Twisted Tales of Mayhem

by Sapphire Knight

  "I'll let the staff know."

  It doesn't take long to drive from the small airport to my estate. I take in my home. The place I grew up. Deciding to run things from the states for the past few months was the best decision I made at the time. I needed to form a stronger bond with my firstborn son Logan and watch him and Nikolai form the brotherly bond they deserve. The Volkov's have owned this land for several generations. The ground is flat and lush with green grass, and the horizon is lined with a dense tree line. On the backside of the property to the east runs a river which divides my property from the small town nearby. Maybe this is why I love the town of Polson, Montana so much because it reminds me of home.

  The house comes into view once we crest the hill. When I say 'house,' I use that term loosely. Manor would be a more accurate description. Volkov Manor was built in 1928 by my great-grandfather with almost 60,000 square feet of living space. It's extravagant, but it is my home, and I cherish it.

  "Sir—sir."

  Blinking away the fog of memories, I turn towards Victor as the car rolls to a stop and take in his expression as he tucks his phone inside his suit pocket.

  "We have a visitor. She," he emphasizes, letting me know the 'she' in which he is referring to, "is in your study."

  My blood starts to boil. Not waiting for someone to open the door, I fling it open and make my way up through the side entrance of my home shortening the distance between me and my study. She knows she isn't allowed on my property. "Where is Sergei?"

  "At the office in the city waiting for you, sir," Victor informs just before my hand grasps the door handle shoving it open.

  I pause a moment. "Tell him I'll be late." The door slams against the wall as I step into the room. Sitting in my chair, behind my desk is none other than my ex-wife Ivanna. "Get the fuck out of my home and off my property, Ivanna," I growl.

  Unfazed by my presence she stands. "Dorogoi, you've been away for months, and this is how you greet me?" she lurks around the corner of the desk like a snake after its prey stopping in front of me. The smell of her expensive, heavy perfume fills the air around me. Leaning in, she places her palms on my chest. "I miss us," she pouts.

  I may be ruthless in many things I do in life but hurting a woman is not one of them. Although Ivanna tests my ability to keep my anger in check, I calmly remove her hands from my body and walk around her taking my seat. "Leave, Ivanna. We have nothing to say to each other." I notice immediately the sting of my rejection written all over her face and the flirty demeanor she was exuding changes quickly.

  "You smell like a cheap woman."

  "The only woman I've been near recently is you," I raise a judgmental brow in her direction as I lean back in my desk chair. Ivanna saunters across my study and retrieves a cigarette from her clutch sitting on a small table near the mini bar. I watch her light it and take her first drag. One of many things I dislike about my ex is her smoking. I find it very off-putting and unattractive.

  Ignoring my demand for her to leave my home, she takes a seat in a brown leather chair behind her. I continue to stare at her as she crosses her legs. She is far from the type of woman I am attracted to. Ivanna is thin—too thin. I want something to hold on to. She's a tall woman with straight blonde hair, which is not her natural color and her eyes are dark; like her soul.

  Her eyes catch my inspection.

  "You like what you see?" she runs a hand between her petite breasts. Again, not what I want in a woman.

  "I don't have time for your games, Ivanna, so spit out the reason you have disobeyed my rules," I start to grow more impatient as the seconds tick by.

  "Can we not be enemies anymore, Demetri? I want us to start fresh. Bury the past. I've grown tired of the distance you have put between my son and me."

  "The things you have done—the destructive role you played a part in can never be undone," I grow angrier. "Distance and what little kindness I choose to show you because you are our sons' mother is the only reason you are not buried in the past and rotting alongside my father in a shallow grave where you belong. And as far as Nikolai goes, he is a grown man and heir to my Empire. He makes his own choices, and he decided to cut you from his life, not me. Perhaps if you had been a loving, caring mother, instead of putting your own wants and needs ahead of his, he would see you differently, but lucky for him he sees you for who you truly are."

  Quietly she sits and snubs her half-smoked cigarette out in the ashtray on the table and silence fills the room. Vivid memories of my first love start to play like a movie reel in my mind. Ivanna's family and my father stole everything from me back then. They schemed to take the life of the woman I loved and my precious son. I was going to leave all of this—my entire life behind for happiness and they stole it from me. Ivanna weaseled into my life. She plotted and planned right along with my father and hers to keep me here, and they killed to do so. Her hands are covered and stained in the same blood as my fathers. I will never forgive her.

