by K. Webster
“Headache.”
When I knocked on her door to see if she wanted to come with me, she feigned a headache. I could hear her crying on the other side. Even a fierce woman like Diana has her weak moments. And because she is fierce, she refuses to let people see her that way. Even me.
“Angel bites should be called devil bites,” he says with a chuckle.
I follow my crazy ass cousin into the room. Zahkar, wearing something similar, stands beside a man, a Taser in his grip. Their eyes meet, and they communicate without speaking. This has been their thing ever since Rodion’s mother, my aunt, took Zahkar in off the street when he was just ten years old. The boys became best friends. And what my aunt and uncle never knew, much more than friends. These two are like twins. Two halves of a whole. They like a third wheel to their relationships, but if they don’t have one, they just fuck each other.
“Is he mine?” I ask, admiring the fighter who bears red marks all over his chest.
Zahkar presses the Taser against the man’s side. The man flinches and shakes, but he doesn’t go down. My cousin pulls the electric current away and gives the fighter a reprieve.
“Impressive,” I agree. “Can he fight, though?”
Rodion snorts. “He killed the last three men we threw in the ring with him. A punch to the throat every time. Fucking crushed their windpipes. He’s a zver.” A beast.
I throw down the bag full of money at Rodion’s feet. “When can I take him?”
“A few weeks. He’s nearly as good as Vas,” Rodion says. “Vas is quicker. But this big guy, if he catches you, he won’t let you get away.”
I frown at the fact that he’s not as skilled as Vas. Vlad trained Vas, which means, by proxy, I trained Vas. I let out a sigh. I’ll have to train him more when we get back home so he can be better than Vas.
“He have a name?” I ask.
Zahkar’s black eyes bore into mine. “Nope.”
Rodion shrugs as he walks over to Zahkar and takes the Taser from his grip, his fingers lingering on his “brother’s.” A moment later, he zaps the man again. The man makes a hissing sound, but again, doesn’t go down. “We call him Hiss.” He hands the Taser back to Zahkar.
“Okay, send Hiss when he’s ready. After my brother’s wedding. Does he like cock or pussy?” I question, my eyes darting between my cousins.
Rodion flashes me a devious grin as he slides his palm into Hiss’s shorts. “Hmmm, I’d say he likes pussy,” he says, stroking beneath the fabric. Hiss growls his disapproval at having Rodion’s hand on his cock. “But then again, his mouth says one thing and his cock says another.”
Zahkar zaps Rodion’s arm, and he jerks his hand away. The signs of a hard-on are evident in Hiss’s shorts, much to his own disgust.
“I found him balls deep in a skanky ass whore in the club toilets upstairs,” Zahkar says. “He likes pussy.” Rodion glowers at him, rubbing at the sore spot on his arm.
“I’ll have mules for him. All women. I hope that will satisfy and become a good incentive for him to perform well. What do you say, Hiss?” I ask, my eyes darting over to the giant man.
“I would be honored to have such a reward, sir,” Hiss replies.
At least he’s mentally trained. Rodion and Zahkar train the best fighters because they get inside their minds and fuck with them. They like pulling the strings together. Madmen of Moscow is what they’re known as to everyone in the underground world. As a result, my father drops a pretty penny on their custom crafted fighters for The V Games.
“I’ll see you guys at Rus’s wedding.” I nod to them both. “Tell your big brother he better show up.” Timofei is a mean bastard, but we love him all the same.
Rodion slings his arm over Zahkar’s shoulder and grins at me. “You could stay, cousin. We have a sweet little thing back at our place. I know how you love playing games with us.”
The last time I was up here, we fucked the hottest little British woman. Smooth, almost black skin. Dark brown curly hair. Long lashes and succulent lips. She liked to have all her holes filled. Watching your cousins double penetrate a bitch while you fuck her mouth is pretty goddamn erotic. A week ago, this would have been a no brainer. My cock is already pissed at me for not jumping at the opportunity.
“I’ll have to pass.”
