She scratches her head. “But I have money and access to a lot more. Can we buy our way in?”
“Nyet.” I shake my head, bemused by her generosity. How does she want to stay with someone like me? Tainted and befouled? “The brotherhood rests on loyalty.”
“So what would the head of the Bratva do in case of a coup?”
“He would call his soldiers home,” I tell her. “Devise tests for their loyalty. See which men will be loyal regardless, which will question the new rule, and which need to be weeded out. Then, he will do the weeding and establish his rule.”
“Then that is what you do,” Naomi responds, patting my sleeve.
The boy next to her nods. “Many would follow you. The boyeviks all speak of you with awe.”
He is saying things I want to hear only because he is afraid to be alone. I take Naomi’s hand in mine, for I need the comfort of her touch.
“Go to your home, boy. If the Petrovich Bratva has no leader, it will become a bloody turf battle. Go home with your brother and protect yourself.”
After some indecision, he nods and runs off.
“Let us go somewhere safe as well.”
She does not protest.
I take her to another safe house. I will not be able to afford the rent on many of these in the future. If by some chance I make it out alive, I will hire out my gun and become ubitsya like Nikolai. A man without allegiance.
“You can shower while I call my sister.”
Naomi whirls to me. “Your sister isn’t dead?”
Confused, I realize I have never told her my greatest secret. I am so used to pretending I have no sister. I feel a smile spread across my face.
“No. She is not. She lives.” The smile dies quickly. “I made a bargain with another devil to keep her safe, pretended to kill her, and have not seen her in years.”
“Oh, Vasily,” she sighs. “That’s a lot of time not to see your sister.”
I nod solemnly. “Too long.”
“Does everyone believe your sister is dead?”
“Da. Everyone. Everyone but you and the devil.”
I can tell by the light in her face that she likes this, being the sole possessor of this knowledge.
“What would happen if you were dead? How would she find out?”
“Dostonev, a man who I had planned to deliver the painting to after I obtained backing from the council, would tell her. His men have guarded her since she was twelve.”
“What if you weren’t dead, but just captured?”
“She should still act as if I am dead, because I would not be captured without a fight.”
“Logically, you should walk in and tell them what happened. That Elena had the painting all along and that she burned it to spite the brotherhood. Everyone will be angry with her and support you.”
“Is that right?” I cannot stop staring at her. How long until all I have are my memories? I wonder if tonight will be the last time she will allow me to touch her.
“Yes. Do you want to shower with me? You look like you do. Ordinarily I can’t read facial cues, but your whole body becomes tense and your cheekbones become more prominent when you want to fuck me. That and your cock is hard.” She points down to my waist.
I follow her gesture to stare at the obscene rise in my trousers. “I am always hard for you, Naomi.”
“Then come shower. I will wait for you.”
I dial the number without thinking.
“Vasya, what is wrong? It is not our scheduled time.”
“Hush, Katya,” I say, my eyes still on Naomi. She is wandering around my tiny apartment. Like the other safe house, there is only room for a bed and a small table. There is a shower, however. “I was not able to retrieve the painting. Elena knew of my plans somehow and burned the painting before I could present it to the brothers.”
“That stupid bitch,” Katya curses. “I wish I was there. I’d snap her twiggy neck like a brittle branch.”
I cough. “I actually did that.”
“You did?” She sounds gleeful, and then in a more subdued tone says, “What happens now? What about Dostonev?”
“I do not know what the council will decide tomorrow. Perhaps . . .” I pause, for emotion is threatening to overtake me. I have not seen Katya in ten years. Not since I killed her. “This might be my last night. You must go into hiding.”
She begins to sob. “No, no, Vasya. Run away. Run away tonight. Come to me. I have saved so much of the money you send to me. We can go to America and get jobs. I will wait tables and you . . . you can . . . you can . . .” She trails off because there is no occupation that I am suited for that does not involve killing.
