Scarred: A Russian Mob Romance (Anosov Family Mafia) (Scars and Sins Collection Book 1)

by Vivian Gray

  Jessa swallowed a tight knot in her throat. Her life had been uprooted since the death of her father. Why not add one more absurd thing to the pile? “Well, I guess we should get married then.”

  Silas studied her for a moment, his face a mask of indifference. He nodded slowly, but she couldn’t read him.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, it sounds like I don’t have any other choice.” Jessa sighed, pressing her index finger between her eyes. Her head throbbed – from all the different infuriating aspects of her current situation, hangover included. “I was pistol-whipped in my own home. Dad tried to warn me. I never thought…” A wave of emotion shuddered through her. “I was almost raped. How am I supposed to stay here and feel safe ever again? I’d have to leave the state.”

  “Okay.” For the first time, she caught a hint of uncertainty in his voice, like maybe he was still trying to swallow such an enormous idea himself. “Let’s figure this out then. We get married. We can make it happen fast, too. Something simple, but it has to be in the MC.”

  Jessa heaved out a big sigh. Of course it would. Getting married to Silas meant officially rejoining the MC. “Do we have to? I have a feeling people don’t think very highly of me. I’d probably get egged during the ceremony.”

  Silas sent her a look that felt like a reprimand, but she wasn’t sure why. “It doesn’t matter what they think. I’m the president now, and this is to honor Stone. Nobody’s gonna give us shit.”

  The firmness in his voice was reassuring. At the very least, he was a biker with a strong head. That was good. Most of the time.

  “Once we get married, we should live together.” Silas bent down to lace up his boots. “Just to make it easier. I can keep an eye on you. On the place.”

  “Different beds,” she said, her cheeks heating up again, though she wasn’t sure why.

  He sent her a smirk. “Of course.”

  “This—”Jessa gestured to the space between them“—was a mistake. So don’t plan on any future hanky-panky.”

  “Oh, I won’t. Don’t worry.” He sat up, his face slightly flushed from bending over. As he pulled his hair back into a topknot, he grinned evilly. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t be begging for it sooner or later.”

  Her mouth fell open in shock as he stood and sauntered toward the chair where his kutte was draped. He slid it on over his plain black tee, then jerked his chin in her direction. “Send me a text, so I have your number. I’ll get the details ready and let you know.”

  All she could do was nod. The president of a feared MC in Northern California was organizing her wedding. This was surely the bow on top of the bizarre cake of her life.

  “Great. See you at the wedding.” He sent her a sexy grin before clomping out of the bedroom, leaving a thick wake of tension behind.

  She stared into space until the front door slammed shut.

  Relief. That’s what she felt – now that that darkly attractive biker was out of her house. But she also felt excitement.

  A tiny kernel throbbed inside her, desperate for more of Silas, no matter how much she didn’t want to admit it.

  Chapter Six

  Just a week and a half later, Silas had rustled up the best wedding he could. With the help of a few old ladies and plenty of recruits doing the grunt work, they put together a slapdash but quaint affair. Enough of a wedding to pass as a wedding, without unraveling entirely at the seams.

  Jessa was the furthest thing from Bridezilla when they texted back and forth, securing details. Not that this was a real wedding. Sure, they’d be married in the eyes of the Lord, or whatever. But neither of them believed it. This was just for show – even if it also had a legal byproduct.

  On the afternoon of the ceremony, Silas was dressed in his biker’s best. Tiny had tugged Silas’ long locks into a tight braid, something he did only on formal occasions. There was nothing more formal than his own fake wedding, after all.

  Jessa had a small gaggle of friends who’d be attending, one of which would be accompanying her down the aisle. Beyond a small band and a non-denominational pastor to preside over the ceremony, there wasn’t much else to the day except a shit-ton of drinking and eating afterward. Still, even though the whole thing was a sham, Silas had butterflies in his stomach. He was oddly excited to lay eyes on Jessa – see if she was as beautiful as his memory recalled.

  “Dang, brother, it wasn’t that long ago you said you weren’t the marrying type.” Tequila nudged Silas at the altar, pulling out a cigarette from his pack. The pastor, who had just arrived, sent a disapproving look.

  “Oh, come on.” Silas adjusted the bright red tie to offset his glossy black button-up. His leather kutte accented the look nicely, though it tended to pair well with everything. He’d rented dress pants for the occasion – stiff black with a perfect inseam. He felt pretty good as a groom. As long as this is the last time.

  “I know how everything changed for you once you laid eyes on your beautiful bride.” Tequila winked, nodding toward the pastor when he was turned away from them. “You two are just two peas in a pod!”

  Silas rolled his eyes while Tequila cackled. “Save it for the best man’s speech.”

  His gaze hopped around the grassy area behind the clubhouse. Chairs were packed in together, leaving the aisle down the middle, accented with a white carpet. The rest of the lawn on the property was filled with large, round tables, where the reception would take place. They’d decided to keep the festivities on the property – since the Death Knells had a tendency to party hard at all formal events – better to keep their antics contained and out of sight.

