by Belle Aurora
Carefully, I guess.
The second the car took off, I began tugging and pulling at the bindings around my wrists and ankles. I fought against them to no avail. With gritted teeth, I struggled until I thought I might dislocate my thumbs, and even then, I bit my lip as hard as I could, let out a long, indignant groan, and wrenched my wrists against the ties. A pain unlike any other shot through my arms. My mouth opened, and I let out a frustrated scream, panting as I considered my position.
A chill from the cool tiles had me looking down.
I’d lost a shoe in my struggle. A thought hit me, and I stilled.
Placing the ball of my foot to the floor, I groaned as I pushed myself back, and when the chair moved, I stopped breathing.
Yes!
Between pushing off with my bare foot and rocking backward, my entire body burned from the effort I put in. It took an age, but I managed to schlep myself into the center of the hallway.
The breeze coming from the open doorway had goose bumps lining my arms. Perspiration lined my brow as a feeling of weakness flowed through me. I lowered my face, huffing and puffing as I took a much-needed break. Taking a deep breath, then another, I nodded to myself and straightened before steeling my will, gritting my teeth and pushing off again and again until I worked toward my goal.
Nearer and nearer I shuffled, and when I made it a foot away from the front door, a feverish laugh left me.
I was so close.
Another shuffle. More struggling. Heavy breathing. And then I was there, staring down at the front steps, my body shaking from a mixture of fear, exertion, and adrenaline. But...
Now what?
Okay. I had two choices.
Attempt to make my way down the concrete steps and break a few bones, or yell for help.
My mouth dry, I attempted to lick my lips, but they stuck.
Panting quietly, I took a second, closing my eyes and making a considerable attempt to calm my breathing. And when I was sure I wasn’t going to pass out, I took in a deep breath—deep enough to fill my lungs—lifted my head heavenward, and screamed at the top of my lungs.
Vik
I was going to kill him. Murder him. Maim and torture. Disfigure his pretty face until his eyes were nothing but empty, gaping holes. Mutilate his body until his blood painted a red carpet on the ground I walked upon. And I was going to enjoy doing it.
Anika sat quietly, gently rubbing at her red, raw wrists, looking utterly miserable. Sasha paced silently, walking slowly with one hand on his hip while the other covered his mouth as he struggled to keep it together. Mina sat on the sofa, hugging a devastated Cora, and both women shed silent tears of fear for their friend, while Alessio leaned against the open doorway of the living room, peering across at the petite blonde. He wasn’t even trying to hide it then. He wanted to go to the tiny woman who irritated him beyond measure but continued to punish them both by denying himself the pleasure. Lev sat stoically with his daughter in his lap, staring into space, his leg bouncing rapidly, and I thought the only thing holding the man together was the little nugget in his arms.
And me?
A slow rage was burning me from the inside out, lighting my veins with liquid magma, and when Anika spoke quietly, her words doused the flames, cooling my heart to solid stone.
“This is our fault,” Anika rasped through the thick fog of silence, and when my gaze fell on her, her lips trembled as she uttered a dismal, “We did this, Vik.”
Not our fault. Not we.
No.
I’d been thinking it since the moment I got the call.
This was my fault, and I was going to fix it. I didn’t know how yet, but I did know that my trigger finger was itching, and my target was purely inhuman.
How did one kill a demon?
A curt knock sounded, and Alessio turned to answer the front door. Laredo walked into the soundless room, took a long look around at the faces of the people missing one of their own, and shook his head slowly as he carefully removed his gloves and made the short distance toward Sasha.
Stone-faced Sasha paused in his pacing to greet his uncle, and when the older man began with, “Rounded the troops. Sent them over to the club. They’ll hold things down for as long as you need them,” his shoulders drooped.
“Thanks,” he muttered, and that single word of gratitude sounded as though it stuck in his throat. Sasha had never been good at pleasantries.
Laredo placed his hands on his nephew’s shoulders and looked him deep in the eye. “We’re family. Your thanks aren’t necessary. We look after our own.”
From the open doorway came a stoic, “That we do,” and my spine turned rigid.
Philippe Neige looked me up and down before approaching Sasha slowly, carefully, and even though it was clear Philippe wasn’t over the bad business between them, he looked to his old friend and sniffed a bored-sounding, “Heard you could use a hand.”
And Sasha closed his eyes, starting with a penitent, “Philippe…”
But Philippe wasn’t having it. He cut him off with a hard-sounding, “Just to be clear, I’m not here for you.” He turned to look directly at me. “Or you.” He twisted back to Sasha. “I’m here for Nastasia, and I will do whatever I can to see her home safely.” His jaw tightened. “I am here for your family, as I hoped you would have been for mine.”
Bang, bang.
Shots fired.
From the looks of thing, it met its mark, and Sasha turned away to avoid looking at the man a second longer.
Laredo’s observant gaze went right to me, and there it stayed. “You, my boy,” he began, “have some explaining to do.” He took a second before uttering, “Of all the stupid, reckless things to do, you go and offer your services to him.”
Technically, it was Sasha who had placed me into Roam’s hands, but I knew better than to blame him.
The choice was my own.
