by Henry, Jane
“Christ, I love you, woman,” I say to her, pulling her to me and kissing her so that her head drops back and she moans out loud.
“And I love you,” she whispers.
My hands are at her top and I’m pulling the t-shirt off, and soon she’s lying before me wearing nothing but a bra and her panties. I kiss her cheeks, her mouth, her forehead, her eyelids, the sweet spot on her neck that makes her ticklish, the top of each breast and the sweet, gentle slope of her belly.
Now that she’s agreed to be mine, I have to claim her. I want to be in her.
I strip out of my own t-shirt and jeans and flip her over onto her belly. I feel such a sudden, overwhelming need to make her mine I can’t wait for formalities or sweet seduction. I want to fuck this woman, and I want to do it now.
“On your knees,” I order, giving her full, voluptuous ass a hard swat when she doesn’t move quickly enough. “Spread those legs for daddy.”
She grips the thick bedspread between her fingers, and the light catches the diamond on her finger. If she had any idea how much that thing was worth, she’d lose her mind, but she’ll never know. She’s worth it. She’s worth that and so much fucking more.
Obediently she falls to her chest and spreads her legs. I tangle my fingers in her hair and yank her head back until she squeals and moans. I push the head of my cock through her slick folds and groan when I find her wet and ready.
“I love you, Taara,” I say as I slam into her and she arches her back with a sweet, seductive moan.
“And I love you,” she breathes.
I slap her ass and pound into her, and she braces herself and welcomes me. She’s perfect. So fucking perfect. Brave and strong, self-giving and brilliant, and able to withstand me when I’m at my most ruthless. I’ll never hurt her. Never again. But I won’t hide who I am or what I do, and she loves me anyway.
She loves me anyway.
She moans while I thrust in and out, her pleasure building on mine until she screams her release. I’m on her heels, and with a grunt and final savage tug of her hair, I come. It’s utter fucking perfection when she comes a second time, harder and longer this time.
“Christ, I love you,” I tell her, rolling over and panting, sweaty and riding the high.
“Christ, I love you, too,” she teases. “I have for a very long time, you know,” she says, rolling over and laying her head on my chest.
“How long?” I ask.
“Long enough that it wasn’t proper,” she admits.
“Honey, this still isn’t proper. You know that, right?”
She grins. “I do. And I kinda love it.”
That makes me laugh, then sigh.
“Nothing really changes, you know,” I tell her.
“Oh? How so?”
“I’m still going to be in charge as leader. I’m not turning away from the brotherhood now, not when we’ve forged so much together and I’m teaching Nicolai.”
“Of course not,” she says. “But actually, daddy…” She reaches for my hand and weaves her pretty fingers through my bigger, rougher ones. “Everything’s changed.” She smiles. “But for the better.”
I think about it. She’s right. I’m still the leader and we still have our friends and enemies. Now I don’t face this alone. I face this with the most beautiful, loyal woman by my side.
The brotherhood will not die, and never will. But I’ve paid the king’s ransom. And she was worth every damn penny.
Epilogue
One year later
“Stefan.”
Taara is standing in our living room, her hand on the piano. My entire home is different now because of her, and I love it. She’s added her domestic touch to everything. She’s gifted in that way, and this room is no exception. A gleaming black baby grand is the focal point of this room, complete with cream-colored walls and a comfortable sectional, her framed photographs both breathaking and eye-catching. My men love to drop in and visit with us, and Taara welcomes them all with open arms.
I never knew I needed her until I had her. Now that I do, my life feels complete in a way I never anticipated, as if she’s the final piece to a puzzle.
But today, something’s wrong. She’s trembling, her back to me, holding a piece of paper in one hand and something I can’t quite see in the other. I walk to her, my heartbeat accelerating.
Did she get into the grad school she applied for?
“What is it, baby?”
She turns to me and literally collapses on my chest, breaking into sobs.
“Taara, baby, what?”
