by V. F. Mason
Despite not knowing much about her, rage filled me, and I squeezed my fists hard, only to groan when agonizing pain shot through me from the action. Only then, my mind registered bandages on my hands and chest, and most probably head.
"Don't move," she said in hushed voice, which irritated me. But then again any voice that didn't belong to my woman caused this reaction in me.
Sapphire.
Where was she? And why was I in bed with some strange woman tending my wounds?
"My woman," I said, or at least I thought I said it. However, no sound came out, but I knew my lips moved. "My woman," I repeated, but zero reaction came from her and no sound registered in my ears. I understood the second attempt was as unsuccessful as the first.
What the fuck was going on?
I arched my chest up, wanting to fucking sit up and to understand what was going on, only to be pushed back by surprisingly strong hands.
"Lie down. You are weak. You got tangled in the fish net." Then she pressed some kind of weird-smelling cloth on my nose, and in a few seconds, I was out. Only one thought was on my mind.
Where is my woman?
Sapphire
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, holding the sheet tightly to my front and fighting the sobs that threatened to erupt from my chest.
My body was sore in those unused places, and my legs shook a little, but I couldn't sit down. Sitting would make me remember his tight grip or see the marks on my wrists from his restraints, and I didn't want to.
My emotions were all over the place, and I couldn't understand it. Shouldn't I be happy he was alive and here? Shouldn't I long to be in his arms after the lovemaking that for those past five years only occurred in my dreams? Shouldn't I share everything that had happened to me without him, tell him how difficult it was to live in the world where he was considered dead? Why wasn't I doing any of it? Why did my body crave him and his touch, but my heart and soul rejected it?
Taking a deep breath, I let go of the sheet and stepped into a hot shower. The warm water soothed all my sore muscles and created a steamy cloud, closing me off from the outside world. I rested my forehead on the cool tiles and let go of everything.
The tight knot in my chest opened and released quiet sobs. Tears poured down my cheeks and instantly slipped away with the hot water. I'd built a good, peaceful life for my daughter and myself here, and Damian would destroy it. Maybe part of me wept for the woman I'd become in all our years apart and for the crushed dreams I used to have about us.
Why was him being alive making me miserable?
Eventually, the numbness of my body started to ease, and my mind registered how cold the water was. I quickly shut it off, grabbed the nearby white robe, and wrapped it around me, sighing with pleasure at the feel of the fluffy fabric. With my sleeve, I wiped the fog from the mirror and studied my reflection in it. My ebony hair fell down my chest; droplets of water from it dripped onto the floor. Despite the tears and anguish inside me, my skin was flushed; my blue eyes sparkled and seemed uncharacteristically vivid. My lips were red and swollen from all the kissing, making them look fuller than usual. Overall, my reflection showed a woman who was well-fucked just minutes ago. So why the tears?
Confusion, anger, frustration.
Those emotions didn't begin to cover how I felt at the moment. However, the one thing I was certain of was that hiding in the bathroom and wallowing in self-pity wouldn't help anything. Time to put on my big girl panties and face whatever was there.
With a frustrated sigh, I dried my hair with a smaller towel, wrapped it around my head, and taking a deep breath, opened the door. The light from the bathroom and the moonlight shining in the room were the only sources of light that allowed me to locate Damian, fully clothed near the window, gazing at the shore with a wistful expression. Ignoring the pang in my chest and the voice inside me telling me to run into his arms and never let go, I cleared my throat, and his beautiful yet tortured eyes shifted to me.
"We need to talk," I said, surprising even myself with how calm my voice was. He nodded, took a step in my direction, but I raised my hand to stop him. My body was a betraying, two-faced bitch who couldn't think straight in close proximity to Damian. It was best to keep some distance. "Let's go downstairs and have some tea." God, I sounded like some old, English lady from a historical novel. "I just need some distraction from the headache." The excuse was lame and untrue, but it would make him do whatever I asked.
