VEN

by K. Webster

  He reaches into his pocket and hands me a folded check. “Here.”

  Frowning, I take it from him and open it. The check is addressed to me for five hundred thousand dollars. “What’s this?” my stomach dips with shock and more guilt. I don’t deserve him.

  “A gift,” he says with a shrug.

  “Jewelry is a gift,” I say dryly. “This is insane. Why are you giving me money?”

  “It’s startup capital. For your new alcohol and spirits venture. Volkov Spirits is a sinking ship now that it doesn’t have you and we both know it,” he says with a grumble. “Vlad can go down with it. And rather than try to get it back from them, you can start your own. It’s not like you don’t already have two of the biggest nightclub owners in Moscow wrapped around your pinky finger.” He grins. “We can meet with Rodion and Zahkar to discuss distribution. They’ve been wanting a supplier for their rainbow vodka anyhow. This is good, and something you’re more than capable of doing.”

  I’m shocked. Money to start my own business—and a business I’m good at. “I’ll pay you back,” I vow, my voice choked up.

  He hugs me to his chest. “It’s a gift, Diana. Accept it. You can gift me by making it a success. But, seriously, I want nothing in return.”

  Tilting my head up, I give him a watery smile. “Then I accept, Veniamin Vetrov. Thank you.” Sliding my palm between us, I squeeze his cock until it hardens in my grip. “This isn’t payment, it’s a gift.” I offer a sultry smile.

  His groan as I lower to my knees is all the courage I need.

  I can do this, pretend, pretend he’s the father.

  I will do this. Make what I desire in my heart to be truth for us both.

  The future of my heart and the future of my baby depends on it.

  Life is real fucking good right now. Everything I wanted to happen is happening. Diana always felt like something I couldn’t have, just out of reach, but no more. Not now. Now, she’s fucking mine and I’m never going to let her go.

  Sounds of her retching in the bathroom wake me from slumber. The taps turn on, and then her soft footfalls tap dance across the floorboards as she slips back into bed. Concern furrows my brow as I turn and rub a hand over her stomach. “Everything okay?” She appears to stiffen under my touch, and it coils my muscles. Anton still lives within the little girl she once was, and if I could erase every memory of him from her, I would do so in a heartbeat. But I can’t, so I will just have to prove to her she’s safe.

  “Had to go pee,” she murmurs, rubbing her palm over my forearm. “I’m sorry if I woke you.” The lie slips from her lips with ease, and my mind begins to race.

  It’s been nearly every day this week that she’s woken in the early hours to be sick, and I’m not naïve to think a bug would target her at certain times of the day and go on for this long. She’s been trying to keep it from me, but each day, she’s slipped out of the bed and spent time in the bathroom heaving. We should have been more careful and thought this through more, but fuck, if she’s not sick, the idea of my baby growing inside her stomach gives me a rush like I’ve never felt before.

  I don’t push her on it. She’s probably terrified. I want to reassure her that it will all be okay, so I pull her into my arms and breathe her in. “You never have to be afraid in my arms, moya roza. You can tell me anything that troubles you, and I’ll do everything in my power to eradicate your worry.”

  Her sigh is audible as she burrows into my embrace and plants a soft kiss to my chest.

  And then her body relaxes against mine. The silence expands, until her gentle snores let me know she’s fallen asleep.

  “Again,” I bark to Vas.

  Hiss, my new trainee for The V Games, squats with a dumbbell over his shoulders, and when he stands, Vas strikes four quick blows to his tensed ribcage.

  “He’s getting much stronger. His intolerance to pain is impressive.” Ruslan grins up at me, his new wiry beard looking too much like Father’s.

  “Why are you here?” I ask my brother, my back straightening as I study him. If he’s here to spy for dear old dad, I’m going to use the little bastard as a punching bag for Hiss.

  “Father sent me for you,” he tells me. “He has some matters to discuss that are too sensitive to be exchanged over the phone.”

  I frown and look down at him before returning my gaze to Vas, who is adding swift kicks to Hiss’s abdomen.

