by Ker Dukey
“Girls, this isn’t the way I wanted you to hear this…” Before he can finish, our mother straightens, brushes her hands down the front of her fancy dress, and turns to face us.
“Your father’s bastard has returned to the fold, moi docheri.” My daughters. “To take the kingdom from beneath you.”
“Enough,” Father barks out his warning.
She’s always been weak, but in this moment, she is fire and beauty. She is Diana. Fierce and formidable.
“Look at you both,” Vas croons, holding his hands out in front of him. “So grown up. So beautiful.”
“Otets,” Diana breathes. Our father reacts to her pained call and moves toward her, taking her hands.
“I found out recently Vas is, in fact, a result of my indiscretion,” Father admits.
“She knows you screw the help,” Mother snaps. “They’re not blind or stupid.” She flinches, all fire snuffed out, when father drops Diana’s hands and waltzes toward her.
“Ostorojno, jenshina.” Careful, woman.
“How long have you known?” I find the words tumbling out of me as the past months play over and over in my head.
“Nearly a year,” Vas answers for our father.
Nearly a year? Bastard.
This is why he suddenly wants to pawn us off like chess pieces. He has no need for daughters. He has the son he always wanted. Vomit threatens to spill from my lips. I won’t give Vas or our father the pleasure of seeing me fragmenting, my entire childhood scattering and drifting away like smoke from a fire.
It’s been one full week since Father dropped the bomb. And a week was all it took to pack us up to move to the Vasiliev estate. Father was positively giddy as he escorted us to our new home. He’s getting the best of both worlds. Two daughters he can try to use as spies to gain the upper hand, and now a son to run his empire in their wake.
I hate him.
I hate Father so much, I could scream.
And all of Mother’s fury died once he set her in her place. She retreated to her room and drowned her sorrows in Father’s most expensive vodka, chasing pain pills like it was her job. That’s good ol’ Ma. Hiding behind a haze of numbness while her daughters are sent into the fray to do the dirty work.
As we enter the ornate foyer in the Vasiliev home, I realize this home is anything but the slums. Everything is expensive and well taken care of. Servants peek from around corners, trying to catch a glimpse of the new prizes Vlad has acquired.
That is what we are, after all.
Prizes.
After seeing Vas with my father and the way my mother behaved last week, I find my heart bitter and angry. Diana has retreated into herself, but I’m bubbling with rage. This life Father has created for us is bullshit. Yes, we’re spoiled with anything money can buy, but it can’t buy happiness. Hell, it can’t even buy contentedness. We’re moving into the enemy’s mansion and we’re expected to play nice.
I’m so done playing nice.
“This way,” a woman with big boobs and a forced smile says. We follow her through a series of corridors until it opens into a new wing of the house. “This is the north wing. Five bedrooms, five bathrooms, a small kitchenette, a library, an office, and a sitting area. I do hope these accommodations suit you.” Another fake smile. “The bathrooms, especially, are quite nice.”
Diana nods and smiles back at her. My sister’s smile is gorgeous. Fake as well, but gorgeous. “Thank you, darling. This is more than lovely.”
“I’m Rada,” the woman says. “Should you need anything at all, please push the button on any of the panels in each room and I will be at your service.”
As the woman starts to leave, Diana stops her. “Rada, when will dinner be served? I assume we’ll be dining with my fiancé, Mr. Vasiliev?”
Rada’s cheeks burn crimson and she purses her lips. “I’m unsure, ma’am. Someone will be around to let you know.” Rada bows her head, then scurries off.
“I don’t like her,” I grumble out.
“You don’t like anyone,” my sister teases. Despite her forced playfulness, I can sense her apprehension. We’re in the lion’s den. Vlad may be a gentleman and a longtime friend, but he’s still a Vasiliev. Cunning and ruthless. Violent when the situation calls for it.
“I should room between you in case any trouble should arise,” Anton grits out. “I’ll need to get to you both quickly.”