Rodion leans his mouth to Zahkar’s ear and whispers loud enough for me to hear. “He’s got it bad for the Volkov woman.” Then he tugs at his brother’s earlobe with his teeth before pulling away to regard me. “If she wants to play with us, bring her back to Moscow. We’ll fucking play, cousin.” Dark deviousness dances in his eyes.
“Perhaps.” My lie is just that. A lie.
Both my cousins chuckle, and I wave at them on my way out.
Perhaps not.
This place has been a flurry of activity, and I’ve found solace within the walls of the library for the last week. The wedding planning makes me nauseous, but I know I’ll need to pull it together today for Vika and Ruslan’s nuptials. I’m still a little surprised she’s willing to go through with it after what he did in Moscow, but she deals with things differently than I would.
“Miss Diana, your dress has arrived,” a maid informs me, pulling my concentration from the third book I’ve tried to read today. I place it on the table and rise to my feet. Quietly, I follow her to my room, where she gestures to the hanging dress encased within a see-through cover.
Ven needs to stop spoiling me.
A smile graces my lips as I imagine him in a fancy dress shop selecting material and telling them my size. It’s sweet and thoughtful.
I’m grateful for his generosity, though. It lifts the burden of me not having to return home to get my own clothes. The last place I want to be is back home.
Opening the protective cover, I run my hand over the crimson material and sigh loudly. It’s stunning. Extravagant. Perfect.
He never disappoints.
I startle when Ven’s deep voice speaks from the doorway. “Red is your color, moya roza.”
Placing a hand to my chest, I chuckle. “You scared me.”
I turn to drink in his appearance as he steps inside my room. His three-piece black suit molds to his muscled frame. The vest he wears is charcoal-gray with slivers of red woven in. A lazy smirk is on his handsome face, and his beard has been trimmed down some, giving him a refined look. He tilts his head, an eyebrow lifted, as he catches me boldly checking him out. A smile tugs at his lips as he waves the maid out of the room. “I think I’d be sporting a bullet hole if that were true.”
I bite my lip and drop my eyes, holding in the giggle that wants to bubble from my lips. That is true. When I lift my eyes, his intense stare bores into me.
“I thought you may need help with the zipper,” he tells me, his voice husky. Fire ignites in his green eyes—a fire I’m getting used to seeing from him lately—burning me right to the core.
I didn’t think I’d want anyone for a long time after what happened with Vlad. After the murder of Anton and having to come to terms with what kind of person he truly was, my plan was to try to focus solely on rebuilding my life.
But I can’t keep denying how I think of Veniamin every minute.
Every look.
Every accidental brush of his body against mine. The silent words unspoken. The expanding heat whenever we’re in a room together. It’s like a magnetic pull desperate for us to complete. To scorch this hot with desire and not act upon it is a cruel self-punishment no one deserves.
Why do I always deny myself?
He was my first crush. The one I’d secretly longed for when I was a young teen. This was before Anton stomped into my life and made me a woman. Now that Anton is gone and my mind has cleared, it’s as though I’m right back in my old house. Sixteen years old. Staring at Ven’s manly face and glimmering green eyes, wishing he’d kiss me—that he’d take me to his bed and show me how much he likes me too.
I move past him to close the door, and he tracks my every move with his e
yes. No words are spoken, just the muted conversation of our minds and bodies. His attention is solely on me, and I love the warm feeling his stare brings down upon my flesh. Not just warm, but fiery hot. An incinerating stare that obliterates me.
Emboldened by his unmasked look of need, I lift the shirt from my torso. Slowly. In an achingly torturous way for us both. The material tickles my flesh, and my breath hitches. I carefully pull it over my head so I don’t ruin the up-do I created earlier this morning. Tossing the material to the floor, I lift my chin and allow him to see all of me.
My breasts are bared to him.
And so is my soul.
Look at me, Ven.
Want me.
Touch and taste me.
Claim and maim me.
Make me yours.
The thudding of my heart hums in my ears as I slip out of my pants. His intake of breath is audible. I’m not wearing underwear. Since the dress is supposed to fit like a glove, they’re not even an option.
