by Amarie Avant
“You look beautiful, Zariah. Nyet, I’m not feeling the club scene. What were your plans?” He asks.
“We were going to head to the dolphin exhibit at The Mirage,” I begin. Due to how forlorn he’s looked this weekend, I add, “would you like to tag along?”
“Of course, more time with my Chak Chak.”
“Chalk what?” My eyebrow crinkles.
“Chak Chak. Vassili calls her that sometimes. But dah, I’ll definitely come. Malich doesn’t gamble, it’s no fun alone. There’s nothing else for me to do,” he pouts. “Taryn is sick so…”
“Taryn is sick?” I repeat, having spoken with her earlier yesterday. She was bragging about a date with a New York Banker. The guy had sent her a first-class ticket to come see him. Feeling sorry for the big guy, I wave a hand and keep the manipulation on rotation with, “Oh, yeah, she is cramping.”
“She told me she had a stomach ache,” Yuri’s eyes shade in thought.
“Which is it, girl?” Vassili’s tone is curved as if he’s testing me.
Where the heck did he come from? I turn around. He is definitely in a defensive stance, with his shirt off, jagged muscles, a bandage around his hard abdomen, and a bath towel in his hand. “Cramping or a stomach ache?” His gaze narrows.
“It’s the same thing, Vassili,” I cut my husband a look. Then offer Yuri a reassuring smile. Taryn is fucked up. “Um, I’m going to help the big bully shower. If you hear Natasha getting restless, check in.”
With a small nod, Yuri settles down on the couch. He sits, wide legged and fingers steepled in thought.
Vassili stands at the door to the bedroom as I enter.
“Congratulations, Zariah, you could’ve saved his life,” Vassili tells me.
“How?” I scoff.
“He wants to marry the bitch.”
“Oh God, that’s a bad idea.” Shit, I have no poker face unless I’m in a courtroom. We move out of the way since the television is across from the bed where Natasha is laying like the princess that she is. There’s a scattering of pillows on the floor around the bed, although, our daughter is a pro at the pull-up and can shimmy down a rope if necessary.
“Ya think? Fuck yeah, it’s an awful idea. This is the first time Yuri has dated a female for longer than a few months. He cares about that bitch, and evidently, she doesn’t share his feelings. You should’ve said something.”
I head to the luxurious bathroom. “Yuri’s your cousin, why me?”
“It’s easier when it comes from a girl, shit, I don’t know. I’ve never been fucking cheated on.” Vassili closes the bathroom door behind him. Crap, I’m locked in with him. My husband never argues or debates with me. First of all, he says a man should not argue period. It’s for women. Sexist much. Secondly, he’s afraid of confrontation—or he was before he had a broken patella. I won all fights by default. Meaning he’d be quiet until he was calm enough to chat. After his patella broke he used that forearm conditioning thingamajig to get under my skin while I tried to carry on a debate with him.
Right now, I’m not in the mood to defend Taryn, argue or chat. Because battle wounds are sexy.
I try to conclude my opposing argument with another tender kiss on his lips. Then I murmur, “And you will never be cheated on because I love you with all of me. I think the consensus is that either one of us would murder the other due to infidelity so let’s get out of their business.”
His frown deepens. “So, my cousin loses out tens of thousands of dollars on a wedding ring for that bitch, fuck that! You go tell him that his bitch is a bitch.”
My hand goes to my hip. “Vassili, if you don’t stop calling my friend—”
He corners me against the counter, his hands slamming down on either side of the edge. “What are you going to do?”
My fingers brush ever so softly against the “K” in KILLER across his left pectoral. My voice is silky as sex. “Vassili, may I suck your cock?”
“Nyet! ... Da!” He growls and then nudges his head to the floor. I sink to my knees. Vassili leans back against the counter. The sound of his belt unbuckling and his zipper moving titillating slow sends a rush of saliva into my mouth.
I gulp it down, imagining his seed. Vassili fists his cock, running his large hand over his extremely long, thick erection. Damn, but I want that cock all over me. In my mouth, between my breasts, pounding my pussy, and he might not even have to get me drunk enough for some anal action.