  “He still could have just called and asked me to come to his office,” I grunt.

  “I wanted to come over and see how Hiss is doing,” Rus says, beaming as he folds his arms over his chest. “I’m thinking of having my own fighter trained up.”

  “Our fighter represents the Vetrov name,” I grit out. “We don’t need individual fighters.”

  He wouldn’t have a clue about training a fighter. I tried giving him lessons over the years, but he just doesn’t have it in him.

  “If he’s our fighter, then why do you have him in here sparring with him?” He spits the last word out, gesturing with a tilt of his chin to Vas and narrowing his eyes.

  As if on cue, Vas glances our way and flashes a devious grin before going back to pummeling Hiss.

  “Because, little brother,” I smirk, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Vas is an exceptional fighter. The best, in fact. And men like him are who Hiss will be pit against in The Games. Vas is here as a favor, so don’t go running your mouth and losing those teeth of yours, yeah?” I move past him and bark to Vas, “Again.”

  I want Hiss able to take a beating and not even feel it by the time The Games come around. Vlad will have Stepan gunning for Hiss just to prove he trains a better fighter. He’s wrong.

  Ruslan’s feet pound behind me as I leave them to train and make my way back to the main house to see Father. Once I’m done, I’ll make an excuse to disrupt Diana’s day—take her to lunch, and then feast on her for the rest of the afternoon.

  “How’s married life, brother?” I ask Rus.

  He sighs and shakes his head, his brows furling together.

  “Things that bad?” I suppress a chuckle at his misfortune.

  “Father thinks I’m incapable of bringing Vika to heel.”

  I lift a brow. “And what do you think?”

  We stop just outside Father’s office door. Ruslan places his hand on the paneled wood and pushes it open. “I think he underestimates his influence over the years,” he tells me on a hushed breath.

  “There you are,” Father greets, rubbing his hands together and taking a seat behind his desk. “Sit.”

  Curious, I do as he asks, crossing my ankle to rest on my knee. He seems almost gleeful, which is unusual for him.

  “I need you to go and pick up some very valuable merchandise.” He grins before slipping a document across the table.

  I pick it up and study the female looking back at me. Blonde hair, dark eyes, undeniably beautiful. “Who is she?”

  “The daughter of Alfred Baskin.” He slams his hand down on the desk like that’s the punchline, and the smug grin he wears turns dark and deadly.

  “Kira?” I breathe. She was sixteen years old last time I laid eyes on her, but she must be in her twenties now. And this was before her father disgraced their family name by giving evidence against the First Families and nearly sending very powerful men to jail, including the head of each First Family. Our father being one of them.

  From what we learned over the years, he went deep into protective custody. Father must see the shock written on my face, my slack jaw and pinched brow on full display.

  “I fucking found them, Veniamin,” he booms proudly, sitting back in his chair.

  “Alfred?” I urge.

  I’d love to get my hands on that traitorous bastard. He could have ruined us all. The payoff cost everyone millions to get it squashed, but he was already submerged into witness protection and no one could find him. Rus leans forward to look at the image in my grasp.

  “She’s hot.” He grins. We both ignore his juve
nile response as Father answers my question.

  “No. Turns out the weasel’s wife abandoned him and went back to her roots.”

  “England?” I laugh in disbelief. Kira used to always talk in an English accent to mimic her mother despite being born in Moscow.

  “I hate English accents. Mrs. Baskin always sounded like Mary fucking Poppins,” Rus scoffs. Once again, his outburst is ignored. How the fuck does he know what Mary Poppins sounds like?

  Father slides another piece of paper across his desk.

  “They were given new names, but she reached out to family, and now I have her and Kira.”

  I sit forward, gripping the piece of paper. “You want to use them to draw out Alfred?” I surmise.

  My father’s eyes widen and his pupils dilate, expanding the color around them. “Oh, I will use them to draw that motherfucker out, and then he will watch them both die before his own life is slowly drained from him. The wife I want brought here, and the daughter I want secured somewhere safe until The V Games,” he gloats, the age lines around his eyes more pronounced with his voracious grin.

