Dirty Passions

by Wright, Kenya

  Boris continued to hold my hand as he led me to the war room and then opened the door.

  I stepped inside.

  Kaz stood in the center of the large space, swallowing up the room with his massive presence. His huge back had been to me.

  As if he could sense me, he turned around. But he didn’t look at my face or smile. Instead, his attention went straight to Boris’s fingers wrapped around mine.

  He glared. Those eyes were moving liquid, but so fucking cold.

  A little tension left me.

  Kaz.

  Even with the anger on his face, my lion exuded a lethal beauty. He had the look of a high fashion editorial model—edgy, yet perfectly structured. Shoulders a mile wide. Dark hair cut with style. A sleek jaw.

  His eyebrows were two dark slashes above thick-lashed eyes that glowed deep blue. In this moment, he lowered those brows and glared at Boris.

  I took my fingers away from Boris’s hold.

  “Emily, you’re awake.” Kaz placed his hands in his pockets and continued to watch Boris.

  Pressure built in my chest as I walked forward. “What’s going on?”

  Kaz kept his attention on Boris. “You should be in bed. You have to heal.”

  “I won’t go back to bed, unless you’re in there with me.”

  Finally, he directed his gaze to me. “I can’t right now.”

  I crossed my arms. “Why not?”

  “I have business.”

  “No. You have war.”

  Kazimir’s jaw twitched. His attention returned to Boris.

  Silence thickened in the room.

  I scanned the space.

  Several people were inside.

  “Hey, Em.” Max stood in the balcony doorway exhaling smoke and stamping out a joint. Worry creased his face. Max stepped inside but remained near the exit as if hoping to have somewhere to escape. That wasn’t a good sign. It meant that I wouldn’t like what was going on and that Max was participating.

  I checked out the other men, who now had all of their gazes on me.

  Pavel sat at the end of the table with his long black hair tied back into a ponytail. Pavel was Kaz’s cousin on his father’s side. Same age, they’d grown up together in Siberia. He wore a simple gray suit that clung to his fit body. However, tiny rubies pierced both of his ears. And that hair was sleek and shiny. Once Kaz told me that Pavel always traveled with two hair stylists. I damn sure could believe it.

  The man from the airport was at the table too. I think Kaz had referred to him as King David. He was Bratva, but from the brotherhood’s Paris division. It showed. There was a designer finesse to David. Blue eyes. Blond hair—not cut short, but not as long as Pavel’s either. It waved down to his ears. He was young, probably close to my age. Somewhere in the early twenties. But the most intriguing part of him was the tattoos. Bible verses decorated the space under his chin and all over his neck.

  Others sat at the table and were from his childhood days in Siberia. They’d been in his first gang along with Pavel—Abram, Roman, and Nikolay. I didn’t know much about them.

  Abram had dark red hair, a pale complexion, and permanently scowling face. At Kaz’s party, he’d left without meeting me. Due to that, I found him rude and unworthy of my attention. Granted, his annoyance with me could have dealt with the fact that Kapotnya was part of his territory. And I had gone into it without his permission and recruited men and women. Today, he didn’t even look my way. Instead, he continued conversation with Roman—a skinny, tanned skin man, that I had barely met.

  Nikolay nodded at me. At the party, he had looked like an evil sorcerer. He had worn a heavy black fur cloak around his shoulders along with a top hat. Meanwhile, his wife had been dressed in this sheer white dress with gossamer and feathers. She reminded me of a swan princess. Although they appeared passionately in love.

  Today, he had on a simple dark blue suit—no cloak or top hat. He almost resembled a normal man, if not for the dark tattoos covering both of his hands. They were symbols of crosses all over his fingers and palm. Each cross was different in some way. Some were very small. Others somewhat big. Many had names or words written in them.

  Nikolay was one of the few men in this room that hadn’t grown up with Kaz. They’d met at his stepfather’s funeral.

  Five more Russians stood in the far back, looking like Kaz’s typical security and errand guys.

  Everyone continued to remain silent.

  I took in the space some more.

