by K. Webster
He darts his gaze between Diana and me, his mouth agape. “Who the fuc—”
I hold my hand up to stop his words. “Careful,” I warn.
“I’m Diana Volkov.” She steps forward, her shoulders back, spine straight, and not a hint of fear in her eyes. “I’m a businesswoman, a good one, and I also don’t take kindly to being dismissed because I don’t have a cock between my legs. When I talk, I suggest you listen, because even without a cock, mine is still bigger than yours. Now, I think a negotiation on price is in order, don’t you?”
Now my dick is hard.
The restaurant within the hotel is busy, but I’m so consumed by watching Diana sip her red wine, it’s like we’re the only two people in the world, not just the room. The liquid wets her bottom lip, and I want to reach across the table, pull her over it by her neck, suck that fat lip into my mouth, and bite down, causing a crimson rush of blood to display there. I’d lay her flat on her back, tear my way through her clothing, and feast on her fucking cunt until this craving I harbor is sated. Damn this fucking woman.
Ruslan went back to the penthouse to check in on Vika. Poor bastard.
“Why are you just staring at me?” Diana asks, placing her glass down. “Did I overstep?” She worries her lip with her teeth, and I know I should tell her yes, because my father won’t be pleased she spoke on our behalf, even if she did get us a ridiculously low price on the women. She said everything to that man that I was thinking and would have said, but it was refreshing to watch her have her power back. She’s been like a trodden-on flower since things didn’t pan out with Vlad.
I know her head isn’t screwed on right—not fully. She’s still broken, but she’s gathering the pieces of herself and rebuilding. I want to help her with that. Be there to witness it.
But I’m worried about showing her my emotions—being open for her to read because I know deep down she’s not ready yet, and the refusal of my advance would be devastating to us both.
To our friendship.
To our future.
To my rage.
I have to wait. Rein it in until I know she can handle it. This connection we share has deep roots. I can wait. She’s worth waiting for.
“You were magnificent,” I tell her, enjoying the smile that tilts those plump lips of hers.
“Oh good,” she says in relief. “I know I should have just let you do your thing, but it angers me to see the women mistreated and used before they even reach the buyer.”
My thoughts exactly.
I don’t give a fuck what men do with women they’ve purchased, but the ones I’m paying out for should at least be fuckable. Sellable. Useable. The women will do for now, but I want a more desirable selection next time. The damsel in distress or a virgin is so rare these days, men want to purchase them and will pay ridiculous prices. I think it’s time to expand our business and find new suppliers.
“Do you want dessert?” I offer.
She shakes her head. “I had a little too much wine, I think. I’m a little woozy,” she admits, her cheeks flushing a cerise red that matches her lipstick.
“Then let’s get you upstairs so you can lie down.” Standing, I pull her chair out for her and offer my arm, which she looks grateful for. A blonde at the bar with a tight ass and fat tits eyes me as I pass by, but I ignore her. If this were any other chick I was helping, I’d drop her off and come back for the blonde. But this isn’t just any chick. This is Diana. Anything other than her feels like second best. And fuck if I don’t want the best.
She’s changing me, and the crazy part is, I don’t mind.
“Thank you,” she says, resting her head against my bicep. “I only had two glasses. How embarrassing.” She giggles, and it gains the eyes of many admirers. Diana’s beauty is a timeless one all generations can appreciate. Like classic movie star picturesque. She should be plastered on billboards all over the world. But she isn’t. She’s nestled against my arm, and I’m one lucky sonofabitch.
The elevator opens into our penthouse suite and both Diana and I step out. The scene before us stops us both in our tracks.
What the fuck?
“It w-was an accident,” Ruslan sputters out. He’s on top of an unconscious Vika. Her blouse is open, her tits on display, and her skirt is around her waist. There’s a tie around her neck, and Ruslan’s trousers are around his ankles. Clearly he’s been rutting against her like a fucking pig in a barn.
“Is she dead?” I ask. The last thing I need is to dispose of a body here and inform the Vasilievs that Vika didn’t make it down the aisle for a second time.
“No.” Ruslan pales as he pulls away and yanks his pants up.
