by Shandi Boyes
“Look up, K. It’s time to see the fireworks.” My heart thuds in my ears when I place the hand not holding her body hostage to mine under her chin so I can carefully crank her neck back. “I want to kiss you, K. I want to kiss you so fucking bad it hurts. But I won’t touch you without permission. No one will ever take away your rights again. I’ll kill any man stupid enough to try. I don’t care who he is.” After working my jaw side to side to weaken the fury of my tone, I say, “But that means I need your permission, K. I need you to come out of the dark and tell me this is what you want. I need to know you want this as much as me.”
When I stare into her eyes, waiting for the light of life to return, they do a lengthened blink. “It’s not enough, K. I need more. I’m far from a fucking saint, but I can be your light. I can protect you better than the dark.” After tugging her in so close, the material of her saturated shirt and my drenched boxer shorts become one, I say, “The dark won’t last forever. Even on the blackest nights, stars still shine through. Let me be that star for you, Duchess. Let me guide you out of the dark. Then I can kiss you as often as you want.” I bring my lips an inch from hers before murmuring, “I know it’s safe in the dark, but that isn’t living. You can’t exist if you’re locked up in your past. Let it go, K. Show them how strong you are. Fight for you and only you…”
My words fade out when K proves she’s always been more brave than afraid. Her lips are on mine—only just—but it feels like the most intimate thing I’ve ever done.
A better man would stop at a peck kiss. I’ve told you before I’m not one of them.
She’s only just tiptoed out of the dark.
I want her fully emerged from it.
But if I do that, I could lose her forever.
Since that’s the last thing I want, I don’t act like the man I was raised to be, nor the one I’ve faked since I was freed from hell. I commence being the man I saw in K’s eyes when she peered up at me lifeless and lost.
I will be the man she needs me to be.
The thump of my heart in my ears doubles when I slowly notch my head back so I can peer into K’s eyes. She’s back, but her grip on reality is loose, proving I made the right choice.
After clearing away the hairs fallen in front of her eyes, I issue a promise I plan to keep even if it kills me. “While Achim played for the castle, we took down his whole fucking kingdom. I promise you, Duchess, your crown is next. It just won’t be pronged with jewels.”
Epilogue
Trey
Nine long months later…
* * *
Killing doesn’t faze me. I experienced all types of murders long before Nikolai found me shackled to a wall, naked and on the verge of death. I could end a life without the slightest increase in my heart rate and eat an almost rare steak only minutes later. My stomach didn’t twist, and my brow didn’t mist with sweat. I was the monster I was raised to be.
K changed me.
Don’t get me wrong. The man hanging from the second-story balcony of his home, bleeding and whimpering for his life won’t get any leniency from me. But women, in particular, beaten, sold, and raped women, they’re not on my list anymore. I’ll kill the men responsible for what happened to them. I’ll slit their throats after cutting off their cocks and feeding it to them, and I’ll torture the ones stupid enough to think they can come between us.
That’s what’s happening here tonight. An errant, low-bottom-gangster wannabee thinks he can play Nikolai and me as fools. My sidekick and I are determined to prove him wrong.
K isn’t responsible for a single nick on his body. From her vantage point in the foyer, she doesn’t even know his cock is hanging out of his trousers, ready to be removed. Her presence merely ensures the thudding of my pulse in my ears keeps my head in game mode and not on my past when torture and deprivation of liberty were above me.
Lester would have been dead an hour ago if it weren’t for K. This way, I’ll get the information I’m seeking and the adrenaline high K loves feeding off after every raid.
Eager to get that side of the festivities started, I say, “Let me make sure I have my facts straight, Lester. You’ve never heard of Zoran Davis, and you don’t know where he is. Is that correct?”
He can’t answer me since he’s gagged, but he has no problems nodding even with a rope burning his jugular. He’s tiptoeing on a chair like Justine did mere seconds before Vladimir kicked it out from beneath her a year ago.
I’ve always had a fascination with adding a personal touch to the shakedowns Nikolai passes down to me. Sometimes you have to put the sick fucks through the pain they’ve made others experience for them to grasp exactly how fucked-up they are.
It’s a theory I’ve been running since Nikolai discovered the real reason K was ‘supposedly’ purchased by him. Achim didn’t gift K to Vladimir because he wanted Ana back. He did it to get to me. He had no clue there were two separate entities being run under the Popov name during the planning stage of his ruse—Nikolai’s and Vladimir’s.
Finding Vladimir was easy, but Nikolai and his crew’s location was a lot harder. Nikolai kept Clarks’ location wrapped up tight, knowing a hidden bunker was one of his strongest assets, second only to the love of a good woman.
With Ana’s inclusion in Vladimir’s arsenal of sex slaves going unnoticed by Nikolai’s second-in-charge who Achim was convinced had a fascination for blonde-haired, blue-eyed women, K was microchipped without her knowledge, then gifted to Vladimir with the hope the real woman from my dreams would bring me out of hiding.
