by Tillie Cole
I stayed that way for a while; staring, trying to avoid the inevitable craving I knew I was going to cave into viewing.
Because I was obsessed.
I was obsessed with 221, and could no longer lie to myself that it was just intrigue, that it was simply a harmless bit of self-indulgent interest. It was more. I knew it was more.
I fucking hated myself for the fact that it was more.
Slowly reaching out, my index finger found the On button for the feed and the large screen came to life. And there he was, lying on the black rubber floor, wrapped in chains and static in motion.
As soon as my eyes found his slumped, broken frame, my heart raced in my chest and my lungs seemed to squeeze at the sight. My skin grew hot, and an ache formed between my legs. I wanted to touch him again. I wanted to hold him in my arms.
I stood there like a statue glued to the ground for what could have been hours, and as the minutes ticked by, the gold necklace around my throat suddenly felt like an open flame brandishing my skin. It was burning me, burning me with guilt.
And just like that, I knew I had to get away from this place. I needed distance. I needed to clear my mind. I needed to pull myself together, get away from the temptation.
Shit. I needed a Goddamn drink. Or two.
Seeing my byki, Ilya and Savin patrolling on the far west of the property’s extensive grounds, I knew it was my chance to get away alone.
Without hesitation, I ran to the kitchen closet that held the car keys and took the nearest set I could find: the Mercedes. Running toward the front door, I slammed my hand on the button that opened the electric security gate and, grabbing my purse, burst out of the front door and beelined for the Merc.
In seconds I was at the blacked-out C-Class 250 and, with a lead foot on the gas pedal, roared out of my family’s isolated Hamptons mansion, quickly hitting the open road. Destination: Brooklyn.
As the miles passed by, the trees a blurring stream of brown, a dull ache set in my chest.
I needed this, needed to breathe the Brooklyn air. And I needed my best friend. Keeping my eyes on the dark country road, I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell. In seconds I’d found her name and the call connected.
“Hey, girl!” Kisa’s soothing voice greeted. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Kisa,” I said anxiously, “can you meet me for a drink in a couple of hours?”
Kisa paused then asked, “Tal, what’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I’m driving back to Brooklyn. I … I just need to get back for a while, is all.”
More silence. Then, “Talia, you’re worrying me. Why are you coming back so soon? Has something happened?”
I sucked in a breath, and explained, “Kisa. I need to talk to someone. I’m going insane. And I’d really like a long fucking drink of vodka to accompany that chat. So? Can you meet me?”
“I’m at the Dungeon, Tal. I’ll be here awhile more.”
My heart fell, but I exhaled a relieved sigh when my best friend offered, “How about we meet at Brighton Beach for a walk? It’s close to the Dungeon, I can get away easier.”
I rolled my eyes at Kisa’s alternative plan, but couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling up my throat. “You never were one for the bars, were you, dorogaya moya? Always been the good girl,” I teased.
Kisa laughed in return, clearly easing her worry for me. “And you’ve always had to be the rebel, haven’t you, Tal?”
My laugh turned into a guilty cough. Kisa was right. I’d never walked the “good old Bratva” woman’s line. My father had given up trying to keep me in check. I was his little girl and could wrap him around my little finger. But this, what I was doing with 221? I knew he’d never forgive that.
“Tal? Do you want to meet at the beach?” Kisa asked, breaking my inner self-chastisement.
“Yeah, we can meet at the friggin’ beach,” I agreed, “but, Kisa?”
“What?”
“Make sure you pick up a bottle of Grey Goose and bring it with you, okay?”
“Tal—”
“Don’t worry, Sandra Dee,” I interrupted. “I’m not going to make you drink. That liter of Russian perfection is all mine.”
Kisa’s light laugh filtered through the car, instantly making me feel better. “Tal?” Kisa said as her humor faded to silence. “Drive safe. I’m worried about you, girl. You don’t sound right.”
With a steady voice, I assured, “Don’t worry about me, Kisa. I’m good, as always. Nothing ever fazes me for long. Whatever this is, I’ll get over it.”
My unyielding grip on the steering wheel told an entirely different story.