First, she hands me the piece of paper, sobbing away on my chest, but I can’t tell if these are sad or happy tears. I quickly scan the paper, my own eyes misting over when I read what’s written.
Our application for adoption’s been accepted. I knew it would be. I have friends in high places, and one phone call was all it took. Our lawyer assured me we’d be approved, but Taara didn’t know that.
Two weeks after our quiet marriage ceremony on the front lawn of the compound, she came to me. She wanted to adopt a child, specifically one of the Afghani refugees. And how could I tell my wife no? I think it had something to do with her holding Nicolai and Marissa’s new baby. She got this gleam in her eye…
I’m not a twenty-something year old anymore, but hell. I’m an experienced father. And I’ll give our child the safest, most normal life he or she could imagine.
So I hold her to me and rock her in my arms. “Baby,” I tell her. “This is amazing.”
“But look,” she sniffs, holding up her second hand. I look down, and when it finally dawns on me what I’m seeing, I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry myself.
It’s a white pregnancy test with two pink lines.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
That makes her smile, and now she’s laughing and crying at once, so I just hold her, because one of us losing their shit’s good enough.
“So… we need to talk timing,” I tell her.
“And school...”
“And a nanny…”
“No.” She shakes her head and looks up at me. “I’m the one who will mother them.”
Mother them. She’s so cute.
“Yeah, baby,” I tell her. “You will.”
“I hope one of them is a girl,” she whispers. “We’ll name her Hesther.”
I pull her to my chest and embrace her, suddenly overcome with inexplicable emotion.
“Yes,” I tell her. “We will.” I hold her to me, and give thanks for all that’s happened. I made mistakes. Hell, we all have. But as the seasons of life come and go, an ever-changing landscape, new life comes in the spring. And with it, a new beginning.
From the author:
Thank you so much for reading King’s Ransom: A Dark Bratva Romance, the third stand-alone book in my Ruthless Doms series. I am so grateful for your support! Please read on for previews of my other books you may enjoy.
PREVIEWS
Priceless: A Dark Bratva Romance (Ruthless Doms)
Previews
I look at the sea of faces in the cramped, humid high-school auditorium.
Cheerful. Youthful. Full of hope and promise and pride.
But I see past every one of them.
I'm not here to observe the masses getting their rolled-up diplomas and marching off to college, holding flowers from grandparents and parents and boyfriends, posting goddamned selfies all over social media. I've ignored every word the politicians and speakers said, more intent on the conversation around me than anything. I see every eye that looks at her. Everybody within arm's reach.
I know each exit in this school, and every few minutes run my thumb along the cold metal I have tucked into my pants and the knife in my boot.
Ever vigilant. Ever watchful. Because this is my job.
I don't give a shit about anyone else in this place.
The rest are faceless, nameless, my focus on the one girl who stands out from the crowd because of her sheer
, vibrant beauty. The belle of the goddamned ball. She's reckless and impulsive and brilliant.
My charge. My ward. The girl I've been commissioned to protect for four years.
The longest fucking years of my life.
Marissa Rykov.
Seventeen years old, just two days away from her eighteenth birthday. On the cusp of legal adulthood.
And the daughter of my father's best friend.
Off limits, in every fucking sense of the word.
I've been Marissa's bodyguard since she was thirteen years old. I've stayed in the background, attempting to give her the freedom a burgeoning teen needs, but honest to fucking God, screw that. I failed on that end. I could count every hair on her head. I could tell you the name, date of birth, location, and history of every single damn person she’s interacted with, and every boyfriend knew exactly who I was. I got to know them, too, and each has a folder on file with detailed background checks. Slightly over the top for teen-aged kids, and the files were admittedly slim, but I have no regrets.
She was just a child when we met, innocent to the ways of The Bratva. Ignorant of the work her father did.
And now, as she prepares to go off to college, it's my job to keep protecting her.
