That had to be catharsis enough.
Storming out of the dressing room, I grabbed my purse, which rattled with its contents, and slung it over my shoulder so that the strap settled between my breasts.
Peering out of the door to my bedroom, I saw that the coast was clear from relatives—there was a guard sitting on a stool at the other end of the landing, but he didn’t count—and I headed out.
The grand staircase was worthy of a mansion back in Moscow, one that had seen the Romanovs themselves wandering down those grand sets of steps, but it led to a home that belonged in a thrift store. An expensive one.
Cheap tack was everywhere, which had me wondering what on Earth my father was thinking. Mama had tastefully decorated this place to suit a man of his standing. Svetlana, in barely no time at all as his wife, had ruined that and turned it into a tart’s paradise. Mama’s style might have been out of date, but by comparison to this mess, it was a dream.
Mouth pursing at the thought, I crossed the floor that was carpeted in zebra-print, and made it outside without crossing paths with the wicked witch.
We were the same age, but while my life hadn’t been easy, it had definitely been harder on her. Every time she looked at me, I felt her resentment, but I didn’t understand why.
We were the same.
To the Bratva, we were just cunts to be plowed and filled with seed.
Mama had failed to provide a son, so I knew Svetlana would be used by Father. That was probably why he’d married her. He still had time to beget a son...
Pakhans didn’t tend to be hereditary, but my father had done the Bratva proud. He’d established the Brotherhood on the East Coast in ways Moscow appreciated, and had stayed at the helm for an unheard of amount of time. Moscow’s pleasure and the city’s fear of him meant if he bred a boy child, and managed to live long enough for that son to get to adulthood, my brother might, just might, take over Father’s throne.
God help him.
As I darted across the way to the garage, I took note of my surroundings. The courtyard was still stained with the blood my father had spilled when he’d been shot here—my one regret? The sniper hadn’t aimed higher. Like, at his chest. Or even his skull. That would have solved all my problems.
Sighing with regret, I made it to the garage and headed to a Range Rover without seeing anyone but guards.
I’d gotten used to living without them, had adapted to a life where they didn’t follow me everywhere, but it was a small price to pay.
I was back in the center of the war zone.
Not that I’d have been safe back at the Sinners’ compound.
They’d just been bombed.
My father had been shot at his home.
Was anywhere on the East Coast safe?
I thought about the rough tenor of Nyx’s voice the last time I’d spoken to him on the phone. When he’d answered, my heart had soared, only to hear his lack of interest, to recognize that it was a token call.
He didn’t give a shit about me.
Nobody did.
That was why I had to protect myself. Do what no one else would—have my back.
With the engine idling as I waited for my cell to connect with the dashboard, I watched as, unbidden, a guard settled beside me in the seat, and I left.
We didn’t speak.
I didn’t even know his name.
We ignored one another as I drove toward the Belt Parkway, my end destination, Forest Park.
A few minutes into my thirty-minute ride, my playlist paused with an incoming call. Seeing Inessa’s name, I answered and immediately spoke in French.
“Bonjour, ma soeur.”
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, before replying in that language too. “Who’s there?”
“God only knows. I haven’t bothered learning their names. They’ll all be dead before this crap is over with the Italians.”
French, as always, was our secret language. The only means of having any privacy in our godforsaken lives.
“Cammie,” Inessa chided with a small laugh. “Since when are you so gloomy?”
“Since Father tried to force another engagement ring on my finger.” I shuddered at the thought of Abramovicz’s hands on me. It was bad enough whenever he kissed my cheek in greeting before we sat down to break bread, but for him to have outright access to me whenever he so chose?
No.
Nope.
Niet.
Just wasn’t going to happen.
That was why I had a plan, and it was going to work.
There was no alternative. It worked or I slit my wrists.
Simple.
“Not that again,” Inessa replied, but her tone contained every shred of revulsion that I felt.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d had to face that horrendous prospect before Father had shoved her onto the Irish to make an alliance with them.
“Yes. Unfortunately. Abramovicz graced us with his presence at dinner last night, which was where Father made the announcement.
“Seems that Svetlana doesn’t like me lounging around the place, and Abramovicz is still willing to take me off Father's hands even though he won’t bloody the sheets with my virginity. And yes, that is a direct quote from him. He told us that as he picked salmon out of his teeth."
Inessa growled under her breath. “I hate that bitch, and I hate that bastard too. Why won’t he just die already? He’s ancient.”
“Maybe I’ll be lucky and he’ll have a heart attack soon. As for Svetlana, I fantasized about drowning her in a bowl of borscht, but what can you do? I don’t want to end up with a bullet from Father’s gun between my eyebrows.”
“Yes, I’d prefer your brains not to be splashed over the dining room. She might have made the place look like a casino in Vegas, but I don’t think that would do much for the decor.”
My lips twitched but because I could feel myself getting mad, I knew I had to change the subject before I hightailed it off to the state line—guard be damned. He was both my protection and my jailor, after all.