“I love you, Katya. Leave now. Do not wait for me to call again. Assume I am dead and that you will be exposed. Maybe if I am gone, my enemies will forget you. I love you.” I hang up then. My head feels too big, too heavy for my neck. Sorrow weighs me down, and I find I cannot release the phone, as if it is my only link to my sister left.
I do not know how long I sit there, clutching the phone in my hands. Naomi is beside me, smelling fresh and clean. Her skin is scrubbed and looks dewy soft.
“My sister,” I croak. “She will be left alone without me. And you.” I cannot bring myself to formulate the words.
“I will help watch over your sister. Daniel will watch over us both,” Naomi says. I push to my feet, for if tomorrow is my last day, then I want to be inside of Naomi for as long as I have left. “Come on.” She tugs at my arm. “Water makes you feel better. It’s proven.”
“If you say it, then it must be true.” I run my hand over her freshly washed hair. “Will you join me?”
She nods even though she has just dried off. It seems we can deny each other nothing.
Inside the shower, the hot water washes over us in slow dribbles but neither of us mind. I watch as rivers and tributaries form on Naomi’s pinkening skin. With my tongue, I begin to traverse those waterways. One stream flows over the rise of her breast and breaks over the nipple. I suck on the one nipple and thumb the other. Under my mouth and hand, I feel her heart rate quicken. The nipples stiffen beneath my ministrations.
Moving lower, I dip my tongue into the well of her belly, the area so sensitive that even light contact causes her fingers to tighten around my scalp. Lower still, I find her tart liquid clinging to her inner thighs. I kneel, the tile sharp against my knees. The sharp sensation brings me alive and hardens my shaft.
Tenderly I lift one leg over my shoulder. “Talk to me, Naomi. Tell me what I am doing to you.” I need to hear her speak of her pleasure again.
“Ahh, you are going to lick my clit, right? I hope so. That’s what I like the most, although I do enjoy your cock inside me. It would be great if you could lick me and fuck me at the same time.”
“I can.” I’m delighted that she wants toys and saddened that I might not be able to enjoy them with her. The thought of her with another man angers me. I fall upon her sex like a beast then. I will make her come so many times tonight that every man that follows me will be a disappointment. Instantly I am regretful and soften my tongue lashes against her tiny clit.
Her nails dig into my scalp. “Why did you stop? I liked your tongue hard against me and your chin scraping between my thighs.”
“Did you?” I say and turn to press a kiss against her leg. “I attacked you because I thought about another man between your legs, and it angered me. But then I do not want you to be lonely and unsatisfied for the rest of your life.”
She tugs on my hair, pulling me upright. Holding my face between her palms, Naomi forces her eyes to meet mine. As always, the shock of blue is stunning. She holds me there for one second, maybe two, and her eyes slide away. I know that she is still staring at me, though, her eyes seeing things that others would never, no matter how long they met my gaze.
“I will have no other than you,” she vows. “So you better fix things tomorrow.”
I lift her on top of me, for I cannot wait anoth
er minute without the feel of her cunt surrounding me.
“There is no better feeling in this world than your soft, wet walls hugging me tight,” I gasp. Bending at my knees, I push her against the tile. “Mark me, Naomi, with your claws. Mark me well so that tomorrow I remember what I am fighting for.”
She digs her nails into my shoulder and catches my ear between her teeth. Her cunt sucks at my cock, dragging me in when I withdraw and embracing me when I thrust forward.
Relentlessly I pound into her, uncaring that the water has turned ice cold and that the shower is too small for our gymnastics. I want only to fuck her and fuck her and fuck her until I am nothing but bone.
I wrench the door open and stagger out of the bathroom and onto the bed. Tumbling her backward, I follow her down so that we are not separated, not once, not even for a second.
I pull her legs upright and press them together. “You will feel me deeper this way.” I push in slowly this time so I can see how deep I can go without hurting her. She moans her pleasure. “Touch yourself, Nadya.”
I’ve taken to calling her by a diminutive at her request. She says that if I call my sister Katya and that I am called Vasya by those I love then I, too, must call her something special.
