by Nicole Fox
She walks over to me and pulls the cigarette out of my hand, holding it away from her to the side. “You didn’t used to smoke.”
“I did, actually. But I quit.”
“And now you’ve started again?” she asks.
I narrow my eyes. “What is this about?”
My plan was to lead Eve outside and fuck her against the brick wall, but clearly, that is not going to happen.
“I’m never alone. Ever.” She tips her head back and looks up at the sky. “Someone is always hovering around me.”
“You are the wife of the boss, Eve. You need to be protected.” I reach for the cigarette, but she pulls it out of my reach. I frown. “Can I have it back, please?”
“Not until you listen to me.”
“I am listening.”
She shakes her head. “No, you aren’t. Because if you were, this would have been solved months ago.”
“It has only been eight months since Milaya was born.” I sigh and run a hand through my hair. It is longer than I usually let it get, but I’ve been too busy to stop and get a haircut. Eve says she likes it, though. Gives her more to grab onto. “Between being a new dad and taking over leadership of the Bratva, I’ve been distracted. I reached out for help.”
“You reached out for full-time security,” she argues. “And we don’t need it.”
“What do you mean we don’t need it? You remember what happened, don’t you?”
“Of course I do!” she shouts, taking another step towards me. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and I wish she’d smile again. It seems she has been smiling less and less these days. “I was kidnapped. And I know it affected you just like it affected me.”
I haven’t told Eve, but I still have nightmares. Dreams where I come home to find our bed and Milaya’s crib empty. Where she has been taken, and I can’t find her. I can’t get anyone to help me. I’m alone, without her, and with no way to get her back.
“I want to make sure that never happens again.”
“I know.” She reaches up and strokes her finger down the side of my face. “But that is no reason to stop living our lives. I feel like I’m suffocating.”
I nod. “I can tell them to back off a little. Give you more space.”
“Luka.” She sighs. “My father is dead, and the Irish have disbanded. Our enemies are gone.”
“We don’t know that,” I argue. “Just because they are lying low doesn’t mean they are gone.”
“But they aren’t a threat right now, so I don’t see why I need someone from the Bratva watching over me while I go to my spin class.”
I grind my teeth together. “You saw him?”
“Yes, I saw him.” She almost smiles but manages to hold it back. “I always see them because as much as they try, they aren’t very stealthy.”
I reach out and drag my palm down her waist and around her back, pulling her warm body against me. “I love you.”
She looks up at me beneath her long lashes, her pink lips pursed together in a pout. “I know you do.”
I tip my head down and press a kiss to her forehead and the end of her nose. “Do you love me too?”
She laughs, the sound like a balm to my burning insides. “Yes, I love you, too.”
“Then can you understand why I would do anything to keep you safe?” I ask. “Can you understand that I can’t bear to have you taken from me again?”
Her smile slips away, and she stares at me for a long moment, studying my face. Then, finally, she nods her head. “I can understand.”
I kiss her temple and she hands me my cigarette. I shake it, watching as the ash that built up tumbles to the ground and scatters in the breeze moving through the alley.
Milaya is exhausted from being passed around and played with all night, so I only have to sing her one song before she is asleep on my shoulder. I transfer her carefully to her crib and then creep down the hallway to our room.
Eve is already in bed. The room is cool, but she is laying on top of the blankets in a shimmery shift nightgown that barely creeps past her hips. When I walk in and drink in the sight of her, she quirks one brow up and parts her thighs.
An invitation.
As I crawl across the bed towards her and drag my hands up her legs, I notice she isn’t wearing any panties, and I groan.
She giggles softly, pleased with herself. But I stop her giggling the second I blow cool air across her center. Her entire body clenches, and she draws in a soft breath.
I press her thighs apart and bury my face inside of her.
Before Eve, sex was about pleasing myself. It was about using whatever woman was available to me that night and meeting my own needs.
But now, I enjoy pleasuring her.
There are few sounds in the world better than Eve sighing and moaning because of what I’m doing to her body. I slide my tongue up her seam, flicking at the apex, and she bucks her hips against my mouth. As I work on her, Eve reaches down and tangles her fingers in my hair, grabbing handfuls and drawing me closer, deeper. Her thighs clamp around my ears, and by now, we’ve done this enough times that I can tell when she is close. I can tell by the trembling of her thighs and the clenching of her stomach and the urgency of her fingers across my scalp that she is finding her bliss.
I work a finger inside of her, scraping along her insides, and it pushes her over the edge.
She clenches around me, tipping her head back and releasing a muffled, gasping scream.
I press gentle kisses to her center before working my way up her sated body. Her legs are flat on the bed, and her head is lulled to one side, a contented smile on her lips.
“Was that good, baby?” I ask, pushing up her nightgown to kiss one breast and then the other.
She hums and nods. “So good.”
I bite at her nipple, making her startle, and then ease the pain with my tongue. “Do you want more?”
Eve curls a hand around my hip and to my backside, drawing me close to her as she spreads her legs wider for me. “Please.”