His jaw ticked, his face grim, but he nodded once again and followed me. I stopped by Kristina's room to make sure she was fine. Thankfully, she slept soundly as the puppy kicked his paws, obviously fighting someone in his sleep. Damian's eyes softened at the sight of our daughter, but still he said nothing.
When we entered the kitchen, I gestured for him to sit at the table as I filled the kettle with water. A heavy silence fell over us, the only sounds made by the machine. He was never the talkative one, so it seemed as though even his conversation, his story, was in my hands to start.
I spun around and leaned against the counter, arms folded, my brow raised at him while his gaze focused on me. Nothing new really, his eyes always focused on me when we were in the same room with each other.
"Damian, how about explaining to me how you were alive all these years and never bothered to contact me?" He winced at my accusing tone, but I didn't care. Did he imagine hearts and flowers during our reunion?
"I couldn't find you." I didn't expect to hear those words from him. "I woke up in a cabin near the Hudson River. It took a few months for a healer to fix me with the limited options she had. Once I was finally able to contact Connor, I sought professional help, but it still took a year and a half of rehabilitation.
"Connor wouldn't budge, no matter how hard I tried to learn your location. He refused to jeopardize your safety, as though I would." His hand fisted and he growled furiously. "My appearance was drastically changed, and no one would expect to find you here. S forgot all about you; he never took you as a serious threat to begin with. Finally, about a year ago, Connor disclosed your address and living arrangements." This information told me nothing. It seemed like all Damian did was share bullet points with me instead of telling me his story. Except, I didn't ask for the outline; I asked for the manuscript. The nerve he had after all this time to… wait, he located Kristina and me about a year ago?
"You found us a year ago, and only today showed up? Were you deciding on whether you wanted to meet Kristina and see me?" Sarcasm poured from me. I didn't know why it hurt so much, but it did. One freaking year without any effort to reach out to us! While I still sobbed into my pillow at night like an idiot, mourning his "death." My eyes widened in shock when he stood abruptly from his chair, almost knocking it to the ground, but then catching it in time, probably for Kristina's sake.
"Don't. Just fucking don't," he said dangerously, his face darkening in anger and… pain? "Yes, I left you alone in this mess. Scared and pregnant, you had to make certain decisions and had to live with the knowledge I was dead. I know it hurt you, and I know you're angry. But fucking don't, Sapphire. I had to live with the fact that you were somewhere out there, and I could do nothing but wonder if everything was all right.
"I had to use everything in my power just to get your address. And I had to watch you and our child, my baby, for a fucking long year to make sure I didn't endanger your lives. Think how hard it was before snapping and lashing out at me in pain for all this time." He breathed heavily, while we both faced each other. The kettle whistled loudly, signaling it was ready. Instant relief washed over me because I had something to focus on instead of commenting on what he'd said.
I spun around and, with shaking hands, picked up two cups from the cupboard then filled them with mint tea. Taking a deep breath, I was ready to face him again when his hard chest pressed against my back and his hands ended up on either side of my hips, gripping the counter, blocking my exit. His hot breath on my cheek made goose bumps flash throug
h me as my body instantly reacted to his closeness; my nipples hardened, and my core tingled. God, why did my body react so strongly to him? Shouldn't it have dulled after all those years without him? He didn't even look the same!
"Forgive me. Take me back. Please, Sapphire," he whispered, pushing aside the few hair strands from my neck that peeked through the towel and pressing his cool lips against my skin. My eyes closed and a raspy breath left me. His hand traveled up to my breast, and he enclosed it, squeezing gently, but it was enough for a moan to escape my throat. "Leave the stupid tea and come with me upstairs. One time with you is not enough." His other hand cupped my chin and turned it so he could lean down and take my mouth in a passionate and hot, yet soft kiss.
Pleasure and yearning made me easily forget all my reservations. All my fears and doubts. All the lonely years without him. I almost gave in, when the sound of sirens in the background brought me back to reality.