My hackles rose, and the words grated. “I was desperate.”
“Yes,” Laredo muttered, nodding. “And now you are going to know what real desperation feels like.” A moment’s pause, then his brows lowered as he asked, “Do you have any idea who you have obligated yourself to?”
The way he said it, with cool confidence, immediately told me I might’ve fucked up harder than I originally thought. And when Laredo began to talk, I realized I had.
The older gentleman shrugged out of his coat, placing it into the crook of his arm, and said, “Artem Kozak.” He waited for a reaction, and as he glanced around at the faces of a generation too young to remember, he went on, “I suppose it was before your time. The Ukrainian underboss took New York by storm in the mid-’90s. He started as many of us did, laying claim to an area and running it, taxing the stores and dwellings until he made enough money to start running drugs. After a while, Artem formed Sorok Dev’Yat’. The Forty Nine.”
Sasha turned then, and his brow furrowed. “I know that name. Father has dealings with them. From what I remember, they were on good terms.”
“They were,” Laredo confirmed with a single nod. “Artem was a good businessman. He had a vision and used sheer logic to reach his goals. The man was emotionless. Cold. Cruel, even. But he got shit done. He was poised, and eloquent, and diplomatic. A charmer. Quickly earned the respect of outfits all over the country. He was an earner. Everyone wanted in with him. Even the elitist firms looked past his origins to form a truce. He wasn’t a man you wanted on your bad side.”
Frustration washed over me, and with a hand to my head, I closed my eyes and uttered, “No offence, ’Redo, but you planning on getting to your point anytime soon?”
Laredo’s usually warm countenance turned positively frosty as he glared at me. “That is my niece out there, boy.” I instantly felt contrite. Even more so when he said a chilly, “You aren’t the only one who loves her, Viktor, but you are the only one of us who has carelessly put her in danger.”
My gut clenched painfully.
It was hard, but I shut my mouth, because he was right.
They were familiar words, ones that caused my chest to tighten.
I let out a caustic laugh and muttered an infuriated, “Fuck.”
And Laredo knowingly stated, “And he’s starting to get where this is going.”
My head began to pound. “Artem collected Roam.”
“That he did,” Laredo confirmed. “But even after assembling a small army, Artem saw something in the boy, and he claimed him as his own. He began to introduce him as his son, and when Artem needed messy work done, it was Roam he called upon. The stories about him are legendary. His lust for blood and appetite for violence were not only renowned but celebrated. Roam was a one-man militia. That boy, at eighteen years old, pulled off impossible jobs, taking the lives of countless soldiers, walking out of firm houses broken and bloody but alive. It was well-known that when Roam wanted something, he became obsessed with it, and whatever he went after, he got by any means necessary. Some say he’s insane, and I will not lie; I have seen things that would support that theory.” The man turned and spoke directly to me, “So, now you know. This is the person you indebted yourself to. A fucking madman. The Disciples are the most dangerous outfit on the streets right now, and they are in that position, because they are led by a psychopath who would happily set the city alight in order to stay on top.”
Yeah. That didn’t feel good. My stomach flexed with hidden anxiety.
Sasha exhaled slowly. “What do you suggest we do?”
“I don’t know,” Laredo instantly returned, then added, “but if you think you will solve anything with this man using threats and violence, you are fools. He gets off on a fight. He’s good at it, and he’s looking for one today. He has an army at his beck and call, and I guarantee he has a plan. I advise you play it smart. Offer him something he can use. You’re in with him now, and getting out will cost you more than you can afford.” He suddenly looked as defeated as the rest of us, and what he said next was quiet and full of contempt. “Better to be his partner than his enemy.”
He made it sound so rational, so easy, but the question remained…
How was I to do that?
I didn’t have anything to offer, only myself.
As the dust settled from the destruction I had caused, a somber thought dawned.
That woman was everything to me.
This was my doing, and if aligning myself with this nutcase was the only way to see Nastasia home safely, I would gladly sacrifice myself.
For her, I’d throw myself to the wolves and smile as they tore me apart.
Nastasia
I lifted my balled fist for the hundredth time and banged heavily on the closet door that conveniently had no handle from the inside. A sound of pure frustration left me before I called out, “Hey!”
But, as predicted, nobody came to my aid.
The second we arrived at our destination, Roam exited the car, and when the passenger door opened, the coarse material of the sack was roughly removed from my head. The light breeze touched my face, and I blinked rapidly as my eyes adjusted. When they finally managed to see clearly, I peered up at the gothic revival style manor.
Momentarily stunned by the beauty of the enormous mansion that appeared to hold mysteries aplenty, I took in the dark brick, the eerie off-white arched windows that looked like they belonged in a church, the four tall towers making the house seem more of a castle, and the octagonal turret style roof that was a thing of splendor. The grounds were large, the grass was a sublime green, and earl gray roses lined the mansion like a border. The huge, circular, three-tiered Barcelona-inspired fountain trickled quietly out front, and when they began to walk, the goon at my back shoved me lightly until I followed. My eyes were drawn to that fountain, and the closer we got, the more I observed. I almost smiled to myself when I saw them.