  “You want her to enter The Games?” I ask in disbelief.

  Rus sniggers and sits back in his chair.

  Father nods. “Do you understand the worth of such a prize to the men who want vengeance on Alfred? She’s going to have a very high bounty on her head, and she’s ours, Veniamin. No one else knows of their whereabouts yet. We will keep her safe, stowed away until The Games, and watch the price on her rise. Then, your fighter will be the one to end her, and he will make it long and painful for all to see what happens when one wolf strays from the pack. We’ll collect the bounty and the glory.”

  “Holy shit.” Rus grins, rubbing his hands together. Maybe talking about this with him in the room wasn’t such a good choice. Rus hasn’t really been tested with valuable information before so it’s not clear he can keep a secret.

  “Okay.” That’s a perfect fucking plan. There’s a reason our father is powerful and feared. Our business calls for casualties of war, and unfortunately, it’s the innocent bred by the guilty who have to pay the price. I don’t agree with a lot of the old ways, but these methods have been in place since the dawn of time, and there’s a reason they’re still used today. Fear is the best motivator in a world like ours.

  “I know the perfect place,” I tell him, rising to my feet.

  “Take Ruslan with you to collect her. Leave Monica to me, but secure Kira,” he instructs. His voice lowers. “And, Veniamin, this is of most importance.”

  Ruslan jumps to his feet and nods his head in understanding. He doesn’t need to be told what will happen if his lips spill family business.

  “Agreed,” I tell him with a nod before turning to leave.

  “Diana and Vika won’t be permitted to travel with you,” he adds sternly. “I don’t want Kira’s location getting out. It must be kept secret. I don’t want people knowing about her just yet.”

  Irritation at being commanded to do as I’m told, still, at my age, mixed with the insinuation that Diana can’t be trusted has me pausing and my fists clenching. The thought of leaving Diana causes my muscles to tense. “Rus, give us a minute,” I tell my brother, my tone harsh, as I walk over to a side table to pour myself a drink. When the door closes behind Rus, I turn to find my father watching me.

  “What is it?” he asks, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes me. There are times when I bend to his will, it’s what is expected of a son, but I refuse to allow him to keep on treating Diana like she’s someone of no worth. She’s fucking everything to me, and before Vlad disgraced her in public, she was well respected and successful. I’m sick of how fast you can fall from grace when you do something the head of the First Families don’t agree with.

  “Diana,” I say lowly, meeting his hard stare with a fierce one of my own. “I want to marry her.” And I will, no matter what he says.

  He chortles and lights a cigarette. “She’s damaged goods, boy.” A puff of smoke plumes around him.

  I roll my neck and count to three to hold in my distaste for his value of her.

  “Not to me, and it’s happening,” I inform him. “And before you say anything else, you should know I won’t tolerate anyone tearing her down for something out of her control. She was groomed by someone entrusted to keep her safe. Her father is at fault for not knowing what was going on under his roof.”

  He stubs out his cigarette, and silence descends. He’s weighing me up. It’s not very often I make a stand with him, but this isn’t about his business. It’s about my future, about my Diana, and when it comes to her, there is no option where I don’t get her. It’s happening. I gave up all my own fucking dreams to run this business with him. I’d always planned on going out on my own and letting Niko be heir, but life has a way of fucking with your plans. When I realize he’s still just narrowing his eyes at me, I add a little fuel to the fire.

  “She’s also carrying my child,” I add with a smirk.

  His entire body tenses, and his face becomes red with fury. “She’s only been here two months.”

  Like that matters. He knows how biology works, and it’s just a hunch on my part. I don’t know for sure, but I’m hopeful.

  “Is that relevant? This was always going to happen. She should have always been mine.” I narrow my eyes and run a hand down my beard.

  He turns in his chair, facing away from me for a few silent beats, and then he’s on his feet.

  “Fine,” he agrees quickly. “When you return, we celebrate. The wedding should be handled quickly, and then the pregnancy announcement swiftly after.” He brings over his box of cigars and places it in my hand before pulling one free and slowly taking his cutter from his pocket. He makes a show of snipping the end.