Sound of sirens.
The sound always brought all the memories of that fateful day back: my father kidnapping me, shooting Damian, Damian falling off the cliff.
Everything.
And just like that, all the desire running through my veins transformed into ice, and my body froze. Damian felt it, stopped any movements, and when I shifted away from him, he let me.
I removed the towel from my hair, allowing the strands to fall freely down my back, and ran my fingers through it so my hands would be busy with something as I paced back and forth.
What was I supposed to do? I used to have all those dreams about him staying alive and us having this amazing life with each other and kids. White picket fence, barbecue Sundays, and attending high school plays together. Those nights were sleepless because I cried all the freaking time over the future that wasn't meant to be. Every time anyone wanted to ask me on a date or my friends tried to introduce me to someone, I refused, because I just couldn't imagine any other man in those dreams. It didn't feel right. Wasn't I supposed to drown in happiness and euphoria at the possibility I could still have all this with Damian or that my future held more than constant memories of him?
"Sapphire!" His commanding tone snapped me out of my stupor, and I stopped abruptly, looked at him, and then the realization hit me hard.
Despite my dreams, I couldn't do it.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
"Damian, I—I don't think I can do this with you," I whispered. He took a step back as though I'd hit him and my heart bled for his pain. I resisted the instinct to go to him and soothe him. "You barge in here in the middle of the night, making demands and proclaiming your wishes. The worst part is that you expect me to listen to them and do as you want." My eyes held his when I said my next words. "I have a life here. I built a life here. My friends, my job, my home, and my child. We are happy, and you want to destroy it."
He shook his head. "No, baby. I want to make us a family and live the dream. I'm not here to destroy your life."
I licked my dry lips, which were still swollen from the kisses, and then took a deep breath. "Five years ago, you promised to save me too. You promised we'd be together and deal with that problem. But you left me alone, shattered, and pregnant. I can't allow you to do it again. It's not about me anymore. I have to think about Kristina." He swallowed and didn't even try to mask the expression of hurt on his face.
"It's different now. We can have—"
I didn't let him finish. "Tell me you aren't planning revenge. Tell me you aren't after S. That you put your past behind and can move on with me and Kristina." Realization and regret in his eyes answered any question I had. "See, you can't do that because we both know what you need to do. You don't need me for revenge, Damian. I love you, but I just can't be with you if that's your plan," I said, a heavy ache in my heart, because everything in me screamed not to hurt the beautiful man I loved, but I had to think about my baby and our life first. His jaw ticked, and his chest rose and fell in what I suspected was barely-contained anger.
"You don't want me to be a part of our daughter's life?" he asked harshly, and my stomach flipped at his accusations, which weren't fair at all.
"No, Damian. That's not what I'm saying. You can tell her you are her dad if you are positive about her safety. She'd be thrilled to have a daddy, and I won't ever keep her away from you. But when you go off chasing bad guys, at least she'll have me here in her safe harbor. Us being together, it's just not possible right now." I hoped he would see the rightness of my decision, the reasoning behind it. I wasn't saying no, I was just saying not right now. Not until he was free of his past.
We stood there for several seconds, and then he conquered the distance between us in three short steps, and his lips landed on mine. The kiss bruised my lips. It was filled with anger, desperation, and pain, and before I could open my mouth to say something else, he let go of me and disappeared into the night, leaving through the terrace door I hadn't even noticed was open.
My finger touched my puffy lips as tears slowly slipped down my cheeks. My knees weakened, and I slid to the floor. I wept with all my might into the sleeves of my robe.
He was gone.
He listened to my words.
He made the right call for our child and me.
Why then did it hurt so freaking much? It hurt more than that day on the cliff.
All those years, I thought he was dead, and oddly enough, I took comfort in his death knowing there was no choice.
But how could I take comfort in shattering my heart once again for a greater good, when the only man I ever loved came back to me, and I sent him away?
