by Shandi Boyes
I accept the shoes from Velika before raising my eyes to Zariah. “Thoughts?”
She peers at me in surprise, stunned I’m seeking permission. She’s wearing the shoes no matter her reply, but I don’t mind entertaining her suggestion a mere second before showing her why my choice will always be the right choice.
My attitude takes a step back when Zariah murmurs, “They’re perfect.”
I pace away from the bed to hide my smug grin. I also need some room to adjust my crotch without witnesses. Her two short words were delivered too huskily for my cock not to ignore. It has me desperate to sink into her as I had planned before Velika interrupted us. It’s lucky she is family, or she would have paid for her interruption dearly.
After wordlessly gesturing for Velika to leave, I motion for Zariah to sit on my bed. She does, albeit nervously. She’s anxious she is moments away from being mauled again, and I’m panicked she’s right.
I stripped her of all her power the instant she entered my realm, but right here, right now, she has more authority than me. When her eyes met mine earlier, there was something in them I’ve never seen before. It’s controlling my motives. I’m trusting nothing but it—a glint I don’t understand, but will give anything to see time and time again.
It takes everything I have not to increase the split in Zariah’s dress. I want another taste of her scent before banging out a brutal all-night long fuck session, but I can’t do either of those things. I need to keep my game face on. The event I organized tonight isn’t just about tradition. It’s a prime opportunity for me to continue my investigation into the people responsible for Dominique’s death. Once that is done, I can lose myself in the woman responsible for diminishing my wish for vengeance.
Zariah can distract me all she likes, because what I said earlier is true. I will have both my revenge and my childhood wish. I just need to play my cards right, to remember who I am and how I got here.
Zariah’s presence tonight will help cross both items off my wish list. The leaders of Russia are gathering in the one spot, so arriving with a beautiful, distracting brunette on my arm will not only have the men’s mouths drying up, it will make them believe I’ve forgotten my quest for vengeance. Who needs to avenge the death of a whore when he has the once princess of the underworld on his arm?
Their inaccurate notion will benefit me greatly. Cowards stop hiding when they believe they have nothing to fear. It’s a brilliant plan, really, one I should have thought of weeks ago. Alas, it took Zariah’s inflamed cheeks, pouty lips, and the seductive taste of her cunt for me to see sense through the madness. I just need to keep my shit together for a few more hours, then I can give in to temptation, succumb to the desire hotter than the most dangerous fire.
I’ll make Zariah mine and only mine.
Like a drug addict craving his next hit, my itch to consume Zariah kicks into overdrive when the flame in her eyes dulls as I button up my shirt. She was enjoying eyeballing me as much as I’ve enjoyed watching her sleep the past month. I didn’t get close enough for her to ever know I was in her room, but close enough I could smell the cinnamon toothpaste she brushes her teeth with every morning and night. I did the same when we were kids. I snuck into her room every time I slept there. Not once did she unearth my secret.
Some of the spark in Zariah’s eyes reappears when I hand her my tie, wordlessly requesting she dress me like I did her. I must have consciously picked this tie to match Zariah because the pencil-thin stripe is the same color as her dress. I take a mental note to order her more classy shoes when she rises to her feet without the slightest wobble. The height of her heels makes the slit in her dress even more risqué, and it intensifies my struggle to set aside my desire for revenge for another night. I wish I could, but it’s already been thirteen long months. It’s time for the men responsible to meet their maker.
I lose some of my grit when Zariah leans in close to guide my tie around my neck. She had a crumb stuck on the corner of her mouth—a crumb I had to remove with my tongue. I could have used my hands, but they’re stuffed in my pockets, ensuring they remain off parts of her body I’m more than ready to explore.
“Mmm, nearly as delicious as you taste.”
Zariah acts as if I didn’t speak. I don’t need to hear her words, though. Her shuddering thighs are indication enough.