Diana rushes over and checks her pulse. “It’s steady.” She frowns, looking over at me.
Ruslan huffs and throws his hands in the air in frustration. “She just kept going on and on about me not being a man. I didn’t mean for her to pass out.” He stands up and leaves his wife-to-be splayed out like she’s a whore he paid for.
“Did she consent to you fucking her?” Diana spits out.
“She’s my fucking fiancée,” he barks. “It’s none of your business anyway, Volkov.”
“Ruslan,” I growl. “Go find a whore to fuck and leave us to sort out Vika.”
“She’s going to be my wife,” he says again, as if to convince himself and not us.
After the way my father behaved, it’s no wonder Ruslan is tipping over the edge. Raping women has never been a turn on for me. I prefer them quivering or gasping with need. Either way, it unsettles me to see my brother following in our father’s footsteps so quickly.
Ruslan doesn’t leave. Instead, he disappears to his room, not even attempting to apologize or fix his fuck up.
Diana has already removed the tie from around Vika’s neck and covered her tits. “She’s a horrid little brat, but she’s Irina’s age. She’s someone’s daughter. A sister.” She shakes her head. “I’d want someone to look out for Irina if the situations were reversed. Can I shoot him?” she asks, and her face is so serious, I’m not sure she’s joking.
“No,” I tell her with a smirk. “But I’ll give him a beating if it would make you feel better.”
She sighs and reaches for the fur blanket laid over the arm of the couch. She then places a pillow beneath Vika’s head and sits down next to her, stroking a hand over her head. “I’ll wait with her until she wakes up. You go get some rest. It’s probably best you’re not here when she comes to.”
“I will run a bath for when she’s awake. I’ll be just down the hall if you need me,” I tell her, stroking a hand down her cheek before I even realize I’ve done it.
Her mouth curves up into a soft smile, her eyes closing and head tilting, pushing her cheek into my palm. “Thank you, Ven.”
“For what?” I ask, my tone rough.
“For being you.” She doesn’t open her eyes, but I see the dip in her brow.
She’s feeling this. Feeling what I’ve always known to be there.
Soon, moya roza.
Soon I will nourish you and you will bloom.
I’m quaking with rage. For Vika, of all people. What kind of sick bastard knocks out his fiancée just to have sex with her? Ruslan is just like his father. Cut from the same cloth.
Vika blinks open her eyes and stares up at me in confusion. “Am I in hell?”
Even half out of it, she can still be a bitch. I laugh softly. “Well, you’re still supposed to marry Rus, so yes.”
At the mention of his name, her nostrils flare and tears well in her pretty amber orbs. She tries to sit up, but winces.
“Ven started you a bath. Come on,” I tell her. “Let me help you.”
Normally, Vika doesn’t accept help, but today, she clings to me as we rise to our feet. She’s shaking and weak. It makes me want to put a bullet in Ruslan’s head. Ven thought I was joking. I was not.
I guide her to the bathroom where the water is still running. Ven is nowhere to be found, which is good. He
’s distracting me when I need to think. There is so much to accomplish and do. I can’t do that with him making my heart clench and patter in my chest.
I need hardness.
If we’re to be any sort of partners, I need him to be hard too.
Not in the literal sense either.
The bathroom is fragrant with lavender bath salts, and I’m thankful he thought to add them. I close the door behind us and help her peel away her dress. She wears some bruises on her petite body. Compared to little Vika, I’m an Amazon woman. She probably wears about three sizes smaller than my size eight. Her breasts are big, and I try not to stare, wondering if they were purchased or natural. She catches my eyes and shrugs.
“Sixteenth birthday present from my father,” she says simply.
I try not to cringe at how creepy that is. What kind of father buys his teenage daughter boobs for her birthday? A Vasiliev, that’s who.
I simply nod at her and help her into the bath. Ruslan’s cum is dried down her leg. It disgusts me. He is such a pig. With time, he’ll only grow worse. Men like him should be neutered.
