Dirty Passions

by Wright, Kenya

  I leaned my head to the side. “Am I done?”

  “With the war.”

  I stifled my groan. “No. I’m not done with the war.”

  Pavel stood with the boxes like an idiot. “Where do you want them?”

  “Put the big one on the floor and the two smallest on the table.”

  He did as I instructed and left as if wanting no part of our argument.

  I turned back to my mouse. She looked innocent sitting across from me. Her black hair fell to her shoulder. The blue of her pajamas blended with that lovely brown complexion.

  The trauma and pain of the miscarriage had also made me think of her as more fragile. I felt the need to protect her more, destroy every possible enemy to keep my anxiety down.

  Yet, I had to remind myself that this innocent, desirable woman in front of me, could kick the shit out of most of my men outside. She damn sure could outshoot them. And if I had the choice of taking them or her into a war, it would be her any day. She had the smarts, the wisdom, and the unbreakable determination to win at anything she tried.

  I won’t lose her due to my anger with the French.

  She frowned. “You’re not done with the war?”

  I chose my words carefully. “I know you don’t like that answer, but you’ll appreciate that I’m compromising with you.”

  “What’s the compromise?”

  “No more bombing of innocent people.”

  She took another sip of her wine.

  I placed my hands on the table. “You want more of a compromise?”

  “Keep the killing in your war to just between Bratva and Corsican men.”

  “What if women work for both?”

  “That’s fair, but they really have to be soldiers. No intentionally harming of wives and children.”

  Fury bubbled in my chest. “Do you know how difficult that will be? There are always casualties in war. I never go out to kill children, but sometimes wives, girlfriends, and even lovers get caught between the gunfire.”

  “There are ways to kill a man without murdering his woman too.”

  “Jean-Pierre took you while I made love to you in our bed. You think I won’t give him that same fate?”

  “I don’t think you will.”

  “Why not?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Because that’s part of our compromise. Keep your revenge away from women and children that aren’t fighting on either side.”

  I glared at her but kept my annoyance to myself. It was a fair thing to ask, filled with lots of logic.

  But why am I so pissed?

  In that moment, I realized that my revenge wasn’t just based on rationality. Emotion had mixed with my anger. Usually I acted with some form of common sense. I might have been shrewd and volatile, but I thought some things through. In this situation, I acted on the sensations of my heart. And in this moment, that organ was breaking.

  But. . .our baby deserves more than that. She is worthy of three or four cities burning to ashes.

  My mouse extended her hands across the table and placed them over mine. “I know your mad about losing the baby. I am too. Madder at myself than Jean-Pierre.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Are you mad at him at all?”

  “No. He could’ve killed me. He could have had his men rape me. There’s so many things that could have happened when he had me.” She brushed my fingers with her thumb. “As I told you before, he took great care with me. Even when I killed his men. Even when I dumped his head in the toilet.”

  The image of her dousing Jean-Pierre with toilet water brightened my mood a little.

  Her words came out soft. “Let it go, Kaz.”

  I clenched my jaw.

  “And if you must start a war, let it be short and calm.”

  “Short and calm? This isn’t a tea party, mysh. That’s the very opposite of war. If I can’t bomb his country, then I’m going to take my time terrorizing Jean-Pierre and all of his men.”

  She drew in a long breath. “Tell me how to reach your sense of logic and compassion for humanity.”

  I wanted to spit at the floor but didn’t. “Compassion for humanity?”

  “Where do you keep that? Is it in your heart? Your soul?”

  “You should know. You have my heart and soul with you right now.” I motioned to those pajamas. “Take them out of your pockets. Tell me what’s in them.”

  “Didn’t we already fight a war with your stepbrother?”

  I raised one finger. “That was the past.”

  “Is the brotherhood even ready for another war?”

  “They are.”

  She continued to argue her point. “You still have territories to hand out. Open positions. An uncle to bury. And we can’t forget about the guy putting monkey heads in our bedroom. We still need to kill that motherfucker.”

  A whimper sounded from the big gift wrapped box.

  A second later, it moved a little to the side.

  She stopped arguing and directed her attention to the box. “What’s inside there?”

  “Go look.”

  She rose and rushed over to the box. “I hope it’s not a cat, after that conversation we had outside. A cat would be inappropriate in this place.”

  Another whimper sounded from the box.

  She pulled the top off and gasped.

  A chocolate brown cocker spaniel puppy poked his small head out of the box. His little sad eyes gazed at her. He whimpered again.

  Oh, relax. You were only in there for a few minutes.

  Emily picked him up and gathered the puppy in her arms. “This is one of your bribes?”

  “Yes. Granted, I don’t even know if you like dogs.”

  “I don’t dislike them.” She rubbed the top of his ear.

  “You can give him back, if you don’t—”

  “No. I can’t give him back now.” She smiled at the puppy, brought it with her to her seat, and sat down. “Not with those sad eyes. It’s impossible.”

  “What will you call it?”

  She placed him on her lap and looked at me. “Harlem.”

  “That’s a perfect name.”

  She gave me a sad smile. “Puppy or not, Kaz. Do we have a deal? No women or children. No innocents. No bombings of major French landmarks like the Eiffel Tower.”

