep. We have a long flight ahead of us.”
“I will, daddy,” she whispers, before she closes her eyes. I take a blanket and drape it over her shoulder, tucking it in around her, and think about what happened tonight.
She could have been seen. What would have happened if I’d been seen? It’s too dangerous to have her so close to what happens in the brotherhood. I close my eyes and think of Amaliya.
Nicolai has a half-sister. Rafael’s wife, Laina. They shared a mother, and their mother was the only woman I’ve ever loved. Amaliya and I were lovers long before any of the issues between the brotherhoods arose. I was barely out of high school. We split up after she had Nicolai—her choice, not mine—and she fell for Yuri, the former head of the Thieves who died at Rafael’s hands years ago.
It wasn’t until many years later we reunited. After she had Laina and found out what a despicable piece of shit Yuri was. Years later. And we enjoyed the hell out of one another before she was taken from me.
I thought her death accidental until Laina told me otherwise. And now… now I go back to mother Russia, and brush shoulders with the Thieves, the very group responsible for my Amaliya’s death.
Am I destined to repeat history? It’s too dangerous for me to be going back here with Taara, but hell if I didn’t try to stop her. I did, damn it.
But did you try hard enough?
I let her talk me into taking her tonight, and that could’ve ended in disaster. Christ.
She’s too young. Too innocent. This isn’t right at all.
Finally, after stewing for hours, I fall into a fitful, restless sleep. When we wake, we’re getting ready to land. I pull out my phone and call Demyan.
“Brother, we’ve landed.”
“I’ve got a car waiting.”
I fill him in on what happened tonight. “I have no idea who she was, but she’s got to have connections here.”
“No one will know you’re here.”
I hang up with him and call Nicolai. After I tell him what’s happened, I tell him we’re heading incognito to Moscow’s compound.
“All good here, except there’s something I need to tell you,” he says.
I rub the back of my hand across my brow and nod into the phone. “Yeah?”
“It’s Taara’s mother.”
Shit.
“What about her?”
“She’s not doing so well. A few hours ago, they found her in her room, and it appears she’s had a heart attack and a fall.”
Jesus.
“It’s not looking good, if we’re being honest.”
And we just fucking landed here. Part of me wants to turn right back around and take her home, but that makes no sense. Taara meets my eyes and smiles. She has no idea how the information I’m hearing will impact her. I force a smile and squeeze her hand.
I sigh. “Alright. Thanks for letting me now.” I’ll tell her, but not now. Not when we’re twenty minutes out from the compound, on the run, having undergone so much in a short time and only just arriving in Moscow. Jesus.
“Thank you. And how’s Marissa?”
“Doing alright,” he says. “Little bit of a scare earlier. It looked like she might’ve been in pre-term labor, but thankfully fine.”
I should be there, not here. Ready to help my son usher another child into this world. Back where Taara can visit her mother. But hell, if we don’t find out why they want me dead, what possible good am I there?
Taara hears my phone conversations, but doesn’t interject or say a word, until we’re just outside the Moscow compound.
“Anything I should know?” she asks.
“No one knows we’re here.”
She nods slowly. “Alllrighty then…” her voice trails off. “Got it.”
I don’t tell her about her mother. There’s nothing she can do right now, not when we’re this far away from home. I will tell her when the time is right.
We exit the plane and head to our waiting car. I recognize the men who wait for us and greet them each in turn. Part of Demyan’s Moscow strike force, they visited us a year or so ago when they had dealings in Atlanta. They’re strong and brawny, each bearing the signature Bratva ink.
Taara’s head bobs to the side as we head to Demyan’s. She’s so tired. Soon, we arrive, and the sun is high on the horizon. Thanks to the length of our flight and the time zone change, it’s early evening here in Russia, and the cities are alive with merchants and their wares. But my only concern is to get Taara back to safety.
“How do you know you can trust him?” she asks.
“Trust who?”
“This man in charge in Moscow.”
“You’ll know when you meet him.”
One of the men in the front of the car looks at us in the rearview mirror but doesn’t interject in the conversation.
“Your flight was good, then?” one asks.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Larissa’s prepared dinner for you,” a second says. These men, unlike the men in my Bratva group, have heavier Russian accents and bear different ink, though all have the same stern and formidable air.
And we don’t have to wait long for me to prove to Taara she can trust Demyan. The ride from the airport to the compound is swift, the roads clear.
“Does Larissa cook, too, like Caroline?”
The man driving us smirks and shakes his head. “Not quite. But the staff does whatever she asks, and she’s arranged this for you.
Taara nods and yawns. “So weird how we’re here, and we basically flew the whole day away.”
“Have you flown this far before?”
“Well, not that I remember,” she says. “I was a child when we flew to America.”
Yes. She was a child. It’s a stark reminder of how much younger she is than I am. But in the back of that car, with her head on my shoulder, I don’t care. I don’t fucking care. I’ve long since discarded any proper notion of love and relationships. Taara is honest and kind, and she’s put up with my shit better than any other woman I’ve known. That matters.