  "Demetri—."

  "Enough," I roar cutting her off as I stand from my chair. Rage radiates in waves through my body. Her presence has thrown me backward into a dark black hole. My study door opens, Victor takes two steps into the room and takes in my appearance. I'm on edge, and he knows it. He knows if he doesn't remove this bitch from my sight, I will kill her where she stands. Walking across the room, he grabs her by the arm and guides her to the door. Before the door closes, I inform him. "If she comes in my home again—" I leave my sentence hanging, but he more than understands.

  "Yes, sir."

  Needing to channel my rage, I head straight for my gym located in the opposite wing of the house where my bedroom suite is also located. After I have shed my suit for sweats, I hit the weights before moving on to the treadmill. Keeping myself fit is essential, but it also has become a way of maintaining self-control over the years. It helps me focus. I'm on my fifth mile running when Victor makes his presence known. Slowing down my speed, I finally come to a stop. Grabbing my towel, I wipe the sweat from my face and down half a bottle of water. "What is it, Victor?"

  "There is an issue in the city that requires your presence, sir."

  "I'm aware I am late for my own meeting. They can wait," I finish the rest of my water and start to head towards the shower.

  "Yerik Petrov has just been found; shot dead in his hospital bed."

  I pause. My grip on the towel in my hand tightens. Fuck. Yerik was the last thread keeping the peace between the two families. "We leave in thirty minutes. Make the call."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Glory

  "Ms. Keller," the deep voice in front of my desk asks.

  Peering up from the stack of papers I'm grading, I give Jackson Owens, the seventeen-year-old student in front of me my attention and glance over at his two buddies gawking in the doorway of my classroom. Straightening my back, I reach up, slide my leopard-print, cat-eye reading glasses off my face, and give him a sharp, no-nonsense look. "What can I do for you, Jackson?"

  Giving me a dimpled smirk, which I'm sure makes every girl at Macon High swoon but has zero effect on me, he says, "I was wondering if you'd be willing to tutor me. I really think my performance would benefit from some one on one lessons."

  Leaning back in my chair, I let out a huff of annoyance—cheesy innuendo. I swear these high school boys think they're so clever. "What you need, Mr. Owens is a swift kick in the pants. Now I suggest you and your friends run along before I'm tempted to do just that," I finish with a flick of my hand dismissing my student.

  Therefore, I don't particularly like teaching high school. When I applied for a position six months ago, the eleventh grade was all that was available. I began working at Macon Middle School straight out of college. Back then I was teaching history to sixth graders. Now I teach eleventh-grade history at Macon High. I love what I do. For as long as I can remember I wanted to be a teacher. In my opinion, middle school is the perfect age to teach. At the elementary teaching level, you have to deal with runny nose
s and bathroom accidents. Also, I don't know how to act around little kids. They make me feel awkward and don't get me started on teenagers. I have to ask Jesus every morning before work to give me the strength and patience I need for dealing with these kids. I mean, it's not like there is some unwritten rule about educators having to love children of all ages. I'm not saying I don't like all kids, because I adore my two Godchildren.

  A few years ago, I dropped everything to help my best friend Grace. Grace and I grew up together. She's more than my best friend; she's like a sister. About five years ago, she made the brave choice to leave her abusive husband. When she called on me for help, I didn't hesitate. I spent over two years of my life moving around from one city to the next with Grace's daughter Remi. Grace was terrified her shitty husband would one day find her, so Remi lived with me, and she would visit as often as she could.

  We never lived more than a few hours from each other during those two years. I had argued with my best friend at first, insisting we stay together, but Grace chose to keep her distance to protect her child. Things worked out for my best friend in the end. The last town she moved to, she met Jake Delane. Jake happens to be the President of a motorcycle club, Kings of Retribution. Jake and his club along with Demetri Volkov put an end to Grace's sorry ass husband and his family. Now she is living her happily ever after with Jake in Polson Montana, along with Remi and their new baby girl Ellie, just as she deserves.

  Thinking about my best friend and her new family also has me thinking about him—Demetri. Demetri Volkov is the most arrogant, controlling asshole I've ever met. Never mind the fact I have to change my panties every time he's in my presence. Dickhead.