My fighter looks ruggedly sexy. His bruises enhance how strong he is. I’m imagining him slaughtering my pussy as hard as he slaughtered Karsoff. Kill the cat. He hits his cockhead playfully against my cheek. “You wanna suck daddy’s cock?”
“I want to suck daddy’s cock and I want daddy’s cum in my mouth. All over me…” Shit, did I just say that? I’m hypnotized by the way his hand works his cock. Wish it were me.
My husband’s eyes glint a gorgeous obsidian and his mouth pitches into a cocky grin. “Okay.”
Vassili stops fisting his dick and I throw my lips onto it with eagerness. My mouth is warm and wet against his hot, slick, titanium rod. I toss it back down my throat and attempt to gulp the head of him with my tonsils.
I glance up at him.
“Fuck, keep your eyes on me, Zar.” He commands. “You my good girl?”
I hum the perfect response against his crown.
“Nyet, Zariah, you’re my bad bitch tonight.”
My eyes stay trained on him as his cock pounds my brains with each swish of my neck.
“I can cum over your face?”
I nod.
He grips my ponytail and I choke his cock deep into my mouth.
“Fuck yourself, Zar. If you want me to nut all over you, fuck yourself.”
My neck action keeps my head bobbing up and down. Like I’m going for an apple in a water filled barrel each time I meet my goal, the tip of his dick slamming my tonsils. I reach down over my skin-tight dress and grab my tit. My body is hot, my pussy is aching.
“Fuck that pussy, girl. I can’t cum over you unless you cum all over your fingers.”
“Mmmm.” I moan. I’m in love with the taste of his dick. It takes me a while. From tweaking my nipples to roaming my hand along my abdomen.
Vassili reaches down, growls at the pain from his rib and helps me pull my tight dress up over my hips. I press my thong to my side, shove his cock back into my mouth and three of my fingers into my treasure. The release of feeling something inside of me has me momentarily satiated.
“Suck harder, or I won’t cum, Zar.”
My tongue swirls around his head, and then to the back of my throat, he goes.
“You wet?”
I do my best to nod while sucking his cock like it’s solid gold.
“Work that pussy.”
My fingers move rapidly. Vassili’s hand twines in my hair, pumping me up and down. My lips glide over his cock at a rapid pace. A flash of ecstasy masks my face when I start drenching down rain on my fingers. His seed sprints into my mouth. He pulls out. I’m masturbating the long orgasm out of me as his warm cum shoots across my lips. I lock my mouth open, to catch as much as I can, and continue screwing myself.
When it’s all done, I rub my index finger along my chin, drag the rest of his cream to my lips and lick my mouth clean. Vassili is staring at me like he wants to screw me now. Again…
And then he holds out a hand, helping me up. I start to kiss him. He turns away.
“Okay…” My eyes water instantly.
“Nyet, nyet.” He kisses my mouth hard, then rough, then tender. He feasts on my lips and tongues me down. “I’m sorry, Zariah.”
“What? Vassili, did the doctor give you any pain meds?” I place a hand on my hip. The momentary lurch of my heart has ended, now I’m concerned. He’s usually knocked out after norcos. But what’s up with his ever-changing attitude?
“I shouldn’t have called you a bitch.”
“We’re married, Vassili. We were having raunchy porno fun.
” I scoff. He seems consumed by anger at himself. Disappointment? I grin. “If you call me that while we are arguing I’ll chop your balls off.” Really, I’ll try.
“I won’t call you it ever again.”
Natasha starts crying. The credits for the Disney movie are running.
I sigh heavily. “Vassili…”
He steps inside of the elongated shower and turns it on. I know without a shadow of a doubt that this discussion is over, no matter how much I want to resolve things.
Vassili
“You’re looking for me?” Her voice is unforgettable. It’s filled with jealousy, envy, and strife. And fuck it, I prefer it over the sound of me calling my wife a bitch. What the fuck was I thinking?
Zariah had asked me to come all over her. That’s something I’ve done to cunts, who’ve asked.
But my wife?
I shouldn’t have wanted to fuck her ass! I shouldn’t have called her a—
Yeah, that shit was running through my brain in rapid succession. On repeat, prior to me answering my phone.
