THIEF (Boston Underworld Book 5)

by A. Zavarelli

  I tear into the bag and retrieve my new tie.

  “I told you to get blue, you doorak.”

  “You specifically told me to get red,” he answers.

  I utter a few more insults about his intelligence under my breath while I put it on. I did specifically tell him to get red, but I’ll never admit it.

  It isn’t Mischa’s fault that he’s been put in this situation. It’s nobody’s fault but my own. But that doesn’t mean I can be civilized about it.

  The only solace I have is that while Nakya is on his arm tonight, it is my cum dripping down her legs. She had no time to question my reasons when I burst into her room this afternoon and bent her over the bed, fucking her twice to prove a point.

  She belongs to me. And soon, she will come to acknowledge it with her own lips.

  “You know, if this bothers you,” Mischa says, “I could be needed elsewhere tonight. An unavoidable situation comes up, and we could avoid this problem altogether.”

  “What problem?” I shrug into my jacket, avoiding his eyes. “There isn’t a problem.”

  “If you want my opinion—”

  “Which I don’t.”

  “As your friend, I think it needs to be said,” he persists. “If you don’t get a handle on this situation now, it’s going to end badly for all of us.”

  “What is there to handle, Mischa?”

  “It’s written on your face, Kolyan. And if I can see your obsession with this girl, do you think it will be long before others recognize it too? Already, Viktor has his doubts.”

  “Christ.” I rub my tired eyes. “I need a fucking cigarette.”

  Mischa finally makes himself useful by providing me with one. I walk to the window, resting on the ledge while I blow smoke out into the black void of night.

  “If it makes any difference, you should know that I would never touch her.”

  I meet his gaze and smile. “I know. Because I would kill you if you did.”

  As part of my exercise in liberation, I make an executive decision to go bold with my makeup tonight. Gold has always paired well with my skin tone, but my father thought it was trashy. Tonight, I apply it in layers, each one a little more daring than the former. I’ve done cat eyes for ballet performances before, so it doesn’t take me long to add a perfect liquid line. The last and final touch is a dauntless shade of red lipstick, which I end up applying and removing several times before finding the courage to leave it.

  It shouldn’t matter, but I took Nikolai’s directives to heart. After he fucked me like a savage this afternoon, he gifted me a red dress and left me with one instruction for tonight. Simply that I must be the most beautiful woman in the room. A tall order, and an impossible one at that. But when I think of the alternative, it’s worth every effort.

  The door to my room opens, and for the second time today, Nikolai barges inside. This time, he also has Mischa in tow. I look up from my vanity and suck in a breath. The pair of them really are a sight to behold, but it’s Nikolai who steals the show.

  The fitted black suit is his magnum opus, and I pity any man who stands beside him this evening. But worse, I already envy the woman who will.

  My heart squeezes, and I smile through the pain, rising from my seat to greet the two men. Nikolai’s possession is felt on every inch of my skin as his eyes sweep over me, but the satisfaction is short lived.

  “You are to stay close to Mischa’s side tonight.”

  His words cut me to the quick, and I look at Mischa, who seems as appeased by the notion as I am.

  I don’t know what’s better or worse. Being front and center to witness Nikolai’s date with Ana or being left behind at home. Regardless, the decision is not mine to make.

  “Okay.”

  “You have five more minutes.” Nikolai glances at his watch. “Meet us downstairs when you finish.”

  He leaves, and I spend every second of the next five minutes thinking of reasons to hate him.

  The car ride is quiet. Mischa and Nikolai are up front, and I’m in the back. They barely speak to each other along the way, and the trepidation simmering between all of us is so sticky it’s hard to breathe.

  When we finally arrive at the compound, I leap from the car and take mouthfuls of fresh air at the first opportunity. Nikolai turns to look at me briefly before guiding me closer to Mischa. It’s time to go inside, but none of us move. Nikolai’s hand is still on my arm, and he isn’t letting go.