  Who the hell is that? And what is his problem?

  On the other side of the war room, a strange man sat in a chair. Chains clinked around his ankles. A plastic mask covered his face, but I could tell that whatever was under the shield was horrific. Scarred tissue and chewed flesh. He had a dog collar around his neck and a leash hanging from it.

  What the fuck?

  I spotted the massive table next the masked prisoner. It was a large scale model of Paris. The Eiffel tower was on the right. The Louvre on the left. Other attractions were there too—Notre Dame, Arc de Triomphe, and others. A blue glitter depiction of the Seine River moved along.

  Slowly, I walked over to the model.

  How long did I sleep? He got someone to put together a damn mini Paris?

  I looked back at Kaz. “We should have a conversation.”

  “We should.” Kaz’s expression softened. “Go to your room and lay down. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Go to my room?”

  “Our bedroom.”

  “You said my room.”

  Kazimir expression shifted to a confused look. “It was a mistake.”

  “Was it?”

  A few men stirred at the table.

  Why did he say, ‘my bedroom,’ instead of our bedroom. Am I going crazy?

  For some reason, every word was important. Perhaps, I was feeling insecure, after this loss. Maybe, he found me guilty too and was mad. He had said my room like it wasn’t ours, like he was done with me, like I was now an annoying child to get rid of when I bothered him.

  Get ahold of yourself.

  With my arms still crossed, I took two steps his way. Anger covered my face. “We need to talk now.”

  “There’s no time. We can talk later.” He stayed where he was. “Go to our bedroom and I’ll—”

  “You should excuse your men. I want to talk now.”

  His jaw twitched.

  Noise came from behind me.

  I turned that way. Three guys dragged a huge tv with wheels at the bottom. On it was footage of a massive building. I turned around and studied the tv screen.

  Are you kidding me?

  I leaned my head to the side to get a better look. “Is that the mall that we were just at yesterday?”

  “We’ll talk later, mysh.”

  Zahkar walked in with his phone to the side of his ear. “Kazimir, the bombs are in place.”

  Zahkar stopped talking when he spotted me. Out of all the Bratva, Zahkar looked the most like a professor. Tortoise shell glasses. Classic leather watch. No diamonds or gold. No tattoos peeking up from his neck or wrists.

  When I talked to him at the party he smoked from a cigar. Today, he had a wooden pipe in his other hand. A stream of smoke left the top.

  I spun around and scowled at Kaz. “Did Zahkar just say bombs?”

  Kaz massaged the back of his neck “We will talk later.”

  “Fuck that! Talk later my ass. You’re in a war room with a fucking mini-model of Paris. What are you going to do. . .bomb the whole city?”

  Rage radiated from him. Kaz lowered his hand and prowled my way, not appearing like he would calm anytime soon. “Let’s talk outside.”

  “No.” I uncrossed my arms. “Tell your men to leave. We can talk in here.”

  “Would it matter?”

  “Yes. I feel like if we leave this room, they’ll continue with whatever you’re trying to do.”

  “They will regardless.”

  “Not after we talk.”
<
br />   He leaned his head to the side. “Mysh, I’m not in a patient mood right now. I would like you to go upstairs—”

  “Maybe you should’ve gone to sleep. Instead of prepared for a war.”

  He blinked.

  Zahkar cleared his throat behind me. “I’m sorry, Kazimir, but the bombers want to know their next move. The police were notified of suspicious activity. Bomb units are heading to the area. Our window is closing.”

  “No, Kaz. Don’t bomb anything.” I rushed to him and touched his chest. He hardened under my hand. It scared me. “Please, Kaz. You said you wouldn’t do anything. You said that you would wait and—”

  “That was before. . .”

  My heart ached. He couldn’t even say the word miscarriage.

  I swallowed down my sadness. “Please. The French had nothing to do with the miscarriage. You have to let this go.”

  Kaz looked back at Zahkar. “Tell them to get in their positions.”

  “No. Please, I’m begging you. This is crazy.” I glanced behind me. “Don’t give that damn order, Zahkar. I mean it. Don’t even think about it.”