  Brothers and bikers from ally MCs began to file in and fill the spacious lawn. Some of Jessa’s friends arrived, identified by their saucer-wide eyes – probably shocked at seeing the inside of an MC for the first time. If Jessa had stayed so far away from the MC for this long, Silas doubted her friends were raised in the environment too.

  “Bride’s on the way,” Tiny said as he strolled past, his gaze sweeping around the event. He was in charge of keeping things on schedule – at least until it all disintegrated into a drunken shitshow.

  People began to take their seats. It was a sea of leather kuttes out there. Silas grinned at a few people from his place at the altar. Tequila lit up a second cigarette beside him. The pastor sighed.

  “Haven’t you ever done an MC wedding before?” Tequila asked the pastor. To Silas, he said, “I thought we vetted this guy? We smoke. He should know we smoke.”

  “Yes, he knows we smoke.” Silas sent an apologetic look to the pastor. “Just wrap it up. I’m about to get hitched. You can’t smoke at the altar.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, Silas had to tamp down that excitement again, burbling inside of him. He certainly wasn’t excited to sign his life over to monogamy. He still wasn’t sure he’d ever do that. But Jessa… Well, if all he got out of this poser marriage was good sex, then he’d be fine with it.

  Though it had been more than great sex. It was fucking fantastic sex. Even if she acted like it was one and done, he’d show her that this arrangement could at least be slightly more fun than that.

  To the right of the altar, a violin trio began to play a corny wedding song. It was the most elegant element of the whole affair. The trio was called in as a favor a neighboring MC owed the Death Knells.

  Once the music started, the crowd hushed, the last few people scuttling into place. Silas straightened. Even at a biker wedding, this felt solemn. Serious.

  A little girl rounded the corner of the clubhouse, clutching a wicker basket. It was the youngest daughter of one of the brother’s. Little Sadie skipped up the aisle, tossing daisy petals. Silas patted her head when she passed by, dumping the rest of her basket at his feet. He laughed, standing in a pile of white petals.

  And then Jessa rounded the corner. Everyone stood, heads turning to face her. Silas’ stomach pitched downward, all the muscles of his body going taut as she came into view.


  She wore a creamy gown cinched tight at the waist, the low cut showing off the overflowing tops of her breasts. Netting was pulled over one half of her face, something vintage and sexy at the same time. She held a simple bouquet of purple lilies, and though she was devastatingly gorgeous, the smile looked forced.

  As it should be.

  Silas blinked as she approached, their eyes meeting awkwardly halfway down the aisle. They were strangers – literal strangers – committing themselves to one another for an indefinite length of time. Even if it wasn’t intimate in the regular way, it was intimate in a new and strange way.

  What the fuck are you doing?

  Jessa arrived at the altar, her green eyes like a whip against his knuckles. Behind the perfectly applied lipstick, behind the smoky fuck-me eyes, he sensed her hesitation. It radiated off of her, like she was a rodent trapped in a lion’s den. She took her place beside Silas, passing the lilies off to her friend.

  The pastor cleared his throat, launching into a short introduction.

  Silas watched Jessa as the pastor spoke, absorbing all the details. It seemed right to do that. Even if this wasn’t… real, necessarily. He should remember the wedding day. The way she looked. The shy glances she gave him as the pastor read a passage. Silas couldn’t even look at him, couldn’t pay attention.

  Jessa consumed him. He was remembering the way she’d slammed down on top of him, rocking him into ecstasy.

  The pastor cleared his throat and Silas snapped to attention. A few laughs rippled through the crowd. It was time for the vows.

  Both he and Jessa repeated after the pastor as he read simple, basic vows. With every word that Silas repeated, he saw the word ‘Lie’ flash in his head. Even the ally MCs didn’t know this was a sham. To explain the sudden wedding to Stone’s publicly estranged daughter, the Death Knells had spread a story about a secret affair, hidden from Stone until his deathbed. It was better than admitting the truth.

  The wedding wrapped up quickly, painlessly. The pastor smiled out over the crowd. “And now you may kiss the bride!”

  Jessa straightened in front of him, and Silas grinned down at her. At least this part could be fun. He cupped her face in his hands, and then placed a big, sloppy kiss on her perfectly painted lips. She tensed at first but eventually relaxed into it. When they broke apart, she was laughing.

  Silas grabbed her hand, bringing their intertwined fingers into the air. The sea of friends erupted into applause. The violin trio was drowned out by the hooting and hollering as he and Jessa traipsed down the aisle.

  Tequila intercepted them, ushering the pair off to the side. Behind them, the violin trio wrapped up their song, replaced by loud music from the DJ stand. Something rocking and fun.

  “Congrats, kids. You did it.” He clapped Silas on the back. “Picture time?”

  Jessa lifted a brow, her hand still clasped in Silas’ as they followed Tequila. In a low voice, she said to Silas, “I can’t believe this day is real.”