  “Kolyan,” Mischa whispers under his breath.

  His tone is a warning. Nikolai’s actions are garnering unwanted attention from the men at the door, and he’s playing a dangerous game of chicken. But he doesn’t seem to be aware of the consequences, or even aware of what’s happening around us. His eyes are on me, dazed and uncertain.

  I take it upon myself to remove myself from his grasp, opting for Mischa’s arm instead. My motivations are unclear, even to myself. Maybe it’s spite. Maybe it’s jealousy. Or maybe I just don’t want to endanger him in any way. If it’s true, it’s a fool’s errand. I should know by now the only one in danger is me.

  The distance between us seems to shake Nikolai back to his senses, and he walks ahead of us, leaving Mischa and me to trail behind. Mischa doesn’t look at me, and for that, I am grateful. I would do well to burn from my memory the night I offered him my virtue. But the shame is not only mine to bear. I’m certain Mischa will most likely remember it for eternity.

  The men at the door stop us and exchange greetings, once again reminding me of my insignificance in this Vory world. I am not a wife or even a girlfriend, and therefore, I’m fair game for their wandering eyes.

  Inside, Viktor and his daughter are quick to greet us. He seems to be in a jovial mood, but Ana’s face is quick to fall, and her father is quick to notice.

  “You are wearing red,” Viktor notes, his eyes observing Nikolai’s tie.

  Nikolai answers in Russian, blaming Mischa for the mix-up, but it does little to soothe Ana’s unhappiness. I didn’t notice it before, or perhaps I just assumed it was themed. Mischa and Nikolai are both wearing red ties, and I am wearing a red dress. Viktor does not seem to think it’s a coincidence as his eyes move from Nikolai to me, his lip curling in disgust. He says he would like to speak to Nikolai in private, and they disappear down the hall.

  When we are called to dinner minutes later, it seems the issue has been settled for the time being. Viktor returns as his celebratory self, one arm around Ana and the other around Nikolai.

  Mischa and I sit farther down the table, away from the soon-to-be newlyweds. I focus on the food served and busy myself with trying to identify each dish. It’s a feast consisting of Russian traditional foods and delicacies. A few of which I’ve come to know in my time at Nikolai’s, but most of which I’m yet to learn.

  The meal is not as appealing as it should be. I spend most of the time pushing food around on my plate and trying to divert my attention from the other end of the table. On more than one occasion, I feel Nikolai’s eyes on me, but I don’t dare look up. With certainty, he will want to punish me for not eating, but with certainty, I don’t care.

  When the plates are cleared, the group is ushered into another room for drinks and conversation. Mischa and I remain at each other’s side, wordless. But it isn’t long before Nikolai is making a fly by, issuing an order.

  We are to meet him near the bathrooms in five minutes.

  My limbs are stiff, and I get the distinct feeling that I’m walking the plank as we travel down the hall. Mischa, too, seems nervous, and when Nikolai arrives to meet us, words are exchanged between them.

  I can only catch some of the conversation in their native language since they are speaking so fast. But from the gist of it, I understand two things. One is that Mischa thinks Nikolai is being an idiot, and the second is that Nikolai is in charge, so it doesn’t matter what Mischa thinks.

  Nikolai issues him another order to stand guard outside the door, and then he is manhandling me inside. T
he lock clicks behind us, and I try to move away. I make it two steps before he has me trapped in his grip again.

  “Why are you making this harder than it has to be?” he demands.

  “I haven’t done anything,” I snap. “You are just angry because you can’t control this situation—”

  His lips swallow the rest of my words. The kiss is violent and possessive, and his hold on me is brutal. In seconds, he wrecks the style I spent an hour perfecting when his fingers tangle in my hair. I should care that he’s acting like a child, but relief is all I feel.

  He wants me and not her.

  “Tell me you belong to me,” he whispers. “And I’ll fuck you sweet.”