  Zahkar held the phone to his ear with his mouth open. He looked terrified, completely unsure of what to do. Smoke continued to rise from his pipe.

  I turned back to Kaz. “Please, baby. Don’t do this.”

  “Why? Is it because Jean-Pierre and you are friends?” Kaz glared at Zahkar. “Tell them to begin.”

  Zahkar spoke into the phone. “The lion wants you to execute the bombs.”

  “Wait.” I left Kazimir and headed to Zahkar. “Don’t do that! Tell them not to do it!”

  Dropping his pipe, Zahkar widened his eyes. One of Kaz’s men picked up the pipe and spilled burning tobacco, and then jumped out of the way.

  I yelled at Zahkar some more, “Put the phone down. Please.”

  Kazimir caught me from behind. “Stay out of this.”

  I struggled to get out of his arms. “What do you mean stay out of this? I’m the reason you’re bombing Paris in the first place. I get a say in what happens.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t.” Still holding me from behind, he kept my body in a tight grip. “This conflict is between Jean-Pierre and me now.”

  Zahkar spoke into the phone, “Go ahead and execute.”

  “Wait. No!” It was impossible to leave his arms. “Kaz—”

  On the screen, a blinding flash appeared. Then, everything exploded, snatching my words away.

  I watched the tv in panicked horror.

  The bombs had gone off far underground. The top structure violently broke away. A great gush of flame rose several feet in the area. Fire bloomed and scattered changing from yellow then red to violet and back through the spectrum to red again. Pillars of smoke swarmed and billowed. Geysers of hot ash and molten rock spouted upward.

  Where once there was a massive mall now there was black smoke and a crater of crumbling brick and exploding glass. Brick and wood and stone flew up. There was so much smoke. Clouds of it billowed and pushed into the air. I almost felt like I couldn’t breathe just from watching it on the screen.

  And then came the ear-splitting sounds of shattering glass and people crying and howling. Sirens blaring and booming. Deafening alarms ringing. A whirlpool of horror played out on the screen, and I could do nothing about it.

  Kazimir let me go.

  And all I could do was scream inside of my head.

  Chapter 1

  The Ultimatum

  Emily

  My heart broke for everyone in Paris. My throat grew hoarse.

  “No.” I inched over to the tv, scared to get too close as if touching the screen would burn me. “No.”

  Sirens blared off in the distance. More fires and explosions came from the East and West. Screams rose although I couldn’t see any people.

  Terrified, I held my hands up my head, seeking some sort of anchor within the madness. “No. What the fuck?”

  Adrenaline flooded my system. My blood pumped fast inside my veins as if trying to find a way to escape. My body wanted to run away, even though there was no danger against me in sight.

  I dropped my hands and faced Kaz. “How many people were in the mall? How many did you kill?”

  Max hurried over to my side. “Em, we made sure to clear the space. Almost everybody was out of there.”

  “Almost everybody?”

  “Trust me, Em. It was damn near empty.”

  “You knew he was going to bomb some shit and didn’t wake me?”

  “I figured if I stayed, I could help lower the human loss. He didn’t even want to clear the area. I fixed that and called in a bomb threat hours ago.”

  The screen changed.

  I turned my attention that way.

  An image of the Eiffel tower appeared.

  “Oh hell no!” I veered back to Kaz. “Are you going to bomb the Eiffel tower?”

  “Mysh, we will—”

  “Absolutely not!” I stormed after Zahkar.

  The poor man took a step back with the phone near his ear.

  “Put the phone down! Hang it up.” I jumped right in front of Zahkar and fisted my hands. “In fact, give the phone to me.”

  Zahkar looked behind me and in Kaz’s direction.

  I extended my hand to the side. “Max, give me your gun.”

  “Uh, Em. . .” Max’s voice came out shaky.

  “Give it to me!”

  Max put his gun in my hand.

  I pointed it at Zahkar.

  The poor man edged back. “I’m only doing what I’m ordered.”

  “Give me the phone.”

  Behind me, Kaz roared, “Mysh!”