* * *
By the time I hit Brighton Beach night had fallen, bringing a blanket of darkness. As I drove slowly through my hometown, past the gloomy abandoned streets, past the boarded up stores and bankrupt restaurants, the rundown shell of houses and the homeless people huddled on the floor, I shook my head.
It was like another world out here. If you were a part of the Bratva, if you were Russian, Brighton Beach was a haven. No cops interfering with business, hoards of loyal people from the motherland, sharing culture and wealth. But if you were any other nationality, you were forgotten, a piece of nothing to the Mafia that controlled the dingy streets.
Because in the world we—that I—lived in, the Mafia, the soviet brotherhood, was paramount. No one fucked with us. No one threatened our slice of East Coast Americana. Brighton Beach may look like some rundown hell to most, but to the Volkov Bratva, this was the land we ruled. My father and Kirill Volkov were the kings of this fucked-up kingdom.
Seeing the beach on my left, I pulled my car to a stop at the abandoned dark section Kisa and I had come to as kids, and cracked open the door. The icy wind whipped around my hair awarding me the jolt of reality I’d been searching for.
Locking the car door, and leaving my now powered-off cell in the passenger seat, I walked onto the freezing sand in my Gucci boots and, almost meeting the tide, slumped down to the ground.
I stared out at the vast sea of darkness, breathing in the salty air and tried not to think of what Savin and Ilya would be doing right now, finding me gone. And I was really trying not to think of the broken man I’d left on the cold basement floor.
Hearing a cough behind me, I turned my head to see Kisa heading my way, wrapped up in a thick parka and clutching a large bottle in her hands.
I smiled as she approached, her arms hugging her waist, her long brown hair whipping around her face. When her eyes met mine, she shook her head. “Talia Tolstaia, I love your crazy ass to pieces, but it’s freakin’ freezing out here!”
Pushing myself off the ground, I walked to my best friend and wrapped my arms around her. “You’re the one that wouldn’t meet me at a bar, so technically, it’s your fault we’re freezing our asses off right now.”
Smiling wide, Kisa linked her arm through mine and she guided me to a cluster of rocks, hunkering us down behind their shelter to escape the severe bite of the wind.
Without breaking her hold on my arm, she passed me the sealed bottle of Grey Goose and watched with amusement as I cracked it open and took a long heavy swig. My chest burned as the alcohol ran down my throat, and all the air fled my lungs at the vodka’s strong taste.
After a few more long sips, I immediately felt more relaxed. Screwing the cap back on, I tipped my head back to the full starry sky and sighed. “That feels better,” I said quietly. And it did. Away from the presence of 221 I could breathe, I could think more rationally.
Kisa’s arm tightened in mine. Her beautiful face turned my way, and she asked, “What’s going on, Tal?”
My eyes were fixed on the crashing of the waves, when 221’s beautifully stern face entered my head. I dropped my gaze, frustrated with myself when my stomach flipped and filled with butterflies.
“Tal? You’re scaring me now. What’s wrong?”
“I just needed to get away.”
Kisa was too quiet in repl
y. I met her gaze to find her frowning. “But you went to the Hamptons to get away from everything here. To disconnect from Brooklyn for a while. Now you need to get away from the Hamptons, too? I don’t understand.”
“I know,” I replied quietly, “I’m ridiculous.”
Kisa’s gloved hand found mine and squeezed my fingers. “You’re not ridiculous. But what’s happened to make you need to leave?”
My free hand sunk into the cold sand beside me and I filtered the grains though my fingers like a sieve. I wanted to tell someone.
“Talia, please. You’ve never hidden anything from me before. I know you. I can tell something is on your mind.” Kisa’s blue eyes searched mine, then she added, “Just because I’m married to Luka doesn’t take away my loyalty to you.”
I threw Kisa a watery, grateful smile. Kisa nudged her head in my direction urging me to divulge. Unscrewing the Grey Goose, I drank another few sips, and whispered, “It’s 221. I needed to get away from 221.”
Kisa tensed and sorry spread over her face. “Shit, Talia. I didn’t even think.”