Diana gives him a nod. He stalks off to check out the rooms. I walk over to a leather chair in the sitting room and plop down. My eyes skim over every detail of the room. Dark, thick drapery covers the windows, allowing little to no light in. A fireplace cackles with a fire on one end of the room. Not a speckle of dust jackets anything in the space. The home is clean and immaculate, just not very warm and cozy. It could definitely use some throw blankets and a couple fuzzy pillows.
My sister smirks at me. “Don’t,” she warns, her lips turning up into a wide grin.
“I’m just thinking,” I say with a pout.
“And what color is this thought?”
I let loose a small giggle. “Teal. I mean teal and chocolate go so well together.”
“Oh, dear God,” she says, shaking her head. “Can you imagine the look on Vlad’s face if he came into this room only to see you’ve redecorated it to your specifications?”
I stick my tongue at her, earning another laugh. “I just think these big houses are gloomy. All it would take would be a few chenille blankets, a couple faux fur throw pillows, and a splash of color. Voila. Creepy dungeon turned magical reading spot.”
She nods and gives me a thankful smile. My sister wants me to try to make this work. For her, I will. I’ll never let my guard down, but if she has hopes of finding happiness, I won’t stop her. “I’ll speak to Vlad,” she vows. “Order what you want and I’ll convince him to let us spruce up the north wing.”
I raise both brows at her. “And what makes you think big, bad Vlad will agree to chenille and teal?”
My sister winks at me. Such a devious wink. “I can be convincing when I want to be.”
Weapons.
The V Games aren’t complete unless we’re the proud owners of the best weapons on the planet. Father has sent me after women—dirty little playthings to be used as pawns and distractions for next winter’s games—but I’m taking care of my own agenda as well. While he’s training used-up whores to be duplicitous sex vixens, I’ll be training someone on how to disembowel a man in three seconds flat. The games I play are far more vicious.
I’m training a new someone.
My last someone was ripped right from my grip as of last week.
Anger, furious and explosive, bubbles just below my surface.
In due time, I’ll deal with that error.
Vas had always been a deviant shithead, and although I wanted to throttle the little terror when he would torment Irina, I saw the darkness inside him. I wanted to bottle it and take it out when the time was right. He made an excellent trainee when I tracked him down nearly a year ago, already fighting in underground circuits and running his own street crew. He was nothing but a thug, but a cunning one, and willing to learn and train. Perfect.
I taught him everything I knew…
And then Leonid ripped him away now that his blood is actually worth something. Leonid knew he was his the entire time Vas trained with me—they both did—yet they failed to offer that information, instead learning what they could while they could.
In due time, they’ll understand their mistake.
“I like this one,” I tell Oleg, the arms dealer who’s traveled from nearly five hundred miles away to offer me his stash.
“Just one?” he asks, his voice gravelly from too many years of smoking.
“To start,” I say as I hold up the knife. It glistens under the overhead light. It’s curved like a curled claw with a sharp blade on both sides. The tip is shaped like a fishing hook. Whomever meets the end of this won’t live to tell about it. “What else you got?�
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My new trainee, Stepan Koslov, from the Second Families, who are deemed lesser than the First Families, doesn’t move a muscle beside me. He’s every bit as tall and wide as Vas was. Where I thought Vas was just some kid of a housekeeper, I know Stepan’s bloodline. His father, Nestor, is a small arms dealer. Nothing of Oleg’s caliber, but they are local and good to buy from in a pinch. Stepan runs his mouth a lot less than Vas, which works in his favor. But where Vas moved without hesitation, Stepan is still learning and thinks too long before each move. Stepan may be the older of the two at nineteen, but he’s just not quite there yet.
Yet.
I will break him in like I broke Vas.
A ruthless, fighting killing machine.
A winner.
Leonid can go fuck himself when he loses. You can’t go nose-to-nose with someone like me and come out unscathed. I always win.
I hand the blade to Stepan and he grips the hilt. It fits perfectly in his massive hand. My heart tightens in my chest as I recall handing my brother a blade before he entered The Games just over two months ago. At least with Stepan, I feel nothing for him. He could walk into those Games ten months from now and get gutted like a fish within the first few moments and the only regret I’d have would be that I didn’t train someone better.