  “Mysh my ass.” I aimed the gun at the center of Zahkar’s forehead. “Kaz, tell everyone to leave. We need to talk or I’m going to fucking shoot your friend.” And I motioned my free hand in King David’s direction. “After that, I’m killing him.”

  King David raised his hands. “Hey. All I’ve done is drink coffee.”

  “Get the fuck out!” I screamed. “Everyone. All of you.”

  Stupid idiots! You all are just going to let him bomb shit. No one has the balls to say anything.

  Without waiting for Kaz’s response, Max scratched his head and walked away. King David picked up his coffee and was out of there in seconds. Zahkar scurried off. In no time, the others received the message and departed. Even Boris joined them and exited.

  The only other person that was still in the room besides Kaz was the masked man chained to the chair.

  Kaz rubbed his face but kept that scowl on it.

  Dropping the gun to my side, I stared at the chained guy and yelled, “Max!”

  He ducked his head in the room. “Yeah, Em?”

  “Take this crazy looking motherfucker too.”

  “Got you.” Max went to the masked man in the chair and helped him stand. “You’re angry, Em. Maybe, you should give me that gun.”

  I handed it to him.

  “Thanks.” Max guided the masked man out with the leash.

  I pointed to the prisoner. “Kaz, who the hell is that?”

  “That’s the Devil.”

  “The one that kidnapped Jean-Pierre’s girlfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  Rage rose in my chest. “The one that was working for Misha and fucked everything up?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why is he here?”

  “Because he used to work for Jean-Pierre and even grew up with him. He would know good places to bomb.”

  I shifted from one foot to the other. “Would it kill you to just put your pride aside for the slightest second and think the bombing through?”

  “No, but it could kill you, mysh. It would leave you open to further threats. Let the world know that the lion does nothing, when the mouse is kidnapped and harmed.”

  “Bullshit!” I poked my finger at the air. “You just want to bomb things because you’re mad.”

>   He growled through clenched teeth, “That too.”

  The door shut behind me.

  I marched over to Kaz. “If you want to fight someone then fight me. I’m the reason our child is gone. Not France. Not the Corsican. Not Jean-Pierre.”

  The rage on his face disappeared. “Is that what you think? That it was your fault.”

  “Of course. I was the one carrying our baby

  “You didn’t know.”

  “No one knew, especially not Jean-Pierre.”

  “That doesn’t save him.”

  “We said that we would talk about this or at least—”

  “That was before!” His voice came close to shaking the foundation of the room.

  My heartbeats sped up. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does in my world.” He bared his teeth. “You think I’m going to let him live, when my little girl is gone? When I’ll never get to see her face. See her smile. Hold her hand. Hear her say daddy.”

  I opened my mouth, but no words left me. My eyes watered. Sorrow replaced my disgust.

  “You know what I imagined?” Kaz stomped over to me. “I thought about how I would hold her in my arms. And she would raise her little hand up and wrap it around my finger. I looked forward to that moment. Just that one moment. Very small. Very Simple. But. . .it would have changed my world. It would have warmed my heart.”

  Tears spilled over my eyelids.

  “I bet she looked like the both of us. Your beautiful brown eyes. Maybe my mouth. I’ve heard it’s a nice one. She was beautiful. That I know, even though I never got to see her and never will.” Rage blazed in his eyes as he stood right in front of me. “Jean-Pierre took that from me. Every moment. Every second of joy. He grabbed you without one ounce of proof that I kidnapped that stupid flute player. He ruined it all for nothing.”

  “Kaz. . .” My voice went shaky. “Still. . .it wasn’t his fault.”

  He stabbed the air with his finger. “Go back to bed!”

  “I’m not so stop saying that. Listen to me, baby.” I tenderly grabbed his hand and placed it on my heart. “Even if it was Jean-Pierre’s fault. Even if the Corsican had something to do with the miscarriage. What does that have to do with Paris and the normal innocent people that live there? I don’t care how many people Max cleared from that mall. There were some casualties. Innocent people died. And for what?”