Bratva Headquarters, Moscow, Russia
The massive brown, wooden door in the middle of the office opened, and Michael entered first, followed by three American men, two older ones and one around my age. I motioned with my hand for them to sit on the chair—I needed to know who was in charge among them. One of them came forward with a dry smile and sat down comfortably on the leather chair. He had thinning gray hair, a large build, wrinkled hands an aging face, and wore a brown suit. He reeked of money and sleaziness.
Lesha and Serega, the Bratva's byki—my bodyguards—stood on each side of me with crossed arms and practiced scowls. Already, the man was disrespectful by failing to greet me properly. Another older man joined him on the chair next to him and sneered at Michael. This one had shoulder-length bleach-dyed hair, pale skin, and a rather shiny complexion. He wore jeans and a shirt and sat with a relaxed posture. It seemed as though he thought everybody owed him something. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn't quite catch what. Had I seen him before with Vasya? The hair on the back of my neck stood up as an unsettling feeling flashed through me.
Sixty seconds.
That was how long it took me to decide that any business with them would be impossible.
My gut never proved me wrong.
"Since when are faggots hired by Bratva?" His voice made everything around me freeze, as an angry fog enclosed me, and all my attention focused on him.
The voice.
Take it like a good boy, toy.
Suck it harder.
Scream in pain, toy.
The voice of my nightmares.
The source of my humiliation and deepest pain.
Richard.
Most of the times when he requested me on his service, he wore a mask to enhance the whole master-slave play. On the rare occasions without it, I tried to block my mind from what he was doing to my body, so I barely focused on his face. The only things vivid in my mind about him were his striking, cold green eyes and a snarling smile. Right then, though, they were pitch-black, probably from lenses, but his voice was unmistakable. Somehow, he seemed more dangerous when I kneeled in front of him begging for mercy, but at that moment, only my self-control stopped me from taking out my gun and pulling the trigger right against his forehead.
Michael cleared his throat, snapping me back to reality. I realized everyone watched me—my guests with interest and my men
with worry. The deep fury from within me must have shown in my face. There was no way to mask it. I knew everyone was ready to attack the newcomers, but I couldn't allow them to do it.
Not when my brother spent his whole life looking for them.
Not when Damian's revenge became my revenge.
Just like that, the rules of the game changed, and with it, my plan. However, I was the Pakhan, so his insult at my man wouldn't be tolerated.
"I suggest you choose your words wisely next time you address members of my brotherhood. Don't forget whose territory you are in."
My cold and detached voice made his eyes widen, but the stubborn expression on his face didn't allow him to let go. His mouth opened in protest, but he was stopped with a hand on his shoulder by a younger man behind him. Only now, my attention shifted to him as my eyes scanned him from head to toe. He wore navy blue jeans and a shirt, showcasing his bulky figure. Various tattoos covered his neck, and I suspected his chest, while his cold green eyes studied the men in front of him. Bold with tanned skin, something about him seemed familiar, but I couldn't make the connection, and that irritated me even more. What the fuck was wrong with my eyes?
"Dad, come on. You know why we're here. Uncle?"
Richard tensed at those words, but nodded and then pointed his hand at us, yet looked at his brother.
S.
All those years spent in the cell with my twin brother washed over me—those brothers raped us and did whatever the hell they wanted, crushing our spirits in the process. Each of them had their favorite. S favored Damian, so at some point, he fucked him exclusively, while Richard did the same with me. Truth be told, I wouldn't have even recognized S had it not been for Richard. He fucked me in the early years of our captivity when we were about seven years old, and I had very vague memories of it.
S sat more comfortably on the chair, lit up his cigar, and exhaled a smoky breath. "My name is Benjamin, and that's my brother, Richard, along with Robert, his son. We came to you with a proposition." The fuckers didn't even suspect who they were talking to. His fucking voice unnerved me, but I grabbed the arm of the chair and squeezed it with all my might.