I've kept myself aloof. Detached.
She's a child.
But as I watch her walk across that stage, her brilliant smile lighting up the whole fucking Northern Hemisphere, my heart squeezes, and I swallow hard. Jesus, I'm proud of that girl. And I'd give fucking anything to keep that smile on her face.
I look away and school my features. I shouldn't have allowed my admiration to show even for a second. If anyone... anyone suspected how I feel about her...
My phone buzzes, and I ignore it at first, watching as Marissa walks down the stage on death-defying heels she should never have been allowed to wear. I swallow hard as her father embraces her and hands her flowers. She scans the auditorium, as if looking for someone, when her eyes meet mine.
I give her a small nod before I turn away and answer the phone.
"What is it?"
Laina, my younger sister, is on the line.
"Do not take your eyes off of her, Nicolai."
I'm instantly on guard. I swivel around to look back at Marissa, my pulse racing when I see her father at first, but I don't see her. She was here a second ago.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I hiss into the phone as I push my way through the crowd to get to her.
"I overheard something I shouldn't have," Liana says, her voice shaking.
"Tell me." My voice comes out in a choked whisper.
Where the fuck is she?
I knock a lady's bag off her shoulder in my haste to get to her. "Hey!" she says, but I plow on, ignoring the angry crowd I shove aside, making my way toward the front of the auditorium.
"I can't speak freely right now," she says. "I'll call you as soon as I can, but listen to me, do not let her out of your sight."
And then I see Marissa. Bending down to pick something up, then laughing as she adjusts the ridiculous square graduation cap on her head.
I exhale a breath I didn't know I held.
"You fucking tell me what's going on, Laina."
"I'll call you right back."
The phone goes dead. Cursing, I shove it in my pocket, keep my head down, and take my place beside Myron, her father. He shoots me a curious look.
I turn my focused gaze on Marissa. She's walking hand in hand with her motherfucking boyfriend now, and I clench my fist. I hate when he touches her and have had to endure night after night watching her sneak away to be with him. I give her a semblance of privacy. His background's clean, but Jesus what I wouldn't give to break his pretty boy nose for coming near her.
He has the fucking balls to shoot me an audacious glare. I glare back, narrowing my eyes on him. He knows I'm watching his every fucking move. The prick swallows hard and visibly pales.
Good.
My phone rings again. I answer on the first ring.
"Yeah."
"Listen to me." It's Laina. "I had to go where no one would hear me. I'm alone but I don't want anyone to overhear. Do you see Myron?"
"Yes," I say, my eyes reluctantly moving from Marissa to Myron.
"I went on a walk just now and overheard a talk between two of his men." Her voice is hushed, shaking. We deal with high stakes in the Bratva, and I know intuitively anything that would send Laina into a panic matters. "He made a deal, Nicolai."
The blood rushes in my ears so hard and fast it's hard to hear her. I know the kinds of deals she could be talking about.
"He's sold her," she says, her voice breaking. "He's put her up for auction. One week."
"Who did?" I want utter clarity.
"Myron," she breathes into the phone. My hands clench into fists of rage so tightly my knuckles turn white. I could kill him, right here, I could beat his motherfucking body to within an inch of his life before I slit his fucking throat.
This can't be. Our brotherhood does not deal with human trafficking rings. There are no auctions with us.
What can she possibly be talking about?
"How do you know this?" I demand. This is no small task she's given me, no small accusation she makes.
"I heard it with my own ears," she says on a shaky whisper. "You have to take her. There's no other way."
Take her? What the fuck is she talking about?
"No," I whisper into the phone. "I can't do that. I'll come home and we—"
"Everything okay, Nicolai?" Myron stands a few feet away, his dark black eyes suddenly looking more menacing than I remember.
Is it my imagination? Or is he really guilty?
Laina would not lie.
"Fine," I tell him. It takes effort to keep my voice steady. "Are we off to the party?"