So she has become Nadya to me. Naomi, Nadya, it makes no difference what I call her. She is my everything. The beginning of the day and the end of it.
If this is the last time I am ever inside her, I will remember it, and my soul will find hers again and again until someday we are together again.
Her fingers press in the valley of her legs, slow and tentative at first. “It’s not as good as when you do it,” she admits. I brace one hand next to her head and press forward, the weight of my body pushing her knees toward the bed. With my free hand, I reach around her thighs and place my thumb over her fingers.
“Touch yourself,” I repeat. Beneath my hand I feel her move. “Can you feel your wetness? Your arousal?” I breathe deep. “I can smell you. After I am done fucking you, I want you to sit on my face. I will eat you until you come again, until my mouth, my throat, my lips are covered in your juice. But first you must come.” I pull out and flip her over onto her belly and before she can take her next breath, I’m entering her. She stretches to accommodate me, my cock thicker, heavier, longer than before.
She exhales with each thrust, moaning her approval and encouragement. Her hips tilt upward. I rock into her until the head of my cock is buried deep inside her channel. I feel as if I can never have enough of her. My head is clouded with need and want. I can see only one thing. Naomi, Nadya, Mine.
I tuck my hand between us and touch her as she so desperately needs. Her pussy is swollen, stretched, and wet against my hand. She grinds her ass against me, her breaths are harsh, racked pants. Around my cock and against my hand I can feel her stiffen as ecstasy catches her up. Delirium sets in and I pound frantically into her until my hot seed shoots into her endlessly.
We collapse on the bed, wet from the shower, wet from our passion. I push aside the blankets until we lie on the dry sheet. For two people who do not like to be touched, we cling to each other and as night settles in, we reach for each other again and again.
“I love you, Nadya,” I whisper into her hair. “I have lived a worthy life now that I have had the chance to love you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
NAOMI
He’s given up. It’s strange to see. Vasily’s face is as unreadable as ever to me, but there is a slump in his shoulders that makes my heart ache with frustration. He believes that tomorrow he will meet his end at the hands of the Bratva he has fought so hard for.
All because of a stupid painting. If I could print out a reasonable facsimile and pass it off, I would. If all they want is a painting, I will draw them something. The result would be just as ugly as the one that bitch Elena burned. But they seem to want that painting. I don’t understand it, but I have never understood art.
But I do understand Vasily. And I understand his despair.
So I kiss him and caress him as the hours tick away. He is desperate with need, my volk, and the next time he takes me, his touch is more savage. I reply in kind, scratching and biting and hurting him in the way he adores. By the time he collapses on top of me, spent, his cheek is red from my slaps and his neck is scratched up, and his skin is covered in sweat.
We are both content, even as his weight presses me into the mattress. This time, I don’t complain about germs or microbes. I don’t point out that he has come inside me twice now with no condom. If he is to die in a few hours, I want all of his germs, all of his fluids, everything he can give me.
But he’d better not die, because I will lose my shit and start killing people myself.
Eventually, he presses a kiss to my mouth. “The hour nears. We must dress and prepare ourselves.”
I want to protest, to pull his body back down over mine for one more quick round of lovemaking, but I don’t. I’m panicking. I don’t want Vasily hurt. I try to calm myself instead, searching for my old fail-safe—the scientific method. But right now, it’s failing me.
Ask a question: will the Bratva kill Vasily?
Do background research: there’s no time for it.
Construct a hypothesis is next. But I can’t construct one without letting emotion cloud my judgment. All of my heart screams that they won’t hurt him, that they wouldn’t dare. But my logical brain has no idea how things will go down. I don’t know enough about Bratvas and coups. Vasily does, though, and he seems to think his end is near, which terrifies me.
And after the hypothesis is constructed, you “test” things. But the test will come when Vasily approaches the Bratva and they either fill him with bullets or let him go in peace.