“Here we are.” The driver pulls into a long driveway, our tires crunching on gravel.
“Is that him?” Taara whispers, pointing to the muscular blond man standing by the entry.
“It is.”
“Okay so he looks terrifying.” Her voice shakes. “There’s something ruthless about him.”
“Baby, there’s something ruthless about all of us.” Did she forget she witnessed an execution?
“Yes, but—”
“You’re not used to the way Russian men carry themselves. Russian Bratva are feared, and for good reason.”
“I’d say so,” she mutters.
“Demyan is a stern pakhan,” one of the men says. “But he is loyal and fearless, and the most well-respected leader our men have had in decades.” He gives Taara a reassuring smile. “As you’re here as Stefan’s woman, you have nothing to fear.”
Her eyes widen and she bites her lip, but nods.
“Stefan’s woman,” she
whispers in my ear. “I like the sound of that.”
Jesus, so do I. So, do I.
I get out first and open the door for her. It’s cooler here than in Boston but temperate. A light breeze brushes her hair off her shoulder, and when she steps out of the car, the golden beams of the setting sun kiss her shoulders and the top of her head, giving her an almost angelic appearance.
“You look like an angel,” I say to her, taking her hand.
“Ha,” she laughs. “I think you’d know better by now.”
“Brother, welcome.” Demyan reaches us and extends his hand. A pretty, petite woman with jet black hair stands by his side. She wears a wedding ring on her left hand. His wife, then.
I take his hand and shake it hard. “Demyan. Thank you, brother.”
“Meet my wife Larissa,” Demyan says with pride, ushering Larissa forward with his palm on her lower back. She smiles at me, gracious and beautiful, but she has a steel about her that reminds me of both Marissa and Caroline. I’m convinced now that Bratva woman are tenacious. They have to be to withstand life married to one of the brotherhood.
“Pleased to meet you,” I say, shaking her hand warmly. “And this is…” I hesitate. What do I call her? “This is Taara,” I say firmly.
“She’s yours?” Demyan asks, shaking her hand.
I place my hand on her lower back and draw her to me. “She is mine.”
Larissa gives Taara a smile. “Forgive me if this is too forward. You two are the most unlikely couple, but you look as if you belong together.”
Taara laughs out loud, and I swear I fall in love with her all over again at the sound.
“Thank you.”
Larissa meets my eye. “The King’s ransom,” she says softly.
I don’t respond but give her a curious look. Taara doesn’t hesitate, though.
“What do you mean?” she says.
Larissa smiles at her. “It’s an expression,” she says. “It means of exceptional worth. Years ago, the king’s ransom was the money demanded for the return of a captured king, but the expression’s evolved. It simply means of great value. And I can tell,” she says softly, eying my hand on Taara’s back. “That you are his treasure.”
“I see,” Taara says softly, her cheeks flushing. “Well, that’s cool.”
Larissa grins.
Taara is so damn cute.
Demyan gestures them inside impatiently and takes Larissa by the hand. “This king is about to forfeit over half his kingdom for a meal. Let’s go.”
“He’s always like this when he’s hungry,” Larissa says. “And when he isn’t. And when he wakes up in the morning and when he’s—ow!”
Demyan tugs her hair and gives her a mock look of reproach. Taara smiles then yawns widely.
“Anyway, let’s feed these two so they can get some rest.”
Over dinner, I fill Demyan in on everything, but it seems Nicolai has already told him most of what I need to. Nicolai, once a member of this Bratva group, is well respected among Demyan and his peers. I’m grateful. It makes my job here that much easier.
“So you want to end the slave trade?” Larissa asks, signaling for waitstaff to bring us a tray of desserts.
“I do,” I say, taking a tea cake. The buttery cookies dotted with nuts and drenched in powdered sugar are my favorite, and I haven’t had any in years. “God, it’s good to be back in Russia.”
Taara gratefully takes a large chocolate brownie studded with chocolate chips. “I can make those for you, you know,” she says. “They’re easy enough.” She takes a bite. “Oh, I love chocolate,” she says. I didn’t know that. There are many things I don’t know about her, but I will note each one.
“I’d like that,” I tell her, though right now the idea of getting back to my brothers in America seems like a distant one.
“What was your role in Atlanta, Taara?” Larissa asks.
Taara swallows her bite of brownie, and casts her gaze to the table.
“I was his housekeeper,” she says. “And caretaker.”
“I see,” Larissa says. “Then how did you get roped into this?”
Demyan doesn’t bother to stop Larissa from asking questions. Though some of the men prefer their women not be party to the inner workings of the brotherhood, he allows her free reign. Taara looks to me, and I nod my permission to tell Larissa what happened.
“I saw something I shouldn’t have,” she says, her cheeks flushing faint pink. “And I…”
“She came as my prisoner,” I supply. “Taara witnessed an execution.”