His hands go to his hips, the buttons on his vest slightly pulling. With his tattooed fingers against his black slacks, the colorful ink seems more prominent. The roses between his knuckles seem redder and more real. His erection is thick and bulging behind the material of his pants. Heavy and aching for me, that much I can see.
My skin heats under his gaze as I take the dress down from the hanger, my bare ass now on display for him. I lower the dress to the floor and bend to step into it, giving him a show.
Tease. Vixen. Seductress.
I smile at my thoughts.
Gliding the soft silk up my body, I realize it is like a second skin. The embrace of the fabric over my flesh causes me to softly groan in appreciation. I seek out his expression as I look over my shoulder. He’s taken several steps closer. His proximity makes my knees weaken with need.
“Diana,” he murmurs, his voice husky and reverent. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he observes every inch of me covered in crimson silk.
I turn back around to fully face him. As if my action beckons for him, he comes at me, two quick strides, his body encompassing mine by the time I take my next breath. He leans into my neck, breathing me in, but not fully touching me anywhere.
Touch me…please.
“I love your hair up like this.” He finally strokes a finger down the length of my naked throat. “You have such an elegant neckline, moya roza.”
My eyes close at their own command, and the air around us is like a thickening lust haze. I’m lost.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to kiss me, touch me, throw me down and ravish me like a wild animal, but he doesn’t. He moves around me too slowly, lingering his lips so close. His warm breath tickles and excites my nerve endings. In measured, torturous movements, he tugs the zipper of the dress up my spine, one of his fingers caressing the skin of my back as he does.
“There,” he breathes against my ear once he’s done.
I’m so lightheaded, if he wasn’t standing behind me, anchoring me, I fear I’d fall to the floor in a puddle.
I’m dragged from my fantasies of him doing dirty things to me when the heat of his body flees and a cold whoosh washes over me. Without another word, he strides to the door and exits the room.
I let out an audible groan.
Now I’m all hot and bothered with a wedding to attend.
I’m going to need a drink.
The Vetrov home is brimming with people. The main room has completely transformed into a stunning venue. Flowers in grand vases adorn every surface. Chairs coated with expensive fabrics sit in rows, creating an aisle for Vika to walk down. Soft melodies play throughout the entire property, and servers mill about with platters of food and wines.
I nod in greeting as familiar faces smile over at me, and I sense him before I notice his impressive physique. Ven. He’s standing in a group of around six other men, but I’m purely focused on his animated movements and the raise of his chest as a chuckle rumbles from it. Rapturous laughter sounds, and I unwillingly pull my attention from Ven to scan the men he’s with. The cousins from Moscow look even more dazzling in the light of day and wearing suits.
A taller, if possible, gentlemen is standing with them, and he has the same eyes as Rodion, so I assume he is the older brother, Timofei.
Timofei laughs along with the others, but it’s more measured and contained. He observes the crowd while he listens and interacts. Interesting.
“They are trouble when all together in one room,” a deep voice croons next to me. I turn my gaze to see an older man beside me. He’s well dressed in a suit to rival Ven’s. His hair is peppered with white streaks and age lines display his life experience over his features. He’s rugged and handsome. Tattoos cover his hands, and he wears silver rings, even on his thumbs. Tipping an amber liquid from a tumbler into his mouth, he watches the group, then turns his dark eyes on me.
“My boys adore their cousin, Veniamin. He’s a good influence on them. You must be Diana.”
How would he know that?
“Yes,” I say, turning to face him and offering my hand. “I’m sorry, you have me at a disadvantage.”
He looks down at my outstretched hand and smirks. It’s not cruel, more intrigued. His frame is almost giant compared to mine. He leans in as though he wants to inhale me, and I stand my ground, unflinching. Unaffected. I will not wilt under the shadow of any man again.
“I’m not one for handshaking,” he tells me before pressing his lips to my cheek and lingering there for a second longer than appropriate. “I’m Andru Vetrov, Yegor’s brother, and uncle to the groom.”