“As wonderful as it is to hear from you, and to practice French again, why are you calling?”
Inessa and I weren’t exactly close. Victoria had forgiven me for abandoning her, but Inessa hadn’t. I’d barely spoken to her since I’d returned home. I couldn’t blame her, just wished she didn’t blame me.
I’d taken my chance to get out, and I’d been a fool to think anything would change when I returned. But when your haven became your hell, sometimes it was easier to go back to the devil you knew...
Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.
She cleared her throat, rupturing my thoughts as she admitted, “I’m in Texas.”
“You are? Why?” I sputtered, her revelation filling me with both envy and surprise.
None of us had traveled anywhere other than New York or Moscow.
That was literally it.
We weren’t allowed anywhere else, which was why West Orange, just across the state line in New Jersey, had felt both liberating but as daring as I could brave it.
“For a wedding. An MC wedding. It’s strange. They’re getting married in a kind of garden.”
“Not a church?”
“Well, no. It’s more of a blessing. She’s marrying three men.”
My brows rose. “Three?”
“Yes. It’s... It doesn’t matter.” She sighed, then her voice turned hushed, “Cammie, I’ve done something stupid.”
“Like what?”
“I let Eoghan shave me last night.”
My brows lowered. “Let him shave you? Your legs?”
She hissed under her breath. “No! Between them.”
A smile danced along my lips. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh,” she grumbled.
“What went wrong?” My grin widened. “Assuming something went wrong…?”
“It’s itchy,” was her short reply. “And if you’re laughing, I’ll kill you.”
“I’m not laughing,” I countered, barely managing to hold back a chuckle. “Don’t you have any aloe vera?”
“I’m dressed for a wedding, Cammie. What about that sounds like I’m packing aloe vera?”
“Can’t you go to a drugstore?”
She hissed once more before begrudgingly admitting, “He used his shaving foam... I think I might have had an allergic reaction or something.”
My eyes flared wide. “Are you being serious?”
“Yes!” she snapped. “Cammie, I wouldn’t have called you if I wasn’t being damn serious.”
That stung, but I got it. I’d left her when she needed me the most, but I’d had to think of myself. I’d have been as little use to her as Abramovicz’s child bride as I was incognito at the Satan’s Sinners’ MC compound.
At least after a stint there, I was alive. As Abramovicz’s wife, I’d probably have hurled myself down the stairs by now.
“Have you told Eoghan?”
Because he’d asked me to steal her one of Mama’s favorite necklaces for a birthday present, I had some insight into their relationship. I knew Eoghan wasn’t a bad husband—well, bad in our world was a little different than the regular one—but only someone who gave a fuck about their woman would bother to do something like that.
Which was exactly why I’d done it too. The danger to myself be damned. I loved my sister. It fit that Eoghan did as well, and that we’d worked together to make her happy.
“No,” she growled under her breath. “Why would I tell him?”
“Because he’s your husband?” I retorted. “Aren’t man and wife supposed to share things like this?”
“I just wish I’d let him wax me,” she wailed. “That would have been less painful than this.”
“Inessa, if it’s that bad you need to tell him, for God’s sake.” My hands tightened around the steering wheel, forcing a shiver out of me as pain whispered along my nerve endings like the sweetest of caresses.
“I can’t!”
Whatever I’d expected today, without a shadow of a doubt, I hadn’t thought I’d be talking about my sister getting her vajayjay shaved by her husband. Did she have to be so stubborn about this?
“He might need to take you to the ER,” I pointed out.
“I refuse to go to the ER over a—”
“A, what?” I countered, even though I got it. Well, not entirely, but I was a woman. No one wanted to go to the ER over something like this.
“You know what,” she snarled, and in her voice, I heard humiliated tears that made me annoyed at myself for being amused earlier.
Uncertain about what to do, especially when we were this far apart and knowing she was really desperate to be calling me, I said, “I’ll tell him. Let me break the news. That’ll spare you.”
“You’re kidding, right? Then he’ll know I told you I let him shave me last night. H-He—” A sob escaped her, one that was quickly choked back.
“Malyshka,” I soothed. “What is it?”
Her gulp was so loud, it was audible. “H-He doesn’t want anyone to see my vagina. That’s why he shaved me.”
I blinked, then rolled my eyes. Then winced as a wave of misery hit me.
The green kind.
I’d have loved for Nyx to feel that way about me.
To not want anyone to see my pussy.
To feel that possessive of me that not even an esthetician could prod me between the legs.
That was how things had gotten so complicated, and gone so wrong. I’d thought he wanted more from me, more than any other woman when he’d told me no other brother was allowed to fuck me. I just hadn’t realized he did that with all the clubwhores he’d slept with.
He used them exclusively until he was bored with them.
Just like he’d grown bored with me.
Squeezing the wheel again, the physical pain easier to deal with than the emotional, my throat clogged with tears as I rasped, “Is it really that bad?”
Silence.