She is more than ready for me, and I press into her with one smooth motion. Eve comes alive beneath me, rolling her body into me, meeting my thrusts halfway, and driving me absolutely wild.
I press my palm flat against the headboard for stability and drill into her over and over again, loving the way her body jolts beneath me with every thrust. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her forehead is wrinkled from the overwhelming pleasure, and she is biting down on her pouty lower lip hard enough I’m surprised she hasn’t drawn blood.
“More, Luka,” she begs, clawing at my shoulder blade. “Harder.”
There is a knot in my stomach, warming and growing bigger with every thrust. I grit my teeth and then reach down and wrap an elbow under Eve’s knee.
She gasps in relief at the deeper penetration, so I reach down and grab the other one, too.
It is heaven. Absolutely heaven being deep inside of her, and I want it to last. But I also can’t slow down. Not now.
Not when I’m so close.
“Like that,” she pants, nodding her head, eyes still closed. “Just like that.”
I pound into her, the sound of our bodies slapping together echoing off the walls, and I’m only seconds away from releasing inside of her when I hear another kind of pounding coming from downstairs.
I freeze, tilting my head towards our bedroom door.
Eve groans, wondering why I’ve stopped, but then she hears it too. “What is that?”
I start to answer her when I hear the front door burst open.
Faster than I’ve ever moved before, I pull out of her, grab the gun from my nightstand, and pull on a pair of loose cotton pants.
“Get Milaya and go to the panic room.”
Eve pulls her nightgown back down to cover herself and runs to Milaya’s room. I follow behind her, gun ready, and then keep moving to stand at the top of the stairs.
From that vantage point, I can see part of the entryway. Enough to see that the front d
oor is wide open. And any second, our home security will recognize that and—the alarm begins to blare.
Over the sound, I hear Milaya start screaming in the other room, and my heart aches for her. I want to run in and sooth her, assure her that everything is fine. Except, I’m not sure that it is.
I move down one step, gun still held at the ready, when I see a man move across the entryway. I place my finger on the trigger, ready to shoot. But before I do, I realize the man isn’t dressed in civilian clothes. He doesn’t look like a mafia or a gang member.
He is dressed in tactical gear.
And the back of his vest says SWAT.
Quickly, I move back up the stairs, down the hallway, and drop my gun in Eve’s nightstand.
The last thing I need is to give the SWAT members a reason to shoot me.
I’ve just closed her nightstand drawer when I hear footsteps pound up the stairs and down the hallway.
I don’t have time to formulate a plan or what I’m going to say. I don’t have time to explain to Eve what is going on. For all she knows, we are being attacked by a rival mafia. I don’t have time for anything. By the time I look up from the nightstand, four men are moving in formation towards my bedroom, guns drawn. “Get down on the ground!”
Milaya is screaming in the other room, and I want to run in there and wrap my arms around her and her mother, but I lay face down on the floor.
“What is this about?” I yell over the wail of the alarm, but no one answers. “Who authorized this raid?”
They pull my arms behind my back and handcuff me. One of the men drives his knee hard into my spine.
“Is anyone else in the house?” her barks.
“My wife is unarmed,” I say immediately. “She has our infant daughter.”
They talk amongst themselves, but the words are lost in the chaos.
“What is this about?” I ask again. “Why are you here?”
Part of me wonders if this is an official raid or whether I’m being tricked by mafia members in SWAT gear. It would be an elaborate rouse, to be sure, but this feels too chaotic.
The alarms are blaring so loud my head is starting to hurt. “For the love of God, can I turn off the alarms?”
Two men drag me to my feet while two others go ahead to lead me down the hallway and the stairs.
“That is not our concern.”
I look into Milaya’s room as we pass her door, but I don’t see Eve in there. I don’t know if she has been taken, as well, or if they are in the safe room.
“On what grounds am I being taken in?” I ask as we walk outside away from the alarms and my head finally clears. “Where is my wife?”
The men roughly duck my head down and shove me into the backseat of an SUV. “You’ll have to talk with my supervisor.”
I continue asking questions for the duration of the short drive without any response until I’m finally let out of the backseat and led, handcuffed, into an all gray building.
The building is marked with signs denoting it as the official FBI headquarters, which offers a strange kind of comfort. It means, at the very least, that Eve isn’t being kidnapped and taken to some mafia clubhouse.
The very idea of it sends prickles of rage through me.
I’m led through a side door and down a long hallway with identical doors on either side. They walk the length of it—though, based on what I can tell, every single other room is empty—and deposit me in an interrogation room at the end of the hall.
Like the exterior of the building, the walls have been painted slate gray and the only furniture is a metal table and chairs bolted into the floor.
“What am I doing here?” I ask as one of the men unlocks my handcuffs.
“Waiting,” the man says, sliding the cuffs off and backing away towards the door.
I roll my wrists, easing the discomfort, and turn around. By the time I do, the metal door is already closing.
I walk towards it and try to look through the small window to see where the men are going, but it doesn’t offer enough of a view and the room is entirely soundproofed.
There is no clock on the wall or windows. Nothing by which I can tell that the outside world still exists at all.