I nodded my head then took another drink. I gripped the neck of the bottle and the laugh that tore through me was humorless. “He’s haunting me, Kisa. I can’t believe Luka brought him to the country house where I was staying. I just never expected to feel this strongly toward him. He’s all I can think about. He’s all I can concentrate on.” My hand subconsciously lifted to run over the “Tolstoi” engraving on my favorite gold necklace.
My heart raced as Kisa said nothing. Finally, I turned to my best friend to see her watching me sympathetically. “I never even thought how hard it would be for you having him there.” My eyebrows pulled down and Kisa squeezed my hand. “Of course you don’t want him there. After all the family history, of course you don’t.”
I opened my mouth to tell her she’d misunderstood me, but Kisa looked out over the sea, lost in her own thoughts. “It’s Luka, Tal. He’s got a one-track mind over saving that guy. It wouldn’t have even occurred to him that you’d detest the very sight of him. That it was disturbing your life to this extent.”
Even surrounded by the freezing cold wind, my cheeks filled with heat. Kisa had it wrong. So wrong.
I opened my mouth to explain that when Kisa laid her head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re getting dragged into all this revenge business of your brother’s, Tal. But … but Luka needs it. He needs to help 221 more than you can understand, despite how offensive that is to your family. It’s healing him.”
Kisa’s sad voice drifted on the wind to my ears and I stopped what I was about to say.
This fascination, I would have to keep to myself. With a final sigh, I laid my head on top of Kisa’s. I was lost. Alone and lost.
“Tal?” Kisa asked moments later.
“Yeah?”
“Where’s your byki?”
I grimaced when I thought of the trouble I’d be in with Savin and Ilya when I was found. “Erm. I kind of left them at the Hampton house and came back to Brooklyn without informing them.”
Kisa’s head whipped up, and an admonishing, but humored smile spread on her lips. “Talia! Seriously, girl. You are a rebel! Your father will flip if he finds out you sneaked off.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know. Twenty-four and still have to answer to daddy dearest. How pathetic.”
Kisa playfully slapped my arm. “With the rival threats of late it’s necessary. It’s for your protection, not punishment.”
“I know,” I said indulgently, and patted Kisa’s hand. “Come on, dorogaya moya, time to get off this beach. It’s fucking freezing!”
Kisa laughed as we walked back toward our cars. I suppressed my groan seeing Kisa’s byki standing dutifully by her Lincoln. She was going to be the perfect Bratva wife when Luka eventually took the pakhan mantle.
“How you doing, Kisa?” I asked as we casually headed over the sand. “Have I missed anything since I’ve been away?”
I felt Kisa’s arm tense for the briefest of moments within mine, but she shook her head in dismissal. “Nope, nothing new. Just the same old same Volkov life. Fighting, death, and extortion. You know, our honest family’s business.”
Unable to hold back my laughter, I nudged my shoulder into Kisa’s and we both chuckled all the way back to the road.
When we hit pavement, I saw Kisa’s byki eyeing me strangely. They knew I was alone without my guards. That clearly wasn’t going over well.
Throwing the guards a wave and a huge smile, I greeted, “Evening, boys!”
Kisa, laughing again, pulled me in for a hug. I went to move back, but she held on tighter. Frowning, I held her back until she pulled away. I went to ask her if she was truly okay, when she pressed a kiss to my cheek and whispered, “I miss not having you around, Tal. Brooklyn’s not the same without you.”
My chest filled with warmth. “I’ll be back soon, Kisa. Can’t leave you in everyone’s favorite death-match ring alone. You need me to brighten your day.”
“You joke, but it’s true,” she said meaningfully. Kisa stepped back toward her car, but asked, “You’re going back to the Hamptons, aren’t you?”
I let my eyes drift into the distance and the empty, almost post-apocalyptic feeling of the Brighton Beach streets. “Yeah, I still need a bit of time alone.” I met Kisa’s eyes and said, “You give that big brother of mine a kiss for me, okay?”