He's rented a large hall. Food will be catered and he's even hired a live band.
"Yes," he says, and then he reaches for Marissa. He strokes his hand along her hair with a wistful expression and kisses the top of her head. A fatherly gesture, but in light of what Laina's told me, his gesture makes my skin crawl.
"Nicolai," Laina pleads into the phone. "You have to believe me. She's being taken. Groomed. And put up for auction."
"Where?" I ask, rage boiling inside me at the very thought of anyone touching Marissa.
"I don't know," she whispers. "I have to go. Get her out of there."
The phone goes dead.
I look wildly around the auditorium.
If Laina is wrong, my father will lose his mind, and I'll be punished as a Bratva traitor, facing painful, brutal torture and death.
If she's right...
I curse under my breath and follow them to the party.
READ MORE
Beyond Measure: A Dark Bratva Romance (Ruthless Doms)
Tomas
I scowl at the computer screen in front of me. As pakhan, the weight of everything falls onto my shoulders, and today is one day when I wish I could shrug it off.
A knock comes at my office door.
“Who is it?” I snap. I don’t want to see or hear anything right now. I’m pissed off, and I haven’t had time to compose myself. As the leader of the Boston Bratva, it’s imperative that I maintain composure.
“Nicolai.”
“Come in.”
Nicolai can withstand my anger and rage. Over the past few months, he’s become my most trusted advisor. My friend.
The door swings open and Nicolai enters, bowing his head politely to greet me.
“Brother.”
I nod. “Welcome. Have a seat.”
When I first met Nicolai, he wore the face of a much older man. Troubled and anguished, he was in the throes of fighting for his woman. The woman who now bears his name and his baby. But I’ve watched the worry lines around his eyes diminish, his smile become more ready. While every bit as fierce and determined to dutifully fill his role as ever, he’s grown softer because of Marissa, more devote
d to her.
“You look thrilled,” he says, quirking a brow at me. Unlike my other men, who often quake in my presence, having been taught by my father before me that men in authority are to be feared and obeyed, Nicolai is more relaxed. He’s earned the title of brother more readily than even my most trusted allies.
“Fucking pissed,” I tell him, pushing up from my desk and heading to the sideboard. I pour myself a shot of vodka. It’s eleven o’clock in the fucking morning, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve been up all night. “Drink?”
He nods silently and takes the proffered shot glass. We raise our drinks and toss them back together. I take in a deep breath and place the glass back on the sideboard before I go back to my desk.
“Want to tell Uncle Nicolai your troubles?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.
I roll my eyes at him.
I made an unconventional decision when I inducted Nicolai into our brotherhood. The son of another pakhan, Nicolai came here under an alias, but I knew he had the integrity of a brother I wanted in my order. I offered him dual enrollment in both groups, under both the authority of his father and me, and he readily agreed. We’ve come to be good friends, and I would trust the man with my life.
“Uncle Nicolai,” I snort, shaking my head. None of my other brothers take liberties like Nicolai does, but none are as trustworthy and loyal as him, so he gets away with giving me shit unlike anyone else. “It’s fucking Aren Koslov.”
Nicolai grimaces. “Fucking Aren Koslov,” he mutters in commiseration. “What’d the bastard do now?” He shakes his head. “Give me one good reason to beat his ass and I’ll take the next red-eye to San Diego.”
He would, too. Nicolai inspires fear in our enemies and respect in our contemporaries. Aren falls into both categories.
“Owed me a fucking mint a month ago, and hasn’t paid up,” I tell him. I spin my monitor around to show him the number in red. “And you don’t need me to tell you we need that money.” As my most trusted advisor, Nicolai knows we’re right on the cusp of securing the next alliance with the Spanish drug cartel. Our location in Boston, near the wharf and airport, puts us in the perfect position to manage imports, but the buy-in is fucking huge. We have the upfront money, but the payout from San Diego would put us in a moderately better financial position.