  I close my eyes and breathe him in. Cloves and smoke and danger. He has taken so much from me already, but it isn’t enough. He wants everything, and he won’t settle until he has my soul too. But I refuse to cave on this. I refuse to give him everything when I’m the one who loses in the end.

  When he recognizes the rejection on my face, his eyes flash, and he forces me to my knees.

  “Have it your way, then. I’ll fuck you dirty, pet.”

  He unzips his pants and tugs me forward by his hold on my hair, rubbing my face against the bulge in his briefs. He is brick hard already, and there is a small damp spot where his pre-cum has leaked out. Evidence that he’s been thinking about this since dinner.

  “Suck me,” he demands. “Show me how pretty a ballerina looks with a cock in her throat.”

  I couldn’t move if I tried. His hold on me is unyielding, and regardless, his briefs are still in the way. He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to remove them as he rubs himself against my face. Instead, he unties the top of my halter dress, letting the straps of silk fall away so my breasts are open and available to him. They are tender already, and I jump when his fingers brush over my nipple.

  Nikolai seems to consider this a victory as he offers a cruel smile. “See, little star? It’s not so bad being a toy. I will fuck you whenever I want, and you will like it because you are filthy just like me.”

  I try to shake my head because I want to deny it, but he makes his words true when he yanks down his briefs and shoves his cock in my face. I can smell his arousal, and it arouses me. I don’t want him to be right, but I need this dirty, depraved act with him. I need him to fuck me in this bathroom to prove I’m all he requires. And he’s going to make it a lesson I won’t forget when he forces his cock into my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat.

  I gag, and he pets my face.

  “My dirty little doll,” he praises with a ragged breath. “You like this cock in your mouth?”

  It’s a question I can’t answer because my mouth is full. He isn’t looking for an answer anyway. He’s only looking to fuck me.

  And he does.

  It’s rough, and it’s sloppy. This isn’t for any other purpose than bringing him immediate relief. His hips buck and roll while he drags himself in and out of my mouth. He’s too long to fit inside, but it makes no difference. It’s enough for him.

  He inhales sharply and curses with every pass. I may be the one kneeling at his feet, but right now, he’s a slave to me. I want to suspend this moment in time. I want to keep him hanging on the edge of agony forever. But ultimately, the control always comes back to him.

  Long, dark lashes sweep over his cheeks as he lurches forward, holding me in place as his dick shudders in my mouth. There is no conversation about pulling out. He doesn’t want to, and after my rejection, he’s determined to prove he owns me.

  I’m not willing to give in so easily, and when he pulls from my mouth, I spit it on the floor. In the face of my defiance, he offers me a lazy smile.

  “I should make you lick that up.”

  “You could try,” I challenge.

  “I think you would like it too much,” he says.

  Using my hair as an anchor, he wipes his softening cock on my cheek, anointing the last of his cum into my skin. I glare up at him, and he offers me his hand. He leads me to the sink, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, shocked by what I see. Lipstick smeared and mascara running down my face. Tangled hair and blotchy skin.

  Whatever satisfaction I took in this turn of events is fading quickly. In just a few moments, Nikolai will return to his duties as Ana’s future husband, forgetting what happened here. And I am left to wonder if soon he will forget me too. When Ana wears his ring and his star, he will take her as he pleases. It leaves a bitter taste on my lips, and I hate him for it already.

  “You look pretty like this,” Nikolai tells me as he wets a paper cloth. “Dirty and used by me. I like it very much, zvezda.”

  “I suppose your wife won’t ever look this way,” I answer. “You will probably treat her differently, considering she’s Viktor’s daughter.”

  He rubs the back of his neck, his tension returning. “Do not speak of things that you don’t know.”

  “I know more than you give me credit for. You will marry her, and there is no point in denying it. The longer you keep me, the closer you come to risking your future and mine. So I am pleading with you now, Nika. Let me go before you tire of me. Let me find my own happiness and remember you this way before everything sours.”