She didn’t reply, not for the longest time, and only the fact the SUV’s dash remained lit up with her name on it let me know she hadn’t cut the call.
“Yes,” was her miserable whisper as she accepted her situation.
“Sweetheart, you and I both know things are dire if you called me. You have to go to the doctor’s... You know you have to. Embarrassing or not.”
“I don’t want to,” came another miserable whisper.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine how an allergic reaction would unfold down there, neither did I want to know, but Inessa was my baby sister. She needed my help, and I couldn’t give it to her. My support, on the other hand, was something I could freely offer.
“I know you don’t, malyshka, but hey, it might bring you closer! You should be able to share anything with the man you care about and who cares about you, shouldn’t you?” And it was evident to anyone with eyes that Eoghan had strong feelings for my sister.
Oddly enough, I wasn’t jealous about that. Just the possessiveness.
I didn’t want to be loved. Love was toxic.
I wanted to be owned. Owners looked after their property.
I just wanted to choose who I belonged to.
“Yes,” she said thickly. “I know you’re right... But it’s so mortifying.”
“I know it is,” I soothed. “But I promise, it’s no worse than how itchy you are.”
Every woman knew how godawful that kind of thing was. Never mind without an allergic reaction ramping things up tenfold.
She sucked in a breath. “The service is over so maybe we can cut out soon.”
“Screw politeness, Inessa,” I grumbled. “What if you go into anaphylactic shock?”
“That would have happened last night,” she replied absently. “But it is bad... Okay. I’ll tell Eoghan.” A groan escaped her. “Thank you, Cammie. I guess I knew I needed to talk to him all along but I’m not sure if I would have.”
“What are big sisters for?” I queried lightly, even if my heart ached for the years we’d lost, the time and the closeness that we’d never been destined to have. Where she only called me when things were bad, not when things were good...
I half-expected her to reply with all the bitterness she felt at my abandonment, but instead, she whispered, “You’re right. They’re for calling with post-depilatory disasters.”
My lips twitched. “Let me know when you’re at the ER?”
“Okay. I-It might take a while. You know how long it is before you get seen.”
I snorted. “Malyshka, if you think Eoghan isn’t about to move heaven and earth for you, you’re crazy.”
A soft laugh tittered down the line, one that told me she knew I was right.
As we parted ways, the ache in my heart was strong.
I was glad for her. Truly, I was. I just...
A sigh rushed from my lips.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
I was no beggar, but I’d spend the next few hours riding. That wasn’t much consolation, but it was better than the alternative—spending another moment under the same roof as Svetlana the Slut.
Four
Brennan
“Where’s your mind at, Bren?”
I tried not to yawn, especially not at the moment when Ma was scowling down at me, because she had the uncanny knack of reading every cue I gave off with an accuracy that was practically mystical.
If I yawned, she’d think I was stressed. Not tired.
If I shivered, she’d think I was feverish. Not cold.
And the bitch of it was, as crazy as it seemed, as nonsensical, she never got it wrong. I didn't know if that was because we were close or whatever, but she always knew.
My yawn might be founded in a lack of sleep, but mostly it was forged from stress.
The last month or so had not only been a nightmare on the work front but on a personal front. Especially when the past and present were colliding and not in a very helpful way.
<
br /> My regrets were coming home to roost.
In more ways than one.
I’d made it a practice not to regret much in my life. As a general in the Irish Mob, there was plenty to turn me maudlin, but Mariska was a memory that was pretty much laying eggs in my fucking head.
Of late, the family had been turning to me with all their problems, because Aidan Jr. was out of it. I’d always been the go-to fixer, slapping Band-Aids on situations left, right, and center, but that was nothing to now.
Not when we were knee deep in a war with fucking ghosts.
“I’m just tired.”
Ma sniffed at me. Lena might be nearing seventy but she was as shrewd as ever. “Pull the other one. I won’t tell your Da. You know that.”
I winced. “It’s nothing to do with work. Anyway, we’re not supposed to talk about shit like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know more than your father would like.”
“More than any of us would like. The last thing we want is you in danger.”
Her shrug had me frowning at her. “I lived far longer than I ever expected I would.”
The irritating thing was, I knew this had nothing to do with the reason she and I were closer than most mothers and sons.
That was what happened after what we’d gone through together. Instead of blaming me for being a shit son, she’d taken me under her wing, and showed me I wasn’t. She’d had faith in me and the promise I’d made her, unlike Da who trusted me with business but who’d never trusted me with her again.
Still, she wasn’t talking about that.
Just the fact she was Aidan O’Donnelly’s obsession. His weakest link. The reason he’d trigger a war the likes of which New York had never seen before.
One that made the current pissing match between the Italians and the Russians look like two kids involved in a fistfight on a playground.
“Sorry, Ma,” I said gruffly.
“You don’t have to be.” She tilted her head to the side, then leaned over to cup my cheek. “Takes more than bloodshed and bullshit to make those shadows appear under your eyes. Are they to do with Junior?”
Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four Page 3