  I can’t bomb the Eiffel Tower. Maybe, I should I have gotten her a diamond that was the size of a puppy.

  Again, I had to push down my annoyance. I knew she was being rational, but I wanted pain. The French’s pain and agony. However, if it meant my cold revenge or her warm body. The choice would always be her.

  I gritted my teeth. “Yes. We have a deal.”

  “And. . .”

  I growled, “And?”

  “Perhaps, channel your anger to other things. Don’t start the war for a month. We have windows and doors open. X always said, you should close everything up before leaving the house.”

  Aggravated, I picked up my glass and finished my wine. “I think that’s a stupid metaphor.”

  “Still. . .we have a monkey head guy. And it wouldn’t hurt to make the brotherhood as strong as possible, before going to fight the Corsican. Put people in positions. Hand out territories. All that good stuff.”

  “We don’t need to get stronger to fight perfumed pansies.”

  “You shouldn’t sleep on Jean-Pierre.”

  “If that sentence was a living animal, I would shoot it.”

  “Lucky for me, it’s not.” She rubbed Harlem’s head. “By the way, Jean-Pierre called me today.”

  I took the wine bottle, poured me another glass, and set it down. “And?”

  “Jean-Pierre has cameras in the house. He saw us arguing in your war room. He heard what I said. That means he has audio too. His cousin Louis must’ve hacked into the system.” She sighed as the puppy licked her finger. “Additionally, he offered to fly me out of Moscow.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “Of course, I told him no.”
/>   “Why?”

  She moved her attention away from the puppy and gazed at me. “Because leaving the house was not about ending it with you. It was about not supporting you killing masses of innocent people.”

  “You also could have left on his plane to prove a point.”

  “What point would that be?”

  “That I can’t trap you.”

  She held my gaze. “You already know that.”

  “I don’t. I still believe I can trap you.”

  “Either way, I think getting on his plane would have been disrespectful and would’ve brought more bombs to France.”

  “I wouldn’t have bombed France, if I thought you were there.”

  She shook her head. “So, you think I should have got on the plane?”

  “No. I think that you keep saving your friend’s life. Had that plane landed at an airport in Moscow, it would have been destroyed.”

  The puppy jumped off her lap and began to explore the dusty bar.

  I took another swig of my wine and then set the glass on the table. “I knew about the phone call.”

  Shock hit her face. “You did?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t know what was said. Misha was sending the audio tonight.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I wanted to see, if you would.”

  “Are you testing my loyalty to you?”

  “No. I’m just being suspicious of Jean-Pierre and. . .acting a little. . .jealous.”

  “A little. I think it’s a lot.”

  “Maybe. Since being with you, I’ve learned that I can be a very jealous man.” I rose from the table and walked over to her. “With other women, I was barely possessive. I just didn’t want those women dirtied by another. Didn’t want them to catch anything and give it to me. It was all selfishness. It had nothing to do with love.”

  She looked up at me. “Kaz, you have nothing to be jealous of.”

  “It can’t be helped.”

  “No one can compete with you.”

  “Still. . .I’m jealous of your men. They get to swarm around you, when I’m not there and protect you.” I towered over her. “With you. . .sometimes I’m jealous of the glass that touches your lips. Your mouth is mine. I’m jealous of the blankets that wrap around your naked body, wishing I could touch you all at once too. Get entangled and twisted along your legs. I’m jealous of your pillow. The water leaving the shower spray and dripping over your nipples and down to the curve of your pussy.”

  She stood. “Kaz, you’re the only man that I want and have ever wanted in my life. You’re the only one that I’ve allowed to stay in my bed for longer than a week. You’re the only one that could convince me to have a child.”

  “I know, mysh.” Letting out a long breath, I raised my hand and ran my fingers through her hair. “Sometimes, I just get scared.”

  Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Don’t get scared, when it comes to us.”

  “I don’t want anyone else to threaten what we have.”

  “No one can. Jean-Pierre kidnapped me, but he couldn’t keep me. And I swear to you, no one will ever take me away like that again.”

  “I’m supposed to make that promise.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.” I scowled. “I know you don’t blame him, but he took our baby.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Still, I don’t forgive him.”

  “I do, so leave it alone.” She moved closer to me, pressing her breasts against my chest. “I love you.”

  “I love you more.” I tenderly gripped the back of her head, leaned over, and kissed her. Those soft lips against mine was all I needed. The loneliness of earlier withered away. The pain in my heart settled a little.

  Perhaps, she was right. Maybe, I should have stayed in bed, instead of started a war.

  I drank her in, wishing I could savor the moment forever. I yearned to capture the sweet sensations and store it in a box on my desk. In the worst times, I could take these seconds out and experience them again.

  Our mouths fitted perfectly—as if we were meant for each other. I gently grabbed the back of her neck, growling in the kiss.

  She whimpered in pleasure.

  The kiss deepened and the world fell away. Slow and soft. I pulled her in closer until there was no space left between us. Until I could feel her heart beating against my chest.

  It took a lot, but I moved away.

  A soft groan left her lips.