Just knowing he’s Yegor’s brother causes a skittering of hairs to raise on my neck. The older generation of Vetrovs are known for being ruthless, wicked, and cunning.
“It’s a pleasure,” I lie. “I have to go check on the bride. Please excuse me.” Another lie. I haven’t seen Vika all day. She could be a runaway bride for all I know, but the need to separate myself from the brother of a man I detest becomes paramount. I will not let myself be in any circumstances where I’m at the mercy of men like him.
“Of course,” he says, amusement in his voice.
As I walk down the corridor toward the kitchen, Vlad comes into view, and my stomach almost comes flying out of my mouth. My hands tremble and legs weaken. I haven’t seen him since he murdered Anton, threw me away like trash, and informed me of his affair with my baby sister.
Thud.
I’m not that same girl from a month ago. However, he still causes me to wither within myself. The bruise to my ego is still colorful on my soul, the ache of knowing he plans to marry Irina any day now, and has forbidden me from attending cuts me so deep I fear he will see me bleeding. When he turns his body in my direction, I panic, and with haste, disappear into the closest room. The handle gives under my hand, and I slip inside with a relieved sigh. An unused office. I rest my head against the door and take a couple deep breaths. I won’t be able to hide in here forever, or from him, but just the shock of seeing him took me by surprise. Him seeing the pain still evident in my eyes is not something I want. Schooling my emotions when involving Irina has always been difficult for me, but not impossible. He will not get a show today.
Some scratching sounds followed by a deep groan hums from within the room, and I turn abruptly to ensure I am in fact alone. My heart races as I follow the sound, venturing deeper into the space and stopping when I come to an adjoining door. The grunting sounds again. What the hell?
Tightness grips my throat as I reach for the handle, worried what I may find inside.
If it’s a tied up sex slave I’m going to—
I pull open the door, readying myself for whatever is inside, and am stunned silent when I see a bare ass thrusting into a pile of cream tulle.
My mouth drops open and I blink a couple times.
Vika looks over the shoulder of whomever it is plowing her, her eyes wide with shock. He hasn’t even noticed they have company and still pounds away at her in her f
reaking wedding dress.
Please be Ruslan.
That thought is like a mantra in my thoughts, but as she slaps at his shoulder and he stops to figure out what her problem is, I realize my hopes are dashed. He turns to look over his shoulder to where she’s staring, and my eyes widen when they lock with a familiar blue pair.
Vas.
I turn around and place a hand on my hip, bowing my head in disbelief. Yegor will kill them both for such disrespect.
“I could have been anyone. Are you fucking crazy, Vas?” I snap, the enormity of the risk they’re taking weighing down on my chest. Vlad and all the memories of how I was treated for my indiscretion are forefront in my mind, especially after just seeing him.
“Yes, I was fucking her crazy,” he jests.
I hear his zipper go up and the ruffling of her dress being put back into place. He strides over to me and places a kiss to my cheek.
“This isn’t a joke.” I glare up at him.
He pats down his ruffled hair with the palm of his hand, a wicked grin on his face, and winks at me. “Lighten up, sis. We didn’t get caught.”
Yes, you did!
Irritated, I step out of the room with Vas on my heels.
Vika makes her appearance from the closet eventually, her flushed cheeks giving away her secret. She looks so beautiful, but also so young—too young to be a bride to a man she doesn’t love or even like.
“Don’t act all prim for us, Diana. We all know you like to fuck around.” She smirks at me, and I want to wipe that look straight from her face with a shake of her shoulders and a palm to her cheek.
Instead, I offer her a warning. “Anton was cut from sternum to gullet for that ‘fuck.’ They’re still mopping pieces of him from the cracks in the floor. Is that what you want for Vas, Vika? Because I’ll be damned if I let him die for a quick dip inside you.”
“Now, now ladies,” Vas placates, his hands raised in surrender. “No one is killing me, and no one is going to find out we had a little fun in the closet.” He winks again, and as much as I want to stay mad at him, he’s doesn’t make it easy. He has a charm about him reminiscent of Ven’s.