Once she has my tie fixed into place, I secure her hand in mine and make my way outside. Lenin scheduled my driver nearly an hour ago, so he’ll be waiting for me. If he isn’t, I hope he is enjoying his final breaths.
Forever on hand for anything her ‘girls’ need, Velika slips a thick fur coat over Zariah’s shoulders while Lenin hands me my wool trench coat. It’s fucking freezing outside, but my body barely pays any attention. My veins are too thick with need and adrenaline to let a little bit of snow dampen my eagerness.
Twenty minutes into our trip, I stop peering at a starless sky when a small voice at my side pipes up, “Where are we going?”
Zariah sounds nervous. She has no reason to be. She may be sitting next to a mass-murderer, but she’s the safest she’s ever been. I’ll never let anything happen to her. I’ve learned from the mistakes of my past, and I won’t make them again. Every man in the room tonight should be more on edge.
The men who took down Dominique assumed she was my weakness. They believed her death would have me so cut up, I would step away from the role I was born to play. In some ways, it did. It just wasn’t as they anticipated. My six months abroad wasn’t for reflection. I was scheming. Plotting their demise. Preparing to take over the world.
They won’t see that side of me tonight, though. They’ll see a man willing to do everything in his power to prevent the same thing happening, one who’ll stop at nothing to protect the woman he pledged to safeguard years ago when she was still a girl.
I don’t need to hide Zariah away like her father did to keep her safe. I merely need to show my enemies they had their eyes on the wrong target the entire time.
Forty minutes later, my car pulls to the curb at the front of a building I’ve owned the past eight years. Security would have swept the area long before my arrival, but since I am entering with an unexpected guest, I instruct them to scan the premises again. I don’t want any uninvited guests approaching Zariah without my permission, especially ones with the same last name as hers.
When Lenin gives me the nod of approval, I fling open my door and glide out of my SUV before offering Zariah my hand. She’s shocked by my act of chivalry. She isn’t the only one. Gallantry isn’t one of my strong points. Usually, I bark out orders, and everyone follows them. I can’t put it more simply than that.
When the driver’s gaze drops to the dangerous slit in Zariah’s dress, I realize he is the same one who collected me from the airport last month. His prolonged gawk at the glistening skin high on Zariah’s thigh fills me with so much fury, my hand not clutching Zariah’s slithers to my hip where my gun is cradled. If Matvei didn’t step in front of him to have a quiet word, not only blocking Zariah from his impish glare but placing himself in the line of fire, he would have had a bullet hole between his brows by now.
Matvei is already taking out the trash, but a little guidance never hurt anyone. “Take care of it.”
The four words I just spoke shouldn’t make any man afraid, but they rain terror down on the one Matvei is guiding away from the car he just drove. In our industry, they only mean one thing: he’s about to die.
When Zariah leans into my side, I assume she’s using my body as a shelter from the brutal winds whipping around us. I have no inkling she’s taking up a different type of protection. “Do you really think that’s necessary?” Her warm breaths tickle my cheek. “He barely looked my way...”
Her words trail off when the pop of a bullet dislodging from a gun breaks the silence teaming between us. I’m not shocked by how quickly Matvei followed through with my request—he’s not my number two for no reason—but Zariah’s knowledge of my inner workings
is a surprise. I thought she would have lost the ability the instant she hit womanhood. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve never been one to hide my anger, but I thought I had a handle on idiosyncrasies I shouldn’t be having.
After an inconspicuous glare directed toward me, Zariah pulls away from me just before we enter the nightclub/gaming room. Although I’d rather she stay at my side, it will be better this way. No one saw us arrive together, so they won’t look at her as if she is the key to my kingdom.
Furthermore, Lenin is on her tail before she makes it even halfway to the bar. He’s well aware the orders I gave him before I became a man didn’t expire when my and Zariah’s families became mortal enemies. No matter how many years pass, he will follow my demand to the T: protect Zariah from everyone but me.