  I narrowed my gaze at her. “Next time shoot me, but don’t you ever leave.”

  “Kaz. . .”

  “I love you more than I love myself. Don’t walk away again.”

  A sadness filled her eyes. “I won’t. I’m sorry, baby.”

  “No. I’m sorry. I know. . .I pushed it.”

  She gave me a sad smile. “We’re learning.”

  “That’s my line.”

  “You’re upset about losing our baby. I understand.”

  “This grief. . .” I touched my chest. “I lost my mother. My father. My uncle. Many friends. But. . .this pain. It’s different. Already it breaks and shatters. It crashes. It aches. And I didn’t even know our daughter. I didn’t even see her. How can that be?”

  “I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around my waist and leaned her head against my chest. “But, I understand.”

  Her puppy, Harlem trotted our way and nudged my leg as if wanting to be part of the hug.

  I whispered, “Come home, mysh.”

  “I will.”

  “You didn’t open the other presents.”

  Letting go, she picked up Harlem and walked off. “I don’t need to open the other presents. You spoil me enough.”

  “Then, I’ll save them for next time.”

  “Not funny, Kaz.”

  Chapter 5

  Healing

  Emily

  We returned to the house. His men and mine followed. The poor group of guys had gone on an emotional roller coaster with us. Surely, they’d been tired from everything in France. And then Kaz started a war, and I started one of my own.

  Most of my men found refuge in my building. The beds I bought had arrived while I was in Paris. Apparently, Yuri had over seen the arrangement of sleeping quarters while he was alive.

  I have to find out who killed him. They’ll regret that for sure.

  Pavel and King David didn’t need to be told to get some rest. They dragged themselves to their bedrooms downstairs. Max climbed the stairs with us and went straight to his bedroom near ours. I knew him well. After a final joint, he would be passed out within seconds.

  Boris tried to stand by my door. I forced him to pick the closest room and go to sleep.

  When we entered the bedroom, I put Harlem on the bed. The little furry baby made his home between our pillows.

  “Oh no.” Kaz walked over, picked the puppy up, and placed him on the floor. “You don’t sleep here.”

  I pouted.

  “Absolutely not, mysh. You only share your bed with me.”

  I left that argument for another day. He had compromised more than ever before. I was sure of it. Today, I would push him no more.

  I’m lucky he even listened. Crazy, stubborn fool.

  Kaz undressed. I got a great view of his naked, muscular back and tight ass. That long, thick cock dangled between big thighs.

  You’re lucky I’m sore.

  I dragged myself away and took a shower on my own. He’d wanted to join, but due to the bleeding I told him no. It was weird, but I was embarrassed by it and feeling not like myself.

  Once clean and donning a fresh set of white pajamas, I lay in the bed. “Let’s get some rest.”

  Kaz yawned and wrapped in his arms around me. Encased in his warmth, I felt safer than ever in my life. His masculine scent soothed me to sleep.

  For the next two days, his strong muscular arms served and comforted me.

  Each day, we lay in bed. His butler Friedrich brought us brea
kfast, lunch, dinner, and most of the time two courses of desserts. Neither of us had much of an appetite. Usually, half eaten plates surrounded us.

  Sometimes, I cried. Not loudly. No balling. But tears came and I didn’t want to say anything. I just wanted to bury my face in his chest and let those muscle soak up the drops.

  I rode on a roller coaster of emotions—anger, guilt, and depression. In the times when I thought I had been okay and accepted it, the tears came.

  The whole time, Kaz never let me go.

  When I wasn’t an emotional mess, we talked as we stared into each other’s eyes. A lot of the time, we avoided the topic of the miscarriage, although the sadness of the loss sat between us.

  Kaz’s people checked on him throughout the day. Pavel reported daily brotherhood happenings—chaos in Italy, suspicious moves in Japan, and strength around Russia. The brotherhood’s bombing had given the Bratva a lift in morale. They stomped more and puffed out their chest. Zahkar showed up to ask when will business return. Nikolay visited his wife for a small chat and a box of chocolates. Abram called and talked to Kaz for a short time.

  My men came by too. Max showed up a few times each day to walk Harlem. Boris guarded the door and ducked his head into the room a few times to Kaz’s annoyance. Blue always swung by. I realized she had a serious sweet tooth. Each time she appeared, she bore gifts of brownies and cakes, cookies and pies that her grandmother had made. Always she ate the treats with us as if unable to help herself.

  Lemon stopped over.

  The only full-blooded white girl on the crew, she showed major guts in Paris and had gained my loyalty. Lemon was my nickname for her. Her real name was Lemonotsky.

  Although the name was ripe and sweet, Lemon was not. She had cold, pale skin and a bald head. Plus, she towered over most of my men at 6’7.

  I didn’t know her age, but her whole head of hair was a silvery gray. I wondered if it was real or if she’d dyed it. Something had happened to her right eye. A yellow leather eye patch covered it.

  She’d worked as a dishwasher in the back of a kitchen in some dusty restaurant in downtown Moscow. Boris had brought me to her. From time to time, she helped his crew do odd jobs.

  On the first day she appeared in our bedroom, Kaz questioned Lemon. “Where did you say you were from?”