I sit down for a moment, waiting like the man said, and it is only then that I realize I am still shirtless. And not wearing underwear. There hadn’t been time to do anything more than throw on a pair of gray pajama pants. I say a silent prayer that I at least had enough time to do that. This situation would have been much more uncomfortable had I been entirely naked.
When unknown minutes pass with no sign of anyone coming to speak with me, I stand up and begin to pace.
Without the sound of my footsteps on the floor, the room is too quiet. I can hear my own heart beating in my chest. I know it is all in my head, but I feel like I can hear my insides. Like I can hear my own organs working and digesting and pumping. So, I pound my heels into the floor to tune it out with no idea how lone I’ve been waiting.
When the door knob rattles, I jump.
It is impossible to hear the footsteps in the hallway, so I didn’t know anyone was coming. Before the door opens, I sit down in the chair and fold my hands in front of me.
I know someone in the building was watching video of me pacing like a caged animal, but I still want to look calm and collected for whoever they’ve sent in to interrogate me.
To my surprise, a short woman with her long blonde hair pulled back in a severe ponytail walks into the room. She is wearing a skirt and matching jacket, a clipboard held to her chest.
“Hello, Mr. Volkov.” She tips her head to me, mouth pulled into a tight line, and takes the seat across from me.
I see the shadow of a man standing just outside the door, surely there to make sure I don’t do anything violent.
“Why am I being held here?” I ask. “No one would explain why I was forcefully removed from my home.”
The woman folds her hands in front of her on the table and smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. They remain narrowed and focused. I feel like a bug under a microscope with her full attention on me.
“Where is my wife?”
“At home, I suspect,” she says. “We did not detain her.”
“Is that what I am?” I ask. “Detained?”
She leans back in her chair and folds her arms over her chest. “I am Agent Rian Morrison.”
Recognition flickers somewhere in the back of my mind, but I can’t place the name. “Charmed to meet you.”
She stares at me for a moment and tilts her head to the side. “You don’t know who I am.”
“You are Agent Rian Morrison,” I repeat quickly. “And I am Luka Volkov. Could we proceed to why we are both here?”
She leans forward and runs her tongue across her top row of teeth. “We are here, Mr. Volkov, because you killed my brother.”
I am momentarily stunned. I stare at her, trying to understand what she could be referring to or who she is. Then, it hits me.
Morrison.
Cole Morrison.
If I admit to knowing who she is, I have as good as admitted my guilt. So, I furrow my brow and shake my head. “I’m not sure I understand what you are talking about.”
“My brother is Cole Morrison,” she says, hatred written in every line of her face.
“And you said he died?” I ask, frowning. “I am sorry for your loss.”
All at once, Agent Morrison is on her feet and leaning across the small table, screaming into my face. “You son of a bitch! Don’t you dare sit there and apologize to me. Don’t you pretend you didn’t murder him.”
I turn my head to the side but don’t push away from the table. I want her to be the one to retreat. I won’t show any weakness.
There is a knock on the door and the shadow of a man appears in the window of the again. The agent takes a deep breath and sits down. She smooths her skirt down and shakes her head.
“It doesn’t matter, anyway. I do not need your confession.
” She turns her attention to me, a smile pulling up one corner of her mother. “I have the entire murder on tape.”
My heart begins to race, but I do my best to remain calm, unflappable. “I’m sure that will make it easy to rule me out as the suspect, then.”
She rolls her eyes. “I heard the two of you talk about Eve. Do you really think it will be difficult for us to prove that is you on the recording? Though, I suppose, Eve was engaged a number of times. It is very likely she has more than one ex-fiancé running around the city.”
I grit my teeth, wanting nothing more than to defend my wife, but I don’t give in. That is what Agent Morrison wants. She wants to get under my skin, but I will not allow it. I want to go home tonight. Home to my family. And if I give her what she wants, I’ll find myself in a prison cell.
“If I am going to be officially detained, I would like to contact my lawyer,” I say. “As pleasant as this whole experience has been, I’m sure you understand.”
Rian nods her head, smiling, and then leans forward until she is resting on her elbows. Her head sags down between her shoulders like a turtle tucking into its shell.
“You are not being detained, Mr. Volkov. So, you are free to go.”
As soon as the words are out of her mouth, I stand up and begin to move towards the door. Just as quickly, she jumps from her seat and cuts me off.
I am a head taller than her easily, but hatred rolls off of her in waves, and the shadow on the other side of the door appears to remind me I am outnumbered.
“Watch your back, Mr. Volkov,” she says quietly. “This was only a warning shot.”
“Well, thank you for the warning,” I say with a broad, fake smile.
“We are not the only entity after you right now.”
I don’t know what she means, but I move past her quickly, eager to leave, and knock on the door. It opens, a large guard on the other side stepping to the side, his nostrils flared.
I’m halfway into the hall when Agent Morrison clears her throat. “Oh, Mr. Volkov?” I turn around, and her hand is raised in farewell. “Slán leat.”
I furrow my brows and wave goodbye, and it isn’t until I’m halfway down the hall that I recognize the phrase.