In a way, Achim’s planned worked. It just took weeks longer than he would have liked.
K was his favorite whore, and for every day he was without her, his quest for vengeance grew more rampant. That’s why he organized K’s mocked sale. If Nikolai hadn’t fallen dick first in love for his defense attorney, he may very well have collected the woman he’d unknowingly handed over one point two million dollars for—or better yet, he’d send his second-in-charge.
K confessed to messaging Achim on my phone as drummed into her during their many chats about how she’d be released from his ‘service’ the instant she handed over Ana, but flight plans prove Achim was already on his way to the US long before K had sent her text. The instant the chips in K and Ana’s shoulders were picked up at a second location, Achim’s plan was activated.
I’ll give it to Achim, he was smarter than he looked. He didn’t want to instigate a war with a man he knew he’d never win against, so instead of hitting Nikolai’s compound alone, he sided with one of his enemies. His plan was almost foolproof. No one in Alexei’s crew knew about their once-off merger, and Achim left no evidence he was ever at Clarks.
He just forgot one vital part in his equation.
The significance of a woman who can make your heart thud in your ears.
I had my skull cracked open with a tire wrench. I died twice on the way to the hospital, and three times on the operating table, yet, the faintest scent of rain on the horizon had me remembering eyes the color of an ocean and a grubby, underfed face.
K brought me out of the darkness, taught me how to be gentle, and how I can forgive even if I never forget.
She also showed me only the most damaged cocoons produce the most stunning butterflies.
She’s stronger than she has ever been—both mentally and physically. She can put Eight on his ass when they go a handful of rounds in the ring, eat like a trucker, and can climax without crying.
The latter part of my confession was her biggest challenge, but I’m pleased to say she overcame it. I’m sure there are days she’s tempted to tiptoe back into the dark, but for the most part, she’s here, with me, always at my side.
I’ve been trying to loosen the invisible lead I curled around her ankle nine months ago, but it’s a slow process. Eight has taken her for the occasional drive when he’s collecting supplies, and the once-whores-now-cooks steal her away from me as often as possible, but anywhere I go, she comes with me.
Even now, she sits on the entryway table, swinging her legs like the effortless movements won’t irritate the tattoo Jarmon finished for her earlier this week. Her tattoo is beautiful. It’s a phoenix that goes from the exit wound of the bullet that ripped through her shoulder blade seven years ago to the tiny grazes on the lower half of her stomach from when Vladimir dragged her down a glass-littered hall by her hair.
K’s favorite flowers are mottled throughout the bird’s long tail feathers that hug her enticing, yet still tiny curves. They add a touch of color to a symbol known for rebirth, life, growth, and longevity.
The tattoo was K’s idea. Everything she’s done the past nine months has been her choice. The size of her tattoo, its placement, and its design were purely her decision. As was the tiny diamond stud hidden by the tender folds of her pussy.
Jarmon wasn’t given the pleasure of piercing K. She wanted me to do that. In all honesty, I was opposed to the idea at first. I didn’t want to hurt her any more than she’d already been hurt. It was only while recalling the reason for my many tattoos and piercings did I change my mind.
K doesn’t look at herself and see beauty. She sees scars and irreversible damage.
Her piercing didn’t make her feel more beautiful, but it brought her out of her shell and broke away the ugliness she thought she was shrouded in so she could commence her metamorphosis.
I doubt she’ll ever peer at her reflection and understand how truly beautiful she is, but I’m hopeful one day she will believe she’s worthy.
Annoyed an insolent man is keeping me from stepping K closer to that day, I pierce the tip of my blade into the shriveled skin around Lester’s cock. He’s uncircumcised, or should I say was uncircumcised. He’s not anymore.
“This is your last chance, Lester. My woman is waiting for me. Her time is precious, so I suggest you stop acting as if it isn’t. Where. Is. Zoran?” I space out my last three words to ensure he knows his balls are next on my hit list.
“P-P-Puerto Rico,” he stutters out, his words pushed through a howl from my blade jabbing his walnut-size nut.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”
“P-Puerto Rico,” he repeats, louder this time. “He’s at a vacation home in the name of his old mistress. I can get you the details. I have them stored in my phone.”
When I click my fingers two times, Eight magically appears out of nowhere. He’s good like that. He is always at my side watching my back as I do K’s. Excluding Nikolai, he’s the only man I trust with her, and even then, he is wary about what he does and says around her.
“Where, exactly?” I ask after scanning Lester’s blood-stained face with the facial recognition software on his phone.
When I enter the contact app, I automatically scroll to the very bottom, seeking the Zs. My thumb stops mid-scroll when Lester answers my question. “It’s under the 1s.” His panicked eyes dart between mine when he confesses. “I store my clients’ details in my phone under the docket numbers of their purchases. Janice’s was 12573. I remember hers as it was only one digit different from my favorite mistress’ number.”