He will be the best, though.
“This one,” Stepan growls from beside me as he hands me back the knife. “I like this one.”
I give him a nod as I tuck it away inside my jacket and then follow Oleg to another trunk full of weapons. He shows me grenade launchers and guns. Those interest me for selling to the neighbors to the south. Unrelated V Games business. I snap my fingers over the chest and motion for the entire thing.
Oleg lets out an appreciative whistle as we continue “shopping.” I pluck unique items that will prove to one day be useful for Stepan along the way. Once I’ve accumulated enough trunks to satisfy the Kazakhstani mob, I motion for Oleg to follow me. Stepan stays behind, guarding our haul without having to be told. He’ll make for a formidable player in The Games. Unlike Vas and Viktor, he obeys my goddamn commands.
I walk out of the garage and into our house. Oleg knows the drill. He brings weapons all the time. My father and him go back to before I was born. Now that I’m more or less in charge, I deal with Oleg. Who the hell knows what Father actually does these days besides meddle in my business. Oleg steals an apple from a basket and I have to listen to his crunching and slurping the entire way to my office. If I were a lesser man, I’d shove the half-eaten fruit down his windpipe and let him suffocate. There’s nothing worse than a loud eater. Loyalties or not, one day that bullshit will get him killed.
Once inside my office, Oleg settles his beefy frame in one of the chairs. I walk over to a giant portrait of my father, Vika, and myself. The one that used to include my brother as well has been removed from the premises. I allowed it as a sign of respect for my father, but the rest of my pictures in my office of my brother and I remain. I grab hold of the bottom left of the giant frame and pull it from the wall. Behind the obnoxious painting is my massive safe. While Oleg makes love to his apple, I key in my code and open the safe. Inside is a duffle bag full of money—money that’s already been negotiated with Oleg. He knows the drill. I may like to pretend I’m deciding on the weapons, but I end up buying them all.
No man can ever have too much of an arsenal.
I crave to look at the stack of photos at the back of the safe, but now’s not the time. Pictures of my siblings and I when we were children are held dear beside my mother’s jewelry and Viktor’s old wallet. No pictures of my mother exist. All I have left of her is what’s in this safe and sketchy memories of her smile. But with my brother’s wallet, I can sometimes hold the leather to my nose and inhale the cologne lingering on to it. The memories of him are bolder and still etched into my mind. Fuck, how I miss my brother.
I realize I’ve stopped to touch the wallet. I stifle a groan and quickly shut the safe. When I turn to regard Oleg, juices run down his stubbly jaw and drip on his shirt. It makes me twitchy to grip his thick throat and drag him from my pristine office. Instead, I take a page from Father’s book and ignore what disgusts me. I set the bag of money at his feet and then unbutton my suit jacket. With a quick tug, I pull it from my body and hang it from a hook in the corner.
I’m on edge after seeing Viktor’s wallet.
It’s a constant reminder that he’s gone.
Fury at my sister sets my soul on fire. I wish to tug at my tie and loosen it, but I refuse to show weakness, even in front of a man who wouldn’t notice if weakness slapped him in the face. I place my hands on my hips and stand behind my desk, my legs slightly parted. The vest I’m wearing fits snugly over my crisp white dress shirt. I’m uncomfortable and realize I must be spending too much time in the gym training with Stepan. I’m outgrowing my damn clothes.
“The women?” I ask.
Oleg sticks one of his dirty fingers in his mouth and slurps off the juicy remnants. With his eyes on his hand, I allow myself one moment to show my disgust. I snarl my lip up and shake my head. Fucking disgusting. How Father put up with this for decades is beyond me.
“Well,” he says, once he’s satisfied he’s clean. “I’ve got fifteen out in the truck. Dirty as all fucking hell, but Yuri likes ‘em that way. The dirtier the better. Some of dem bitches are even into humiliation.” He grabs at his crotch and grins salaciously at me.
“We don’t need them into anything,” I bark. “We need them strong and pliable.”
“The money?”
“You know it’s already in the bag.”