  “You are a brave girl.” He leans in so that his words brush my lips. “But you know I can’t let you go, Nakya. I stole you, and I will keep you until I am ready to say goodbye.”

  It isn’t an admission of his feelings. In all fairness, those words could mean anything. He likes to break me so he can put me back together again.

  The proof is in his actions, weakening me blow by blow. A gentle caress of the cloth, the smoothing of my hair. The tying of my dress, and the soft, tender kiss he leaves on my lips. Maybe they are sweet.

  Or maybe he’s just wiping away the evidence.

  Nikolai leaves the bathroom first, giving me time to collect my thoughts and reinforce my emotional armor. When I do step outside, Mischa is waiting for me in the hall, his face devoid of emotion. Like Nikolai, he has strong Slavic features. Pale eyes and the facial structure of a Viking. He has all the attributes that would make him considerably handsome to a wide audience of women, but I am not one of them. It appears the feeling is mutual because, as it stands, he can barely look at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “About that night—”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he answers. “And it’s probably best if we never speak of it again.”

  I nod, and we are both quiet again. Down the hall, it appears the dancing has commenced. I don’t know that I’ll ever be ready for what the rest of this evening holds, but I’d rather get it over with than hide in this hall. Mischa, however, has other intentions. Just when I thought the conversation was dead in the water, he touches my arm to get my attention.

  “Are your feelings for him genuine?” he asks. “Or are you just doing what you think is best for your own situation?”

  His implication rattles me. To think he has any right to question my motives is beyond laughable.

  “You are asking me if I love him or hate him?” I glare. “Then it depends on the day. The hour. Sometimes, the minute.”

  Mischa scrutinizes my face. It wasn’t my intent to utter that awful word. Love. His accusation unsettled me, and I wasn’t thinking straight. But of course, Mischa doesn’t see it that way.

  “He can’t be with you, Nakya,” he says. “You have to know this. Whatever is happening between you two doesn’t matter. He can never be with you.”

  I swallow the bitterness in my throat and straighten my spine. “I know.”

  “If you truly care about him, then do what’s best for him. Get out while you still can. Go somewhere far away and forget your name. Forget your old life and your family and any world that ever existed for you.”

  “That’s an easy solution for you,” I answer. “Are you going to help me?”

  He lowers his head. “I can’t.”

  “Then don’t tell me to esca
pe. I have nowhere to go. No money, no resources—”

  “Find a way,” he insists. “You are the daughter of a criminal. It should not be that difficult for you to figure it out. You’ve been raised tough, and you are a survivor. If you want to live, then leave.”

  The hard truths hurt, and this time is no exception. I know that Mischa is right. Nikolai is too blinded by his own confliction to do what’s necessary in this situation, and soon, it will be too late. Already, I crave him. I miss him when he’s gone, and I anticipate the smallest interaction we might have. It isn’t healthy. I have clung to the illusion that my captor can be my savior too, but it isn’t possible.

  I have to be the one to walk away. But something is still holding me back. I’m not ready to let him go, and I can’t admit that to Mischa right now.

  “I’ll try to find a way,” I croak.

  Mischa nods. For the sake of his friend, he wants to believe my assurances. For the sake of my sanity, I want to believe them too.

  We walk down the corridor together, edging into the fray. Laughter and music assault my ears, and around us, the merriment is in full swing. Between the drinking and toasting and conversations and dancing, I try to find my bearings. I don’t belong here. This is an occasion for celebration, and I have nothing to celebrate. Everyone is blissfully intoxicated, sparkling in their finery, and the most shocking thing of all is that love is present too. There are so many couples in love. I would never have believed it if I didn’t see it for myself, but maybe what Nikolai said is true. There is no other man who holds his wife in higher regard than a Vor. And at the epicenter of all that love is the man who can never love me, dancing with his future wife.

  To see him with her after he just left me makes me flinch. I expected it. I thought I was prepared for it, but it only nurtures the disease inside me. The belief that I will never be enough. My arms hang limply at my sides, and I feel too weak to move.