I’m not the only one who balks at his blubbered comment.
I felt K’s ripples from here.
Her sales docket number was one number away from Janice’s as well. It was the number I used to free her from captivity, and the date cited on her mother’s headstone. India was such a sick bitch, she suggested for Achim to use K’s mother’s date of birth as her sale document number. She hated how her family’s wealth and stature couldn’t weaken Achim’s obsession with K, so she made K’s life as miserable as possible.
Even with K being the help, Achim wanted her on sight and was willing to do anything to have her. He didn’t count on a Corbyn man stealing his ultimate prize. I was supposed to bed his wife-to-be, not the jewel of his eye.
Knowing K gave her virginity to me willingly gutted Achim more than India nursing my brother back to health so they could plot their own takeover bid on the Novaks. That’s what got Cole killed. Achim had spies in many places. India’s chambermaids were only one of them.
Although no bones have been found, rumors are India was killed by Achim not long after she suggested he gift K to Vladimir. She may have been a more royal version of K, but no amount of glitz can replicate the fight in K’s eyes. When Achim finally learned that, he supposedly strangled India like he did K nine months ago.
He just failed to resuscitate her.
I’ve never been a man to believe rumors. I’ve seen firsthand how the dead resurrect when least expected, so although my hunt for India has ceased, my watch will never end. If she resurfaces, I’ll take her down just as quickly as I have every other person who has caused K harm. It’ll make me a monster, but since it will also ensure I keep my promise to K while coercing her out of the dark, I’m willing to step into the nightmares of my past for her one more time.
As I am now.
Lester sighs when I tuck his penis away, stupidly believing he’s safe from dismemberment. He is dead fucking wrong. If any of the inane thoughts in my head are true, the loss of his penis will be the least of his worries.
“K, can you come here for a sec?”
My pulse quickens when she enters the elaborate galley of a mansion thirty miles from Vegas. Her hair is wet and clinging to her face compliments to the sprinkling of rain we dashed through while sneaking into Lester’s home unaware, and her white dress is grubby and almost see-through.
I see so much of the girl who galloped down the stairs of Vladimir’s compound twelve months ago tonight. She’s just stronger now. More determined. Fucking perfect.
After telling my cock to calm the fuck down, aware I could never remove a man’s appendage while mine is pressed against the zipper in my trousers, I ask K, “Do you recognize him?”
She joins Eight and me near a balustrade that curves up and around four floors of opulence so she can take in Lester’s features with due diligence. My cock hardens even more when the scent of her rain-soaked hair streams into my nose. She has a seductive scent not even the hardest conditions can detract from. It’s a scent that reminds me of bad decisions with deadly consequences but with a touch of purity I’ve never experienced.
My addiction to her scent helped her heal faster than expected as does my dedication to ensure her pleasure forever comes before mine. She never kneels to suck my cock until the apex of her thighs is drenched by multiple orgasms. Just like we’ve never fucked without her eyes locked on mine.
Even before she learned a word of English, I could read her thoughts in her eyes. They guided me through the many exchanges we’ve had the past nine months.
As they do today.
Ignoring Lester’s wordless pleas for her to say no, K shifts on her feet to face me. I’m pleased to say even with her heels bringing her tiny five-foot-two height closer to my six-foot-three stature, there isn’t the slightest wobble to her stride.
Shoes were the first thing I spoiled her with.
Orgasms were a close second.
“Yes.”
“Yes, you recognize him?” I double-check. Nikolai said I could leave Lester breathing if he gave us what I wanted. He was a mere accountant working for the wrong man.
Now, I’m not so sure.
“Yes, I recognize him.” K’s English is still developing, and her voice is heavy with an accent I fucking love, but even if she couldn’t speak a word of English, she’d have no trouble communicating with me. I can see the truth in her narrowed eyes, feel her anger slicking her skin with sweat.
This fucker isn’t just an accountant.
He touched my girl.
And now he’ll die for it.
“Wait in the car with Eight for me, Duchess. I won’t be a minute.” The restraint I’m struggling to hold back is heard in my voice. I want to hurt, I want to maim, but more than either of those things, I want to continue being the man K has encouraged me to become the past nine months.
Most men c
an’t be both a monster and a saint. That isn’t the case for me.
A good man doesn’t cause his woman additional problems.
A bad man makes them all disappear.
Most women either accept one or the other.
A duchess deserves both, and I’m going to make sure she gets exactly that.
The End!
* * *
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Acknowledgments
I swear to God, this is the worst part about any book. You’d have to be over reading these as much as I am writing them, right? It’s the same old shit every single time. To my readers, my husband, and to myself for not strangling the kids while writing this book, yada, yada, yada. You get it. I love you guys, but my fucking God, do I hate writing the acknowledgement page. I’d pick to write blurbs for twenty-four hours straight over this shit. I’d even wipe my ass with a cactus. Yet, here we are, all over again.
