“Holy fuck. That was his cock flaccid?!” Sloane whisper-yells.
“Dios Mio. I need me a man that mischievous. He has brothers, right?” Leti groans lowly.
“Yes, but don’t even ask me for help in that department.” I mutter. Jesus, I need to talk to Jordan, and I need to do it as soon as possible. I’m so worried I just fucked our friendship up by sleeping with him.
Hell, I probably did, and there’s probably no way we’ll ever be friends the way we were before.
He’s my best friend and I’m terrified to lose him. Hopefully there’s some way we can talk about this and it not be a huge deal. The only way I’ll know is if I put my big girl panties on and walk into my room.
“I need to go talk with him.” I say.
“Yeah, you need to talk with him.” Sloane jokes. I don’t know why I look over to her, but the thrusting she’s making with her hips is only pissing me off.
This might be a big joke to them, but it isn’t to me.
Why would I ever expect them to understand? Their best friends aren’t men.
Chapter Six
She said . . . I’m a good woman, but one thing I won’t do is force a man to realize that. If he doesn’t realize that on his own, it’s his loss.
~ Unknown
Greer
New Year’s Day . . .
“Quite the show you put on out there,” I grumble with a hint of sarcasm as I shut my bedroom door, praying the girls aren’t trying to eavesdrop on us.
Jordan doesn’t even attempt to hide his smile. He leans back on my bed, sitting up against the wall and stares like he’s waiting for me to continue.
“Why are you so quiet? Say something.” I say, feeling my emotions slipping out a tiny bit. I’m about a millisecond away from freaking out and breaking down.
“Calm down, Greer. Nothing happened last night.” Jordan tells me, giving me a wink.
I’m perplexed. Does he really plan on acting like nothing happened? Every time I stare into his eyes, I think about the way he looked into mine while he rammed his cock in me. “You can’t be serious.” I say, keeping my voice low.
“Why can’t I? As a matter of fact, why can’t we? We don’t need to be pressured into anything, Greer. We’re friends. We’re best fucking friends. I’m not gonna fuck that up with you, and a relationship would do that . . . but if you wanna have a night of nothing ever again, let me know.”
My throat begins to tighten and I feel the way my cheeks flush. “I’m relieved to hear you say that.”
“Which part?” He inquires, sliding off my bed, he grabs his dress shirt from the back of my desk chair and starts to put it on.
“Both,” I answer honestly.
Jordan stops buttoning his shirt and breaks the distance between us. “Good. I won’t have anything fucking up our friendship. I love you too much, Greer, as a friend.”
“Right back at ya.” I reply. I’m nervous as can be and start jabbering out of my ass. “I mean, a night of nothing would be safer than one-night stands.”
Jordan snickers lowly, “Yes, it would.” He tilts his neck and looks at me for a good couple of moments before I tear my eyes away from his. “Greer. You do know I’m serious, right? We’re not gonna fuck up our friendship. You’re my best friend, too. I won’t let that get screwed up. Unless . . . you wanna explore—”
“No, Jord. I couldn’t ever date you. If we were to break up, I’d be too scared that we wouldn’t be friends anymore.”
“We could give it a shot you know.”
I shake my head, showing him how serious I am. “No, we can’t. How many people do you know who’re friends with their exes?”
“Fine, I get your point.” Jordan pulls me into a hug and holds me close, placing his chin on top of my head. “You know you’re never getting rid of me, right?”
“If I knew this was going to be a life sentence, I might reconsider what I said.” I joke, getting a laugh from him as well.
“You with your humor,” Jordan chortles, releasing me. “Have you decided how you’re going to handle seeing your father?”
No, not in the least bit. I don’t have any bit of it planned, which is how every aspect of my life is, except when it comes to my work. “Of course, I have a plan,” I lie through my teeth.
“Right.”
“You know Sloane doesn’t ever feel like she has to meet him. She said that to me once, how if he really cared he would’ve found some way for us to all be a family.”
“Can you blame her? She’s angry, and rightfully so. If I were in her shoes, I’d probably tell the old man to go fuck himself, too.” Jordan sides with Sloane.
“But . . . don’t you think we need to know who we are? We won’t know unless we know him. It might sound stupid, but that’s my thought process behind it all.”
“You know, you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, not me.” Jordan calls me out on being a nervous Nelly.
“I hate how you can cut right through the bullshit.” I admit, sinking back into my desk chair. “For our entire lives we’ve been told stories about our parents but haven’t ever been able to meet our father. It’s . . . I don’t know how to explain this, Jordan.”
“You feel like a piece of you is missing.” There he goes filling in the blanks.
“You said it better than I ever could.”
“Follow your heart, Greer. Do what’s best for you and don’t let anyone else convince you otherwise, but do me a favor, alright?”
“What kinda favor?” I question.
“Wait. Wait until you know for sure. If you’re going to do this, don’t have any doubts. Right now, you have doubts, so clear your head a bit and think about it further.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
I’ve convinced myself I’ll be seeing my father for the last couple months, but at the same time I contradict myself with fears and worries. Jordan is right. I need to wait until I have no doubts. I need to be a thousand percent sure in my decision, because once I get to Ireland, I won’t be able to change my mind.