He grunts and raises his hand like he’s going to throw his core across the room and into my trashcan. Over my goddamn body.
Before I can open my mouth to threaten him, I lock eyes with a pair of icy blues watching me from a dark corner of my office.
Little Irina.
I’m so stunned by her sudden appearance, I allow the dipshit to throw—and miss, for that matter—his core at my trashcan. He grunts and stands to go pick it up. I can’t look away from the little girl hiding in my office, watching my business like it’s her God-given right.
She sits primly, wearing a plain, fitted black dress. Her silky blonde hair has been straightened and hangs in front of the swell of her breasts. A black headband keeps the hair from her eyes. To an outsider, they’d think of her as an ordinary girl, barely a woman.
But ordinary girls don’t spy on Russian mobsters without fear in their eyes.
No, a challenge dances in her blue-eyed stare. A challenge that, for a moment, speaks right to my cock. It twitches, and I force my stare from her supple, swollen lips. Lips I’d nibble the fuck out of. I’d take that silky hair of hers and wrap it tightly around her slender throat. Watch her eyes gloss over with tears. I’d bring her to the brink of death, only to reawaken her and show her how alive she really is.
“Need to check out the merchandise?” Oleg asks, dragging me from beautiful visions I’d much rather dwell on. His gaze flits over to the corner and he whistles. “Well, I’ll be goddamned, boy. Is this the one you’re marrying?” He waves, far too friendly for an arms dealer, motioning her to him. “Come here, pretty little thing. Introduce yourself to Uncle Oleg.”
I grit my teeth and glower at Irina. I knew the Volkov ladies would arrive today, but I certainly didn’t expect to see either of them until dinner. Having her here will prove to be more difficult than I originally thought. Perhaps seeing the skanks out in the truck will help the state of my cock. It would also do well to put my little shadow in her place. Now that they are here, they don’t run things as they once did.
They are merely pawns.
Gorgeous pawns, no doubt, but still pawns.
“Come,” I bark out and snap my fingers, pointing to the carpet in front of me.
Irina’s cheeks flush, but she obeys. That really gets my dick hard. Images of her on her knees in front of me flash. Her blonde tresses tangled in my
fist as I skull-fuck her pretty mouth. Slowly, as though her walk itself is meant to seduce me, she makes her way over to me. I notice every detail as she moves. The way she bites her fat bottom lip that I’d love to suck. The way her neck turns slightly pink in my presence. The way her small tits bounce with each step she takes beneath her dress.
Sweet, Irina, you’ve showed your cards far too soon.
You want me, but you can’t have me, my love.
She stops in front of me and looks up. Her nostrils flare as she inhales my scent. It does something to my insides. Basic and male. I have the urge to grip her slender, unmarked throat and squeeze until it bears my memory for days.
Would her plump, pink lips turn blue?
Would she gasp for breath? Claw at my vest and pop the buttons?
Or would she moan and squirm and spread her legs for me?
Would sweet Irina come, my name rasping from her lips that would no longer taste the air?
My cock is impossibly hard, and I don’t realize I’m struck simply staring at her until Oleg lets out a chuckle. He may be close to my father, and therefore an ally of mine, but what he just saw is grounds for termination. The permanent kind. I snap my gaze his way, and he raises his hands in surrender.
“I didn’t see nothin’, kid,” he says. “Meet you at the truck.” He hurries from my office and out of my sight. Wise man.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, my voice low and deadly. My eyes are still on the doorway because I can’t look at her. She weakens me with her stares. So sweet and curious. I can’t deal with this right now.
“I came to talk to you. I wanted to ask you something.”
“Oh?” I turn and regard her young face.
It wasn’t but a few months ago that she was nothing but a child. An untouchable, out of reach child. Still, I fantasized things no man ever should. Dreams of holding her down, spreading her creamy thighs, and shoving inside her tight, virgin heat. Sometimes I wish my world weren’t so complicated. I’d give up so much just to have one taste of what others take for granted. Something as simple as fucking a woman you’re addicted to, and I am addicted. She holds a power over me, and the pull is getting unbearable.