After handing my coat to the attendant at the door, I scan the room. As suspected, not an eye is on me. They’re all too busy tracking Zariah as she makes her way to the bar to pay me any attention. Her dress accentuates her curves to perfection, and its red coloring adds a touch of sexiness to her ecstasy-bloomed cheeks. She looks so ravishing, it’s taking everything I have to remember what tonight is supposed to be about. I will make Zariah mine, just not until after I close the door Dominique’s death opened.
The deeper I merge into the room, the more attention I gain. The space is brimming with anyone and everyone associated with the Russian cartel. Leaders, hired goons, and the fuckers who palm off sub-par drugs to their competitors too weak to test their quality themselves.
Then you have the men like me, the ones who make all this possible. Andros Smirnov is in the middle of the room, conversing with his silent partners. He’s an investor to nearly every man in this room. It’s profited him well the past decade. Rumors are he’s closing in on a thirty billion dollar fortune.
Maliki Roust is on my left. He handles the distribution of drugs, guns, and whores for most of our allies on the East Coast of America. And Tiny Tim is heading my way now. Don’t let his name fool you. He’s a huge bastard and a weaponry master. If you want it, he can get it, no matter how illegal it is. I once heard he stole a nuclear-powered submarine. It’s never been proven, so he gets no credit from me, because without proof, you have nothing. It’s why I keep trophies of my kills.
As Tiny Tim paces through the room brimming with over four hundred guests, eager to introduce me to some new blood hoping to get a start in our industry, I work out my game plan. Tonight’s festivities are supposed to be about unifying old ties and sparking new ones, but I’m more interested in the business transactions occurring outside of this realm. Every man in this room is my enemy in some way, but only one of them is more so than the rest. His day before the court has finally arrived. There’s just one difference:
I’m no longer the ghost hiding in the shadows waiting for him.
I’m the hunter.
Chapter Nineteen
Zariah
My hands rattle when they accept my fifth glass of champagne from the bartender. I want to say my shaking is due to the numerous pairs of eyes I feel boring into the back of my head, but that would be a lie. It’s Asher and the crazy inane feelings my head is muddled with.
Only six weeks ago, he let one of his goons rough-handle me without speaking a word. Now, he’s having them killed for looking in my direction. My emotions have been all over the place since I was thrust back into his life, but that annoying trait doesn’t usually affect men like Asher. They’re too pigheaded to have feelings, much less act on them.
Lenin pushes a tray of hors d’oeuvres to my side of the bar. “Perhaps you should have something to eat between glasses.”
He’d never say anything, but I don’t need his words to know he’s worried I’m downing champagne too quickly. Someone who has lived a sheltered life like mine is a lightweight in general, but I need something to take the edge off. The hungry eyes of strangers aren’t the only ones bombarding me the past two hours. I’ve also captured Asher’s heated stare numerous times.
I thought he’d be angry I stormed away from him at the start of the night, but it had the opposite effect. He seems to appreciate the distance. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no denying I’m under his watch. I just thought what happened earlier moved us away from the game he’s been playing the past two weeks—the one where he watches me when he thinks I don’t know he is.
Although frustrated we’re back at square one, I’m grateful his eyes are on me and not one of the many women vying for his attention. He doesn’t give them an ounce of interest while schmoozing the men my father wined and dined back in his glory days.
Half the men in this room orchestrated my father’s demise. The front runner of the campaign was the same man who brought me to climax earlier tonight. I should hate Asher for it; my father didn’t deserve to be treated so poorly, but a part of me is also grateful. If he wasn’t forced from his throne, I’d most likely still be locked in the ivory tower my mother’s death shoved me in. I’m no freer today than I was six weeks ago, but I can feel my wings expanding. They’re clipped, but fanning out nonetheless.
Feeling better than I did a mere minute ago, I spin around to face the succession of people. Smoke lingers high in the air. The stench should be overwhelming, but since they’re smoking only the finest cigars, it has a nice spicy wood scent attached to it. Approximately two dozen women are scattered amongst the men. For the most part, they’re dressed similarly to me, but there are a handful of the ones you expect at every gathering who are less covered than their ritzy counterparts.