I head into the upstairs office, although it’s just Natasha and I. She’s playing in her playpen for now. “Danushka, fuck yeah, I’ve been looking for you. Where are you at?”
“What’s this? My big brother is requesting a sibling date?”
“Why did you email me?”
There’s a momentary silence. “Just to determine your level of connections. In your assumptions, it was either Anatoly or Washington, right?”
The bitch is playing the power card. “What the fuck do you know about Washington?”
“Lots. He is easier to persuade than you’ve been going about. But then again, Vassili, you never give a damn about making friends.”
I listen for any signs of familiarity. Rushing water. People in the background? Drilling wells! Something! It’s silent on her end.
“Vassili. Or Karo. Which do you prefer?”
“I’d prefer you forgot my name entirely.” I settle down into my custom leather chair.
“Oh, no. You’re father’s beloved. Everyone loves you. You’re a legacy. There’s no forgetting about you.”
“Dah? And there are few people in this world that I love. Like my wife and daughter. You’re aware of them. And whatever is up your sleeve better have nothing to do with them.” My Russian accent thickens with each word. “You got that, or I choke the life out of you with my fucking hands.” I imagine her pulse slipping.
“You know what, Vassili? Only you could get away with murder. The choice words. Let another one of our brothers or sisters make pointed threats, I believe our dad would give the order. Bang. Bang.”
Grunting, I toss back, “Tvoy otets, a ne moy—your father, not mine.”
“Stop it with the reverse psychology already, Anatoly loves you in spite of…”
“Everything Little Danushka does for praise?” I smile. She may have won the match by tossing out her awareness of Maxwell Washington, but I win the war. Our father’s love is all she’s ever wanted.
“Correct, Vassili. None of my endeavors matter,” her voice almost breaks.
“What do you want?” There isn’t a sympathetic bone in me for this bitch. Her mother ratted mine out the last time my mother attempted to flee Russia, and more importantly, my father.
“Just to keep you on your toes, big brother. For now, that is.” The call goes dead.
I’m left sitting with my hands tightly bound into fists. Danushka is a hard woman to catch up with. The real kicker is not knowing her game plan. What is her motivation…
Zariah
Having just returned to work after an extended weekend in Vegas, I don’t have much on my plate. The case I’m currently handling deals with the Versa family will. Edgar Versa, the owner of a line of upscale home improvement businesses in Southern California died. And with death and rich offspring, thus began a lengthy argument. Sarah Versa is my client, and Edgar’s granddaughter was the black sheep of the family. A party hardy, pill popping, alcohol guzzling, toss a grand each night for fun, type of girl. Until her parents cut her off. She sobered up to care for Edgar when he was dying of cancer, now her mother believes she tampered with said will.
Sarah does have much to gain. And with her parents sticking it to her, Billingsley Legal was all she could afford. But the real kicker is, nobody, but her appeared to give a damn about their great-grandfather until he gave up the ghost.
In order to gather evidence of his frame of mind while altering the will during the few months prior to his death, I’m reviewing information regarding the grandfather’s last days with his doctors and nurses when Lanetta pops her head inside of the door.
“Mrs. Resnov, we have a mother who just arrived with her children.” She chews her gum impatiently. “She’s saying if she goes away, she might not come back… She received your card from that nonprofit, The People’s Love. Tyrese is trying to handle it but she’s asking for you.”
Oh, Tyrese is it? Over half a year has passed since I became her boss, and I’m referred to by my last name, but the newbie is Tyrese?
“Okay,” my eyebrow furrows. It’s a quarter past five and the front door should’ve already been locked. The top attorneys, myself, Connie and Samuel work on rotation in the evening and our secretaries assist with lock up. Clearly, Lanetta has her shoes geared toward the back exit. It’s summer, the nights are long, but why work overtime?
While reviewing the last note from the man’s doctor, I mumble, “Just leave the keys, I’ll place the alarm on my way out.”
“Alright, you may want Ty to stay,” she advises as I glance up, “just to make sure nothing happens. Look at me like that if you want, but…” her voice trails off, she shakes her head in disgust. And over her shoulder, mentions, “I’m leaving the keys on my desk. I have to get to the childcare center in a few.”