  “This is a good thing, Father,” I assure him, letting out a breath of relief. “A new generation.”

  He smiles, and I think it’s genuine. “I’m a happy father. I hope she carries a son.” He settles his hand to my shoulder and squeezes. This is the most affection I’ve received from him in many years, and I’m surprised how easily he conceded. Perhaps he planned for this and could see it playing out before it came to pass.

  “A son or daughter will be a gift,” I assure him.

  I leave his office lighter. I expected a fight from him regarding Diana, but it would appear he’s affording me some leniencies these days. In truth, it wouldn’t matter what he thinks of my decision. She has and will always be my choice, with or without his blessing. She will become a Vetrov.

  Approaching her office, trepidation at the thought of having to leave her here washes over me. Knowing her potentially pregnant condition and my plans for her, Father won’t touch her, but still, she feels vulnerable alone here. Maybe I will make Vas stay until my return.

  She’s sitting at her desk working, her eyes glued to her monitor in the office I allotted her. It’s temporary, though. I’ll have something built for her eventually—something with a view of a beautiful rose garden—so she has the view and the sun to light and to warm her skin. As if sensing my presence, her eyes lift and clash with mine. Her lips tilt at the corners, and she relaxes back in her chair, resting her hands on her lap. Her silk blouse pulls a little tighter than usual against her tits, outlining them to my greedy eyes.

  “Ven,” she sighs.

  I stride toward her, my gaze never straying from hers. “I was just coming to see if you were free for lunch,” I tell her, raking my eyes over her form, appreciating each small detail of her. Her cheeks are flushed, the red traveling down her elegant neck that wears a faint mark from my teeth. My eyes trace down the channel of her tits that jiggle when she chuckles, making my cock strain and fight for release. Her nipples pebble, and the blouse does nothing to hide this from my view. Her tongue swipes out to moisten her bottom lip. “Actually, I’ve already eaten.” She pushes her chair away from her desk with her still in it and brazenly drags the hem of her skirt up her thighs. “But if you’re hungry…
” she teases as it reaches her hips, showcasing her white cotton panties. She’s always worn lace or silk, so this cotton schoolgirl look is either a cock tease or she needs to do laundry.

  “A lion is always hungry,” I growl, baiting her.

  She stands, pushing her panties down her legs and kicking them up at me with one foot. I grab them and bring them to my face to inhale her scent. There’s a small patch of wetness right in the center, and my dick strains against my zipper painfully. She tugs her skirt up a little farther, then sits back down in her chair. She lifts one leg and places the heel of her stiletto on the corner of her desk.

  “Then eat,” she instructs. There’s a gulp audible from her throat. She wants to be the boss and in control, but she doubts herself with me still. It’s minor, but there. I’ll have to work that out of her. I drop to my knees, heeding to her command, letting her have her little win for now. In about one minute, she’ll be writhing all over my face, begging me not to stop.

  She knows who the real boss is.

  Her pulse in her throat is throbbing as I slowly track my gaze down her body, until I’m transfixed on the parting of her pussy lips and the pink wet treats hidden inside. Gripping her thighs, I dig the pads of my fingers into her flesh until she whimpers. A growl leaves my lips as I swipe up her center, tasting her. She’s been eating fruit by the platter lately, and she tastes just as sweet as the strawberries she devours.

  “Don’t just look at it, Veniamin.” She moans on a desperate breath. I smile and try to refrain from a chuckle.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask with a quirked brow.

  Her eyes narrow, and her cheeks redden. “If you’re going to be a pain about it, I’ll just satisfy myself,” she retorts testily. Her hand slides down her pelvis and over the smooth mound to find her clit hidden just inside her lips. Her back arches when the pads of her fingers begin firm circle motions. I watch her slick hole contract and juices leak slowly from inside her.

  Fuck, she’s hot.

  She’s every office secretary, schoolgirl, and librarian fantasy wrapped into a tight-as-fuck package, and she’s mine to keep.