Chapter Seven
The way they leave tells you everything
~ Unknown
Aleksandr
January 15th
I’ve spent every waking moment I could avoiding coming back to the home Mischa and I share. Our marriage was going to be political in the beginning, strictly to tie the Bratva to a General in the Ukraine. It worked, too. My father told me so, saying his business dealings in the Ukraine were hardly ever busted. Though I suppose now that Mischa and I are splitting up things will begin to change.
I stayed with my family for a few days after New Year’s and have since been flying around the globe, conducting business for the Bratva. I met with Katya, who is now Sergei’s ex-wife, and is the woman running his show. It turns out we might not have to find another weapons dealer. Though, I’m sure my father won’t be fond of the fact a woman is running it. Even though Katya is a fearless bitch. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting her on a few different occasions. Upon first glance anyone would be able to tell why the pair fit together so well. The amount of darkness and cruelty radiating off them was indescribable.
At the time I met Katya, I didn’t know she was my cousin. My father never spoke of family often unless it had to do with the immediate bit. But imagine my surprise when I discovered my grandfather had a bit of a problem keeping it in his pants, which resulted in my aunt. A woman who I never had the pleasure of meeting, but given everything I discovered about her, I don’t think I would’ve liked her.
It might sound harsh, but I have a hard time understanding when adults put their own selfish needs above their children. You see, my aunt lived alongside my father for quite some time. However, she was in the shadows while my father was in the light. As is the case with most illegitimate children. Long story short, she was married off to a man who worked for the Bratva. But alas, one thing wasn’t enough for him. He began working for my grandfather’s rivals and reporting back to them
. My grandfather discovered this and ordered his death.
Now, my dear aunt could’ve gone back to her father and pleaded for her life. But did she? No. Instead, she ran and kept running until maybe a year had passed. The people her husband worked for caught up to her and she bartered with them for her life. But what did a woman like her have to give? The only things in her possession—her children.
Dmitri was sold to a man in Texas, a notorious MC Prez who viewed him as his adoptive son. While Katya and Ksenia were sold off to human traffickers, and that’s how they ended up in Sergei’s hands.
Obviously, Katya married Sergei, but their lives weren’t as picture perfect as one might think. I mean, they did get divorced. But in marrying Sergei, Katya was able to accept a life with a lesser evil. Or at least, that’s what I think.
Now, back to Dmitri. He stuck with the MC club in Texas until the Prez was killed. Only to find out, the reason the Prez was killed was because he was abusing Dmitri and his adoptive-sister, Elena, who’s a former FBI agent and ended up marrying the MC Prez she was tasked with taking down.
Now, my aunt was gruesomely murdered and if you ask me, it was karma coming to get her. She reinvented herself, changed her name and weaseled her way into Romania. She strutted up every social ladder she could until she ended up marrying a Vasile, otherwise known as the head of the Romanian mafia. She ended up having one child with her husband, named Mariana. When Mariana was about sixteen, they were killed and she was kidnapped. She was eventually rescued and had her happily-ever-after, as have all my cousins.
Long story short, everyone who has Volkolv blood running through their veins is unable to avoid tragedy. It’s like we have a beacon flashing, demanding something horrendous to come our way. Until now, I thought I was the first Volkolv to dodge this trend. And while my divorce is only emotionally tragic, I have an eerie feeling that I haven’t been able to shake since the beginning of the year.
Now here I am in Saratov, the city Mischa and I chose to live. We’re both fans of the water and since it’s right on the Volga river, it suited us. We also both wanted to be within a couple hour flight of both our parents, so it was perfect. We built a custom home directly outside the city. God, I remember how we fought about where we’d build it time and time again. Mischa wanted to be in the city, and I wanted the rural countryside. But she grew up in the city and didn’t want to change her entire lifestyle.
I stand on the deck I built myself, sliding my hand against the sanded down wood. Figuring it’s most likely my last time here, I’m going to be taking in every single detail that I can. Her car is out front, so I know she’s here as well.
“You want me to stay here, yeah?” Aleksei asks from where he leans up against my car.
I glance back at him and nod, “Yeah. Even if I take a while. Just wait, alright?”
“Sure thing.” My brother replies and I venture up the last few steps until I’m on the deck. When we built the home, it had this somewhat okay cement stairwell to get in the house. I hated it. For the amount of detail, we put into the house it felt lazy to have something like that as the way to enter. So, I hired a contractor and we figured out how to add a wrap-around porch like the Americans have. It ties the property together beautifully.
Taking in a deep breath I go to the front door and grab onto the knob, but it feels like I’m being pushed back, like I shouldn’t just waltz in like I own the place. So, I rap my knuckles on the wooden door instead.
The waiting takes forever, even as I hear the clicking of her heels against the marble floor, it seems . . . far away.
Mischa pulls the door open, “Aleks, I . . . I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”
Of course, she wouldn’t. I didn’t even call. “That was the point. I’ve only come for some of my things, if that’s alright.”
Mischa blinks a bit and nods, stepping out of the way. “Of course, please come in and take whatever you need.”