“Oh,” Larissa says, her eyes wide. But a second later, her voice hardens. “And the brotherhood thought it best to get rid of her, I’m presuming? Though she’s served you for…”
“Decades,” I tell her, my own voice tight. I understand why she’s upset, but she doesn’t walk in my shoes. “And that’s why she’s with me.”
Larissa holds my gaze for a moment before finally nodding, accepting this. She sighs and looks to Taara. “I fear for you, but you’re not ignorant of the workings of Bratva life, are you?”
Taara nods and reaches under the table for my hand.
“And she’s no longer my prisoner,” I explain. When did she stop being captive to me? When did she become so much more?
“Brother, how do you propose ending the slave trade, when the Thieves have such a stronghold in America?” Demyan asks. He sips coffee from a teacup.
“That’s why I’m here. I need to find who commands this and end any insidious plans from the top down.”
Demyan nods. “But someone ordered you dead, so they already presume you know too much.”
“Correct.”
He strokes his chin and looks over my shoulder. Contemplating.
“Then tonight, we will form a plan. We have confidantes and spies we can utilize that work with the Thieves.”
I exhale in relief. “Thank you.”
“But it might not be as simple as you think,” Larissa says.
“I never said it was simple.”
Larissa nods. “Yes. It’s just that those that run the operation are many and varied. You’ll have to find all that want this to happen and eliminate all of them.”
Tarra squeezes my hand tighter.
“I’ll do whatever I have to,” I tell them, looking from Larissa to Demyan. “I have no choice. If I don’t, the Bratva in America is all but done.”
Demyan’s eyes cloud and his jaw firms. “We cannot have that,” he says. “Bratstvo ne padet.”
I swallow hard and repeat, “Bratstvo ne padet.”
We get up from the table, and Larissa takes us to a room.
“Leave a message for me or Demyan, and tell us what you need.”
“Thank you.”
She smiles and leaves, and we enter the room. The bed’s turned down, and the bathroom filled with toiletries. It’s nicer than a luxury suite, but I breathe easier knowing I’m once again surrounded by brothers at my back. Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow we’ll begin our next job.
But I can’t stop thinking of Taara’s mother. I take my phone and text Nicolai.
How is her mother?
But he doesn’t respond. I have to tell her. I cannot delay it much longer.
I turn to Taara, who’s looking about the luxurious room with wide eyes. She yawns widely.
“Sleep for you, little one,” I say. “Let’s get you ready.” I have a burning need to help her to bed. To tuck her beneath the sheets and see that she’s safe. Taking care of her feeds a need in me I didn’t know I had until she came along. And when she looks at me with those wide, luminous eyes and whispers, “Yes, daddy,” I know. She is a gift to me. The King’s ransom, as Larissa said. So precious. I don’t deserve this—any of this. Her trust or loyalty. Her kindness and steadfast obedience.
“I’d like to shower first, though,” she says. “After traveling and all.”
“Of course.” I take her by the hand and lead her to the bathroom.
“I c
an do this myself,” she says sheepishly, biting her lip, but I can tell she doesn’t want to. She gets all submissive and shy when I take care of her like this.
“Of course, you can,” I respond. “But I enjoy being the one that does. And no more protests from you.”
Her eyes grow concerned for just the briefest of moments, before she nods her head and smiles at me. “Alright, then.”
I help her out of her clothes, slipping each garment off her beautiful body and tossing them into the laundry hamper. Who knows how long we’ll be here. We might as well make the most of it.
I kiss her naked shoulder and run my hand down the length of her back to her ass. I put the shower on, placing my own hand under the steaming hot water to check the temperature.
“Are you joining me, daddy?”
Fuck, I love when she calls me that.
“Of course.” She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I quickly strip and join her, then take a washcloth and soap it up.
“Come here,” I murmur, pulling her to me. I clean her hair and lather her body, enjoying the sweet scent of honey and vanilla. And Christ, predictably I’m getting hard again. But not tonight. Not now.
“Tonight, we’re just getting clean,” I say.
“If you say so,” she says with a grin.
“I do,” I groan.
She drapes her arms over my neck and kisses me. “Okay, only more question.”
“Yes?”
“What did Demyan say to you?”
I frown. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. When? He said a lot of things.”
“No, in Russian,
Ah. “Bratstvo ne padet?” I ask.
She nods eagerly. I sigh, squeezing out the washcloth and turning the water off. “It means the brotherhood must never die.”
“Ooooh.” She captures my face between her hands and draws my gaze to hers. “He’s right. Never.”
I kiss her, silently thanking her.
Chapter 16
Taara
I sleep so soundly that when I wake, I actually feel a little groggy. I open one eye, then the other. It takes me a minute to realize where I am and I must make a sudden move, because Stefan’s arms wrap around me.
“You alright?” he asks. “You jumped.” His voice is all gravelly with sleep, and the sound makes me feel warm and comforted. I roll over toward him, and he pulls me to his chest.