My breathing quickens with anxiety until my chest hurts. When Vasily finishes dressing, I straighten his tie and smooth his collar. It barely covers the marks I have left on him. “We don’t have to go right away,” I inform him. “We can wait. Maybe give them a few days to cool off, see how things shake out—”
Vasily grabs my chin and tilts it up until I’m looking him in the eye. Even though it’s hard to keep eye contact, I do so, somehow. “Nyet,” he says softly. “I am volk. I do not hide, not from my own people. Whatever judgment they seek for me, I shall accept.”
“We could get back into bed,” I say desperately. I begin to unbutton his shirt, undoing his work of a few moments ago. “You can find my G-spot again—”
His hand covers mine. “All will happen as it should, Naomi,” he tells me.
But you are not fighting, I want to say. I know why he does not—because he is volk. He is Bratva. He is their creature, and if they have decided to put him down, he understands this. It is me who makes excuses and cannot understand.
So I drop my hand and watch him fix his buttons. “Let us go find Daniel, then.”
I don’t mention the council. I don’t want to even think they exist, and that they are ready to pass judgment on my volk.
We are silent on the car ride to the Bratva headquarters. I suppose there is nothing to say, not really. When we arrive, a familiar man is waiting in front of the double doors to the room where the council will pass judgment on Vasily, a rifle cradled in his arms.
“Daniel,” I call out joyfully. “We’re here now!”
“Naomi!” He rushes toward me, slinging his rifle across his back. “Oh, thank Christ.” When he gets to me, his arms wrap around me in a massive hug, and I sit and endure it awkwardly. He squeezes me for what feels like forever. “I know you don’t like hugs, sis, but suck it up for your big brother.”
“I am,” I tell him, though I’m relieved when he releases me.
Daniel’s eyes are curiously shiny as he steps back and studies me. “Nice cap,” he says, flicking the brim of my ever-present baseball cap.
“The old one was lost to Golubevs when they tried to kill us,” I tell him.
Those shiny eyes narrow and he glares at Vasily. “I thought you said
my sister would be safe, you goddamn prick.”
“She is safe,” Vasily tells him. And it’s true, I am.
Daniel’s mouth scrunches up in the way that I know means he’s not done arguing. “I take it the Golubevs are the reason for the hair color choices?” He looks at Vasily. “You forgot your eyebrows.”
I wave a hand dismissively. “Eyebrows are not important at the moment.”
“That’s right,” Daniel says. “Where the hell have you two been?” he asks. “I’ve been here for hours and worried out of my goddamn mind.”
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I had to go have good-bye sex with Vasily. He is depressed.” Vasily makes a noise in his throat, echoed by Daniel.
“Oversharing,” my brother says.
I blink at him. “I’m sorry. Should I have lied?”
“To your brother, yes. When it comes to sex? Always.” He looks over at Vasily. “Not going to ask me for forgiveness?”
“Not this morning,” Vasily says, his tone rather blank.
“Shame. I feel a bit like whipping your ass after you touched my sister.”
“You shouldn’t,” I point out to Daniel. “It arouses him. If he needs a whipping, I’ll do it.”
“Oversharing. Jesus Christ. I need mental bleach right about now.” Daniel scrubs a hand on his face. “I don’t even want to ask about the scratches on your neck.”
“I left those,” I tell Daniel proudly. “You should see his penis.”
“Aaaaargh!” My brother waves a hand in the air. “Can we please, please not have this conversation? Sis, I am ecstatic to see you whole and in one piece.” He grasps my hand again and squeezes it even though he knows I don’t like touching. I endure it, since Daniel clearly needs this. “I’m even glad to see Vasily’s sourpuss face if it means he’s kept you safe.”
“He has,” I tell him. “I don’t even mind his germs or his semen.” This is a declaration of love from me, and I look over at Vasily, wishing I could read his face. Does he like hearing this? Or does it make him sadder because he thinks going through those doors that Daniel is guarding will be his execution? A secret, awful part of me hopes he will hear my words and change his mind, and he will grab my hand and we will run off to the dacha he has mentioned. I will let him fill me with semen as often as he likes and I will love every moment of it.
Last Kiss Page 27