Um hmm, she has until 6:30 and lives a few blocks down the road
“Thanks,” I call out while logging off my computer. Rising to my feet, I slide into my cardigan and exchange the house shoes that have kept me comfy all afternoon for my high heels.
A woman with a Hispanic accent continues to ask for me as I walk around the cubicles surrounding the middle of the office. A voice, that I assume belongs to Tyrese, offers to help her.
“No, no, I talk to Zariah, just Zariah, por favor,” she says. As I near the bend to the front door, there’s stifled crying.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mrs. Noriega. Please bring your children to my office, and I’d be glad to assist you.”
“No,” she replies.
My eyebrows crinkle. If the woman insists on receiving help from myself why would Tyrese attempt to intervene? The doorbells chime, and my first line of vision is Tyrese taking a deep breath while placing his hands into his suit pants. His back is to me. The mother and children are gone.
“Mr. Nicks, why wouldn’t you escort Mrs. Noriega and her children to my office if she was so insistent? This was a prime opportunity to empathize and help.”
He scoffs. I haven’t seen the man’s dimples since I chewed him up and spit him out. “Mrs. Resnov, it’d be better if she received assistance from—”
I place up a hand, my expression is enough to get him to shut up. I stalk out the door, into the evening summer heat. Headed to the bus stop is a woman, who cannot be more than five feet tall, with two children clinging to either side of her, crying into her chest. There’s another young mother with stroller already standing next to the bus stop sign. By process of elimination, I determine the shorter of the two mothers is Mrs. Noriega. My pace falters a few empty parking lot rows away as the sun gleams down onto what I assume is a neck brace.
“Mrs. Noriega,” I call out while hustling over to her.
She turns around, eyes swallowed up by shiners, and glossed with tears. The apparition I assumed was a neck brace is actually some sort of anchor, wired to her jaw. The look on her face pains me, and I can almost feel how badly it hurts to talk. Intuition war
ns that Tyrese’s attempt to keep this case was due to whoever caused Felicidad so much pain. My mind instantly goes to my family. Vassili would snatch me out of the workplace and slap an apron on me for the rest of my employable life. He doesn’t want me defending cases like this.
“I am Zariah Resnov, nice to meet you.” I extend a hand.
“Felicidad Noriega,” her thin lips move with restriction.
“And you are,” I hold my hand out to the oldest, her son is about ten, his fingernails are dirty, and his clothing is soiled.
“Juan,” he gives my hand a hearty shake.
Felicidad’s daughter has her face burrowed into her voluptuous hip. I place the girl to be around five at most.
“My sister is Rosemary, she doesn’t speak.”
“Are you guys hungry? I’m starving.”
“No, no,” Felicidad has difficulty shaking her head.
“Yes,” Juan replies at the same time.
Rosemary peeks at me. They’re all hungry.
“Well, Felicidad, Hot Chilly’s across the way might be a great place for us all to talk.”
“That’s a great idea,” Tyrese speaks from behind me. “The chilly cheeseburger has your name on it, Juan.”
“Oh yeah!” The boy agrees enthusiastically.
I glance back at him as he catches up to us.
Felicidad bites her lip. “Uh… I don’t know, it might be too expensive.”
Tyrese is finally at my side, he places a friendly arm around my shoulder. His hand clasps around my elbow to hold me into position. “On me.” As he holds out the opposite hand to gesture toward the pedestrian walk, he whispers into my ear. “You might think I’m a jackass but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving you with them.”
I grind my teeth and glower at him. “Remove your arm, Mr. Nicks.”
“Her husband is one of the top dogs of the Loco Dios gang. Nothing you say or do will get rid of me. Call that my good deed for today, if you’d prefer, but I won’t budge on this.”
Damn, I’ve heard of the gang before. In the late 90s, my father was leader of the gang unit. He was in charge of cleaning the streets, and he did. The Loco Dios were rid of each of their highest-ranking members. Nobody is still aware of how, but just like with many gangs, what goes down must come up. By the next year, there were family members from Mexico, more illegal residents, and younger members flooding into the spots where the top dogs were.