There were koi in that fountain. There were a lot of them.
It was clear that effort and a whole lot of time were put into this place. I would have been lying if I said I didn’t want to go home, get my shit, and move in immediately.
I’d never seen anything like it, and if it had belonged to anyone but Roam, I would have complimented him on it. A house like this deserved open admiration, and this one positively demanded it.
Roam wasn’t pulling any punches. I told him I didn’t need an escort, that I’d be his willing captive as long as he left Anika alone, and with a hard stare, he allowed me to walk into my gilded prison on my own two feet, at my own pace.
If I thought the outside of his house was beautiful, the moment I saw the inside of it, my breath was stolen from me.
To the left was a parlor made up of dark wood antique furniture. The burgundy printed wallpaper looked like it was from another time. A pair of golden, cushioned settee bench seats were visible as well as floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I couldn’t make out the titles, but the majority of them looked aged, and I knew there would be first edition classics on them. The large Victorian fireplace sat unlit, but the cast iron surrounding gave me pause.
Within the iron was an image of a nude man cradling his severed head. On the opposite side was that same man, sans clothing, holding his head up the air. The top was lined with sprawled bodies and snakes. I vaguely remember seeing it before somewhere but couldn’t pinpoint where.
A quick glance to the right revealed much of the same. The only difference in this room was the amount of light streaming through. Heavily lit by sunlight, the enormous space held two four-seater sofas in a deep-red topped with plush velvet cushions, a crimson patterned rug that was so large I didn’t even know they made them in that size, dark-brown wingback chairs, antique lamps, and vases holding intricate bunches of rose arrangements. When my gaze lifted, a stunning crystal chandelier glittered in the rays of sunlight.
It was divine.
I felt as though I stepped back into the 1800s, and I never wanted to leave. Until I was led to a separate wing of the house, and Roam shoved me into his bedroom closet. Sure, it wasn’t exactly small, and he’d left the light on for me, but the more time I spent in there alone, it felt like the walls were closing in on me as claustrophobia caused my breathing to heavy.
“Hey!” I tried again, banging on the closed door. “Let me out of here!” My head spun, and I closed my eyes as my knocking turned weak. “I said I would stay!”
But, again, no one came.
Feeling faint, I put my back to the wall and slid myself down the side of the door, then lifted my fist and thumped sluggishly. I did this for a long while, and when the door opened suddenly, I jolted, scrambling backward.
A man stood there dressed in nothing but a pair of black boxers and a pair of tube socks with red stripes, and he glowered at me. “Do you mind?” He blinked rapidly, fighting the pull of sleep. “Some of us were up ’til dawn getting their dicks sucked.”
Oh.
“Sorry” was my confused, weak response, because what else could I say to that?
He ran a hand through his short chocolate-brown hair, and the light from the inside of the closet had his septum piercing sparkling. He sounded so put out. “Well, I’m up now.” Then he looked around the closet with a frown before asking, “What are you doing in here?” His guess was as good as mine. Then, “Is this some weird sex thing?”
My face screwed up. “I don’t think so.”
The man leaned against the doorframe, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched me a long moment. When he asked, “You hungry?” I took the opportunity and ran with it.
“I could eat.”
32
Nastasia
The man who released me from my prison introduced himself with a brusque, “I’m Pollux.”
Pollux. Weird, but whatever. “Nastasia.”
He jerked his chin
over his shoulder and said, “C’mon,” then started walking, and I followed. The house was huge, and we walked a while, down a long hallway, passing through a small corridor, making our way down the huge, intricately carved mahogany staircase that looked like it belonged on the Titanic, until finally, we reached the kitchen.
Just like the rest of the house, the stunningly dark interior swept through the area, and while the kitchen seemed a touch more modern than the other rooms, it still held a macabre style that chilled just as much as it charmed.
The herringbone floorboards were stained black. The tiles behind the giant stove were onyx, glossed, and shined prettily. The huge island in the center of the room was mahogany but had a gray-and-cream marble countertop, and above that island were two cast iron light fixtures that looked like antique lamps. Their stained glass came in opaque cream and a blood-red. The appliances were matte black and expensive.
I was awestruck. No doubt, Roam was loaded beyond comprehension.
And the moment I saw the man himself sitting at the island, reading the newspaper, nursing a coffee, sipping from the antique cup, I balked, which seemed on brand, because the second his gaze came to rest on me, his eyes darkened. He placed the newspaper down slowly, deliberately.
Pollux didn’t even look at him when he uttered, “Yo. You lose this?” Before Roam had a chance to respond, Pollux opened a cupboard and retrieved two bowls before twisting back to open another door, taking out a box of cereal. He opened the box and shook some out into one bowl before doing the same to the other. “She was screaming like a banshee and banging on the closet door. Woke me the fuck up.”
“Yes,” Roam uttered coolly, his jaw tight, “pets tend not to like their cages.”
And Pollux stilled. Slowly, he looked up at me before chancing a glance at Roam. When he saw the icy look on the brooding man’s face, he let out a short breath before muttering, “Oops.”
That was when Roam lifted the newspaper and stated, “You just earned babysitting duty.”