I walk in the house and she shuts the door behind me. And as I venture forward in the house, I see she’s replaced some of the décor we chose together, putting something she likes up in its place no doubt. “You’ve . . . changed things.”
“Yes, I have. I . . . is that okay? I’m only trying to make it look more like my house, since your attorney already reached out to me and let me know your demands.” Mischa nervously speaks, but she doesn’t need to be so afraid. I’m not a callous man like my father. She is safe with me and I’ll make sure she knows it.
As part of our divorce I’ve given her the home here in Saratov, as well as the flat I purchased in Paris. I bought it when she told me how much she loved the Eiffel Tower, so whenever we could I snuck us away for a weekend of relaxation. In addition to the two homes, I’ll be paying her a ten-thousand-dollar alimony every month until she dies. It seemed fair and given my father thinks I’m the one who initiated this, if I don’t pay her something, he’ll know it wasn’t my decision.
“No, it looks lovely. I’m happy for you,” I tell her as I slowly make my way down the hallway to the bedroom we shared. But just as I place my hand on the door, she grabs it.
“No, don’t go in there. I—”
The door comes open and I’m face-to-face with another man. He’s tall, blond, and has deep green eyes. Though if I’m being honest, I’m the one with green eyes right now, fueled by jealousy.
Mischa sighs, “I was hoping to avoid this. Aleks, this is Edgar. Edgar, this is Aleks.”
“I didn’t realize he was coming today,” Edgar grumbles to Mischa, seeming quite displeased at my sudden arrival.
“I’ve only come to get a few of my things,” I tell him.
Edgar takes a step toward me and looks down at me. The inch or two he has on me in height shows and he’s trying to use it to intimidate me. “They aren’t here. My things are in my bedroom. Catch my drift, Aleks?”
“Edgar!” Mischa chastises her new man.
I’ll give this guy some credit. He’s really staking his claim, even though I’m the one still wearing my wedding ring. Just to check, I glance down to Mischa’s left hand and see it’s bare.
“Aleks, I put your things in the guest bedroom.”
Guest bedroom? We didn’t have a guest bedroom.
“Where?” I question her, furrowing my brows. I have to turn around from my confusion, not understanding where she put my clothes, or my treasured items.
“Follow me,” her face drops and I know where she’s taking us, to the other side of the house where . . . it isn’t a guest room.
She opens the door and we both walk inside. No longer is it different shades of blue, and the galaxy mural has been covered up to be a plain grey. He would’ve hated this, and I might hate Mischa for acting like we can just paint over his presence.
My hands begin to shake from the anger as my heart beats intensely inside my chest. “I know you’re upset, but it’s been five years since he died, Aleks. Sacha is gone, and he isn’t coming back. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t keep doing this anymore. I had to paint it, to donate his things to the orphanage. I had to make the decision to end our relat—”
“You know, I was aware of the grief I carried every day. I understood it, because that’s what anyone who went through what we did would feel . . . but I had no idea it was carrying through into our marriage. Is that why you ended things? Because of Sacha’s death?” I snarl, throwing my hands into the air.
Mischa shakes her head, “No, Aleks. I ended this because it wasn’t working for either of us anymore. You turned into a different man after . . . after he died. You became cold. You didn’t want to hold me anymore. You just . . . became so reserved. I let you deal with it in your own way. I gave you years to try and come around, Aleks, but you didn’t. You haven’t . . . and I don’t think you ever will. I’m not trying to turn this into how our marriage fell apart, but we both deserve better. You deserve someone who will be strong enough to carry the weight when it’s too much, and I deserve someone who will be present enough to know
I’m going through things too. We were silent partners, Aleks. We weren’t husband and wife. We were two people who got married, fell in love, and had a child. And those two people lost their child and it changed them forever.”
I suck in a breath and nod, going over to the plastic totes where I see photos of Sacha and I through the top. My clothes can be replaced, but what can’t ever be replaced is my son, or the memories I have with him.
I grab my white gold wedding band and pull it off my finger, setting it on the dresser beside all the totes. “I wish you nothing but the best, Mischa.” I tell her as I make my way past her with the tote in my hands.
“Aleks,” her voice cracks as she says my name, so I turn to face her and raise my brows with what I’m sure is the blankest expression I’ve ever had.
“What, Mischa?”
“Is . . . I mean has your father . . .” She struggles with her question, but I know what she’s asking.
“I told him it was my decision, now my lawyer has already filed and declared it was my decision to back it up. Do me a favor and accept all my terms, even if you don’t want my money, if you don’t take it, he’ll know something is up. I want to keep you safe, Mischa. Our marriage may have failed, but you’re still the mother of my child.”
Mischa’s bottom lip begins to quiver and she bursts out into tears, so powerful her body shakes as they come flowing down her cheeks. I want so badly to wrap my arms around her, but it isn’t my job anymore.
So, I walk past her and exit the place I once called home. I put the tote in the back of the car and get into the passenger seat, letting out a pent-up sigh.
“Want to talk about it?” Aleksei asks.
I turn to look at him and shake my head, “No. I’d like to get to the airport and get started on this fucking task.”
Corrupted Love: A Dark Mafia Romance (Mackenzies Book 2) Page 4