Kisa’s face lit with pure love at the mention of Luka. “I will. He misses you, too, you know. Even if he doesn’t show it so much.” Kisa hesitated before she got in her car. “Are you okay to drive? You haven’t drunk too much, have you?”
I waved my hand, dismissing her concern. “Nope. I’m good. I’ll take it easy, I swear.”
Kisa nodded, but I could see she was still worried for me. “Okay. Call me when you get back.”
“Will do!” I said cheerily.
In minutes Kisa was gone. And I was still thinking of a six-foot-six, 250-pound Georgian.
Shit.
Screw this, I thought as I jumped behind the wheel. I needed a club. I needed a bit of normality. I needed to be the Talia of old for a while. I needed to see if another guy could make me forget 221’s face.
9
TALIA
Club Synz was teaming with hundreds of hot bodies, all dancing, kissing, brushing against one another—a promise of what would come as the night wound down and the comforts of home came calling.
I sat at the bar nursing a mojito.
Acid music pumped through the speakers so loudly I could feel the heavy bass vibrating through my chest. Staring into the clear liquid of my drink, I twirled the straw and watched the sprig of two mint leaves dance in the funnel I’d created. Then there was the lone lime segment chasing the paired and connected mint leaves down to the bottom of the glass. It never quite caught up, bobbing just above as if it were watching them have all the fun.
I couldn’t help but think it was a metaphor for my life. Always watching other people fall in love. Always finding love out of my grasp.
221’s face then appeared in my mind yet again. His long hair. His green eyes. That long black hair, his hand holding mine, the feel of his length under my palm …
Shit!
Suddenly, the chair moved beside me, making me jump. My hand flew to my chest and my heart skipped a beat. I glanced to the side to see a young dark-haired guy sporting black geek glasses and an expensive three-piece suit slip into the neighboring leather seat.
Holding up his hand to signal the bartender, he flicked his blue-eyed gaze my way, a slow grin instantly pulling on his defined lips. Forcing myself to smile back, I watched in rapt attention as his eyes dropped to my bared shoulders, over my white strapless top and down to my skintight Armani jeans. His nostrils flared as he drank in my over-the-knee boots and my long blond hair that fell to the middle of my back.
A few seconds later, his eyes once again met mine, and knowing he’d been caught, he quickly cleared his throat in embarrassment.
The grin he was wearing immediately spread into a wide smile, which showcased his perfectly white teeth. He was pretty damn good to look at—tall, broad … attractive. He looked like a lawyer or someone who just got off work. Or a professor … yeah, a hot-ass professor.
He was cute. My type before …
Talia, you need to get 221 out of your mind! I admonished, making myself look over at Mr. Professor once again.
“Hey,” he shouted over the music.
“Hey,” I replied just as the bartender flicked his chin at Mr. Professor, clearly impatient to take his order.
Turning, Mr. Professor placed his order of a double Grey Goose vodka on the rocks. Pausing, he flicked his gaze to my drink and, smiling, added, “And another mojito for this beautiful lady.”
The bartender moved away to make the drinks and Mr. Professor turned to me. “I didn’t catch your name,” he shouted as the music switched to a heavy dance beat.
Pushing myself to respond, I replied, “That’s because I never gave you it.”
He nodded and pursed his lips. “Okay, point made.” He leaned in closer, his strong musky cologne filling my nose. “But don’t I deserve it after buying you a drink?”
On cue, the bartender placed our drinks down on the counter and Mr. Professor passed him his credit card without taking his eyes off me. Reaching out to grasp his glass of Grey Goose, he raised it high, nudging his chin in the direction of my mojito.
Sighing, I lifted my glass.
Throwing me another heart-dropping grin, he leaned forward and said, “Cheers…?” His request for my name hung in the air.
Shifting forward on my seat, I leaned slightly forward, and informed, “Talia.”
Mr. Professor nodded. “Beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”
Tilting my head to the side, I asked disinterestedly, “And yours?”
“Brandon.”
Brandon, I thought. Such a normal, bland American name.
Bright lights from the dance floor reflected off the lenses of Brandon’s Tom Ford glasses. Clinking my cold glass against his, I toasted, “Cheers to you, too, Brandon.”