She sits in the hot suds and lets out a groan. I grab a bar of soap and begin washing her. For a moment, with her eyes flickering with despair and sadness, looking so small in the giant tub, she reminds me of a child. Of the little girl, who at ten years old, would carry her fancy dolls around and brush their hair. She’s the same age as Irina. The thought has me wanting to help her despite her usual bitchiness. I can’t have my sister, so maybe I’ll take Vlad’s like he took mine.
“I’m sorry,” I offer softly.
All sadness melts away as she turns her head and glowers at me. Venom practically drips from her.
“They will pay,” she hisses. “Yegor, that fat rapist bastard, and his awful son.” She narrows her eyes at me and her nostrils flare. “Just like Niko and Viktor. You do not cross Vika Vasiliev and live to tell it.”
Niko and Viktor?
Did she have something to do with their deaths?
I stare at her in shock, but try not to give that away. “The men in our world are terrible beasts.”
She blinks at me, angry tears rolling down her cheeks. “That is why they will all die.”
“Vika,” I start, wanting to apologize for being so hard on her. If anything, I need a friend at the Vetrov home. From the looks of it, she does too.
“Go back to being Russia’s beloved, Diana,” she spits out, her anger rippling from her. “You always get what you want in the end.”
Her jealousy over my and Ven’s close relationship is still a living, breathing animal inside her.
I drop the soap in the water with a plop and stand. “You must be so thrilled,” I say in a curt tone. “Because there is nothing about this world…” I wave around me and glare back at her, “that I want. Nothing, Vika.”
With those words, I turn on my heel and leave her to her own devices.
There is one thing I want, but I don’t allow myself to consider it.
Until then, I’ll keep playing this stupid game until I win.
And then, I’ll make my own world.
A world where I choose who’s in it.
“More business?” I ask from the passenger seat of the black rental SUV.
Ven shrugs and shoots me a crooked grin. “Something like that. Relax, Diana.”
His words only make me stiffen more. I can’t relax. Too much is bubbling up inside me. I have things to do. People to kill. Fortunes to take.
Ruslan babbles from the backseat, and Vika is oddly quiet. After her bath last night, she acted as though her rape never happened. As much as I hate her, she’s rather resilient. Rus better watch his back. He may be bigger and stronger, but Vika will outwit that weasel any day.
We pull up to a building painted completely black. Emblazoned in white along the front it says: Klub Chernyy. One door is letting people inside, but slowly. There has to be at least a hundred people in line, and it wraps around the side of the building. Ven pulls up in front as if we’re going to waltz right in.
“We’re going clubbing?” I ask, slightly horrified.
Ven chuckles. “Take the stick out of your ass, Diana. Let’s go have some fun.”
I huff as I slide out of the SUV. Rus attempts to place his arm around Vika, but she practically hisses at him and shrugs him off. He grins at her mockingly. After last night, I’d assume he’d feel remorseful for what he’d done. Nope. He just brought her jewelry and pretended it never happened. She did the same, a glistening necklace catching the light at every turn on her neck. But whereas he’s hoping it will just go away, she’s probably plotting his terrible death at this very moment.
Ven comes to my side, then strides right up the steps past the people. He slaps the big bodyguard at the door on the shoulder, and the guy nods him inside. I flash Vika a shocked look, and she frowns at me as if she doesn’t understand this either. Ruslan’s green eyes gleam with the look of someone who’s probably never been inside a nightclub before.
Well, that makes two of us.
When you’re the eldest of a rich and powerful family, you don’t get the luxury to be young. You’re expected to behave like an adult the moment you start using adult words. For me, I’ve been an adult ever since I was twelve. My father, Leonid Volkov, would lose his damn mind if either myself or Irina ever stepped foot inside a club, despite the fact that we were in the liquor trade. Visits to clients’ establishments were below our roles within the business.
As we walk into the very dark, very loud, and very crowded club, a smirk plays at my lips. Leonid—because I refuse to call him Father right now—can screw off. I honestly hope this gets back to him.
The walls move with the beat of the music, like they have their own pulse. The atmosphere is colorful and exciting. My heartbeat races a little at the sight of sparsely dressed people writhing against each other on the dance floor.