It’s impossible to count the number of heads without having my snooping eye detected, but I guess around two to three hundred men fill the space. I met a lot of them when I was little, although I doubt they’d recognize me now. The ones Asher is being introduced to now are new. They’re the younger generation, the up and coming members of the cartel who will see the industry grow with the times. It isn’t just about guns and drugs anymore. It’s much more than that. Cyber terrorism is huge at the moment, and it comes with a very impressive bank balance.
I’m not talking from experience. I can’t even turn on a computer, but from the conversations I overheard when my hairpin became useful for more than keeping my hair out of my eyes, I understand it is a rapidly growing entity.
My thoughts drift deeper into my past when my eyes lock on a pair of familiar green eyes across the room. It has been years since I’ve seen them, but I’m certain they belong to my Uncle Nesti. “Nesti” is Russian for bear. It isn’t my uncle’s real name, but since he is as tall and as large as a bear, it’s very fitting.
He’s talking to a pretty lady with raven hair and legs that stretch for miles. From the way he continues his conversation without pause, anyone would swear he hasn’t spotted me gawking at him. I know that isn’t the case. His discreet stare is so intense, the heat of his gaze overtakes Asher’s.
After excusing himself from his enthralled guest, my uncle makes his way to the hallway that leads to the restrooms. His head nudge is inconspicuous to anyone not trained to seek it. I’m well familiar, though. It’s the same signal he gave Vaughn and me any time our grandfather’s parleys from the days when he ruled my father’s realm grew too tiresome for us to bear. He wants me to follow him.
My first thoughts are to deny his request. My good behavior has been well rewarded the past six weeks, so I don’t want anything messing it up. But another part of me, the rebellious one I’ve been unleashing more regularly the past two weeks, is a little more daring than its naïve, good-girl counterpart. I haven’t seen or heard from a member of my family in over six weeks. I’m more than ready to fix the injustice.
“I need to use the restroom.”
Lenin’s grin is not as evil as his deadly cat eyes when I slip off my barstool. “That’s not surprising with how fast you’ve been chugging down drinks.”
When he attempts to glue himself to me as he has all night, I splay my hand across his chest. It’s more rigid than I anticipated for his slim fra
me. “The washrooms are right there.” I point to the hallway my uncle darted down thirty seconds ago. “I don’t need a shadow.”
Lenin’s eyes stray past my shoulder before returning to my face. “Asher will—”
“Kill you if you see how I pee in this dress? Yeah, he will.”
I’m lying. Lenin can see more skin now than he will in the bathroom, but I want to talk to my uncle in private. That’s the only way I can guarantee messages solely for my family’s ears won’t be heard by anyone but them.
Lenin is smarter than I give him credit for. “Most bathrooms have stalls, so you’re safe from my prying eyes.” His glare though, that could kill a man.
He guides me into the bathroom by clutching my arm. It isn’t a firm hold, but one that shows he doesn’t appreciate me treating him like an idiot. Although his quick wits made me want to abandon my mission altogether, my wish to be updated on family matters exceeds my fear of getting in trouble.
After fixing the stall latch and lifting the lid, I switch tactics. “Lenin?”
His rumbling grunt reveals he is standing right outside my stall, much less his big black boots I see popping out beneath the door.
His grunt turns into a gag when I murmur, “Can you fetch my purse from my jacket? I have a womanly issue I need to take care of, and I forgot supplies.”
My plan goes to shit when he advises me there’s a dispenser attached to the wall. “It should have everything you need.”
While I cradle my throbbing head in my hands, Lenin feeds coins into the machine stealing my creativity. I could ask Asher for permission to speak to my uncle, but I don’t see my request being granted. My cell was confiscated within minutes of me entering the Yury compound, and any time I’ve come close to an unwatched phone, it was locked.