  “I think most brides say that,” Silas retorted.

  She snorted. “Most brides aren’t forced to marry into an MC for personal protection.”

  Silas nudged her with his shoulder as they followed Tequila around the side of the clubhouse to a small area enclosed by trees. A small brook ran through the clubhouse property. The water gurgled behind them, broken only by the hoots of laughter from the reception beyond.

  “It was nice, though, right?” He looked at her for confirmation. “We did a good job.”

  “Yeah.” She fiddled with the netting. “Better than I expected, for a biker thing.”

  Tequila sent her a flat look, which she missed.

  Silas steeled his jaw. The MC would accept her, but there might always be this underlying tension. The bitten tongues. The unspoken resentments against Stone’s lost daughter.

  “I guess we bikers are capable of something after all.” Silas wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into his grip as Tequila ushered the photographer over, a ‘bellhanger’ named Cindy. Cindy hurried over in sky-high heels and a cerulean blue miniskirt. She balanced a cigarette in one hand against an enormous Canon.

  “Okay, guys. Say cheese!”

  Cindy snapped plenty of pictures, even directing them to change poses a few times. Silas kept up the cheesy grin. When Jessa’s smile faltered, he pinched her ass through the creamy gown.

  “Hey! You can’t do that.” There was a smile behind her admonishment though.

  “Yes, I can. You’re my wife.” He’d be using that line plenty from now on.

  Her smile widened for the camera, and when Cindy was done, she deflated a little. Turning to Silas and Tequila, she said, “We good? I’m hungry enough to eat a cow.”

  Jessa glided off, holding her gown up in one fist as she navigated the stony driveway back to the lawn.

  Tequila didn’t look impressed. “What a catch,” he said, deadpan.

  “Actually, not half bad,” Silas said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think she’ll come around – probably once we get these wedding pictures back.”

  Tequila snorted. “Yeah. Cindy promised she knew how to use the camera. We’ll see. Eh, who cares? You’re married, let’s go get drunk.”

  The two friends wound their way back toward the party, the thumping bass of a dance song urging them nearer.

  The evening passed by in a blur of revelry. It didn’t matter that the Death Knells knew this was a marriage of convenience. They partied as hard as if two legitimate soul mates had just tied the knot. Even Jessa and her group of friends loosened up, joining in the rounds of shots that circled through the party seemingly every half hour.

  By the time night had fallen, crisp and cool, Jessa stumbled up to Silas with a silly grin on her face.

  “I’m drunk,” she announced, her eyes pinched shut. She wobbled on her feet.

  “Congratulations.” He grabbed her by the waist when she wobbled too far, almost toppling over. She laughed low, finally opening one eye to look at him. Then she closed her eyes again, shaking her head.

  “Shouldn’t have done that.”

  “What?”

  “Looked at you.”

  He cracked a grin. “Why’s that?”

  “Cuz you’re hot.” She blew out a puff of air to move some of the hair that had fallen from the barrettes.

  “Mmm.” He leaned closer, enjoying the tang of alcohol on her breath. “Are you hitting on me?”

  “Nope. Just sayin’… I need to go to bed.” She tumbled forward, her forehead meeting his shoulder.

  “Whoa there. Is it time for bed?” He helped right her, searching out her gaze.

  She opened one eye again, nodding hard. “Can’t hang with the bikers. You guys drink a lot.” She let a tiny laugh, her words slurring. “Like… so much.”

  Silas steered her toward the clubhouse. They hadn’t talked about what the arrangements would be for that evening, but Silas had imagined her spending the night in his room at the clubhouse. It only made sense. And then going forward… well, in the light of day, they’d have to make their final decision about whether Silas would move in with her or vice versa. Terribly adult, married things to decide.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’re going to go pass out in my room while I keep partying.”

  The music faded slightly as they neared the clubhouse. People milled around everywhere, tiny pockets of brothers and guests raising their drinks to the couple as they made their way toward the house.

  “Oh yeah? What if I want to keep partying?” The slurring was getting worse.

  “Uh, it looks like you’re partied out.” Silas tugged open a heavy iron door at the back of the house, which led to the hallways where most of the brothers had their individual rooms. The clubhouse was part iron fortress, part ski lodge style – a heady blend of protection and soothing aesthetics.

  Jessa grunted, tripping over something as he dragged her along. She yanked her arm out of his grip, then bent down and rummaged under
the hem of her dress. A moment later she produced a sparkly cream heel. Gripping onto his arm, she steadied herself while she searched out the other.

  “That’s better,” she said with a sigh.

  He led her down the bright hall, pushing open the last door on the right. “This is my room.” His wood-paneled sanctuary came into view under the sliver of light from the hallway. He flicked on the lights, showcasing a big King-size bed and a huge oak dresser. Clothes formed small piles at random intervals in the room – discarded jeans, kicked off boots.

  Behind a coat of arms hanging on the wall was a tucked away safe box with his most treasured knives and guns. But beyond the hidden assets, his room was pretty plain.