Ven looks back at me to make sure I’m following him. I push past some people dancing, nearly getting drenched with beer and sweat, and my ass is groped at least three times before we make it inside a roped-off VIP section with its own bartender. It’s hidden from the other clubbers by sheer black ceiling-to-floor fabric. There are several ottoman type pieces of furniture as big around as Ven’s rented SUV. Scantily clad women and men wearing flirtatious grins are all draped on the furniture as though they are accessories. In the middle ottoman, two men sit. Even sitting, you can tell they’re both tall, maybe taller than Ven, muscular, and scary.
As if I’ve summoned the devil himself, the mocha-skinned man with a shaved head looks up at me. His eyes are the color of obsidian. He has tattoos on his neck, and a long scar that starts on his forehead, down through his black eyebrow, along his eyelid, through his cheek, and ends at his jawline. His lips are full, and a lip ring is hooked on his bottom lip. He has the longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a man. It’s like staring at a dark shadow come to life.
And then he smiles.
Beautifully.
Brightest, most perfect teeth ever.
Heat trickles through me as he stares at me like I’m the dessert he just ordered. Vika hisses into my ear, “He’s fucking hot.” And she’s right. He is.
The man beside him tilts his head up. He’s hot too. Pale green eyes and a strong nose. His jaw is sharp. Unlike the guy beside him, this man has tousled dark brown hair that hangs over his brow, and creamy, milk-colored skin. They are like night and day, and by the way their bodies appear to mimic the other’s, it’s clear, just like night and day, they can’t exist without the other. He scratches at his jaw as he stares at me with the same intensity as his neighbor. He, too, has neck tattoos. His fitted white, long-sleeved shirt leaves nothing to the imagination—he’s lean and incredibly fit.
“Kuzeny!” Ven bellows over the music.
Cousins?
Both men rise, and I realize they are, in fact, taller than Ven. The intense pair flash Ven lazy smiles, then drag their gazes back our way. Ruslan
joins the fray, and they all hug. Both men take turns messing up Rus’s hair as though he’s a child. Vika stands close to me. We’re the outsiders here.
Ven motions to Vika and I. “Rodion, Zahkar, this is my dear friend, Diana Volkov, and Rus’s fiancée, Vika Vasiliev. Ladies, these are my cousins, Rodion and Zahkar Vetrov.”
I learn Rodion is the one with hair, and Zahkar is the darker skinned man with the scar. Rodion saunters over to us with Zahkar practically attached to his hip. These are Ven’s cousins, yet they look nothing alike.
“Vas’s sister?” Rodion asks, his brow lifted in question.
I’m still getting used to that title, and wonder how they could possibly know Vas. “I am.”
“That fucker didn’t tell me you were coming,” he says, grinning. “Where is he anyway?” He looks past us into the crowd.
Zahkar laughs. “In the cage. When is he not in the cage?”
He’s here? In Moscow?
Rodion nods, then turns his attention to Vika. “A Vasiliev, huh? How is Vlad these days?” His gaze darkens to something I’d equate to lustful. Just the name Vlad invokes a pit to open in my stomach. “We’ve missed seeing him fight.”
Vika lifts her chin. “My brother is fine.”
“You ladies want anything to drink?” Ven asks.
She and I both nod. Ven nods for Ruslan to go with him, leaving us with their intense cousins.
“When you party with the Madmen of Moscow, you get treated like queens. What’s your drug of choice?” Rodion asks as he waves down a woman carrying a tray with a lid.
Zahkar lifts the lid, revealing an array of drugs. I don’t even know what most of it is. Rodion fishes out some white pills, then sends her on her way with a flick of his wrist.
“These are what we call angel bites,” he explains as he holds out his palm. Seven white pills sit in a row. Zahkar takes one and sticks it on his tongue, his eyes flashing devilishly. Then, with his stare on me, he picks another one up and places it on Rodion’s tongue. Rodion arches a brow at me. “Ready for a bite, angel?”
“I…uh,” I start, but someone wraps two strong, sweaty arms around me, pinning me. I startle and kick my assailant with my heel. He releases me, and I sling an elbow, connecting with his face. I’m about to pull my gun out and shoot him when I find myself staring into my brother Vas’s icy blue eyes. “You asshole!” I admonish, my tone but a whisper.