  I'll never forget the first time I met Demetri. It was a couple of years ago. I was still living in North Dakota, in the apartment Remi and I had stayed in before she went back to live with Grace and Jake. I had taken my Basset Hound Bo out for a walk, and when I returned to my apartment Ronan De Burca, Grace's husband was standing in the middle of my living room along with a couple of his goons. A chill runs through my body, and I shudder at the memory of the punishment I received at the hands of Ronan De Burca.

  I've never told anyone everything that happened to me in that apartment; not even my best friend. Grace already carries around a shit load of guilt for what happened; I don't want to add to it. I met Demetri the day I was discharged from the hospital after my attack. The tall, dark, silent, domineering man that trailed behind Grace and Jake when they walked into my hospital room. The man quietly stood off in the shadows not saying a word. Grace told me the silent Russian was the father of one of Jake's men and a friend to the club. Demetri Volkov stands at 6ft 2in tall, with dark brown hair mix with a bit of gray. He's lean with wide shoulders and a broad chest, which I'm sure leads down to some chiseled abs. Although I've never seen for myself, I can imagine. Even through his suits, I can tell Demetri keeps his body in shape. But his body is not his most spectacular attribute—it's his eyes. He has one green eye and one blue. Holy shit, my mouth is watering. "Get your overactive dirty thoughts under control, Glory," I mutter to myself. I am not about to let Demetri's sexiness rule my body's reaction. Oh, who am I kidding? My panties are wet right now. Damn that Russian.

  "Would you like me to walk you to your car, Glory?" Kevin asks from the doorway of my classroom effectively snapping me away from my wayward thoughts.

  Kevin Learner teaches biology across the hall. He's asked me out a few times since I started working here. He's a sweet guy and not bad in the looks department, but he does nothing for me. Kevin is an average size man. I stand at 5ft 11in, and that's without heels. Kevin is 5ft 10in at best. I have nothing against a shorter man, but let's face it, I'm a whole lotta woman. I need a man that can handle all I have. Plus, he's a bit persistent. In fact, it's borderline pushy, and that alone is a turn-off. When a man becomes pushy, it makes him look desperate. I'm not really the dating type anyway. Whenever my battery-operated fix doesn't scratch my itch the way I need it to, I have no problem going out and finding a man to tend to my needs. My only problem is that lately, my love oven is only interested in one particular warm body these days.

  Standing from my desk, I smooth out the knee-length red pencil skirt that I paired with a long sleeve button down leopard print blouse, and black four-inch heels. My personal style is not like the other female teachers on staff, and I don't give two shits about the disapproving looks thrown my way when I walk the halls. I am who I am. My style is loud and at times sexy, but always appropriate when at work. Although my co-workers believe if my curves are on display, then it's considered poor taste. What the fuck ever. I'll never understand why women feel threatened by one another. We should stand together and have each other's backs.

  "Sure, I'll walk out with you." Just because I'm not interested in dating Kevin, doesn't mean we can't be friends.

  When Kevin and I push past the double doors of the school's entrance, he makes a move to place his hand on my lower back, and I step away from his touch. It's also the moment I feel my skin prickle. I cut my gaze around the parking lot. Brushing off the feeling of being watched, I tip my head in Kevin's direction once I've reached my vehicle. "I'll see you Monday," then climb in my car. Kevin gives a slight look of annoyance at my rebuff before he turns and makes his way to his own vehicle. I guess I need to rethink trying to be his friend if he's going to act like an ass. I don't need that kind of drama. I've had enough over the past few years to last a lifetime.

  After parking in the garage beneath my apartment building, I step into the elevator and make my way up to the tenth floor. I finally moved into my own place two months ago. Since my attack, I had bounced around from being in Polson with Grace and Remi to being here in Chicago with my parents. Grace came to me one day and asked me to move to Polson permanently. The offer was tempting because I desperately wanted to be near my best friend. But the truth is, as much as I wanted to be near Grace, I knew if I stayed in Polson, she would have become my crutch. I have been feeling confused and out of sorts now that I am no longer caring for Remi. I can't explain it. It's like I've lost a part of me. There was no way I would be placing that burden on my friend; not after she finally got her happy ending. So, instead, I came back home to Chicago and moved into my parents' house. It took me several months of feeling out of place and restless even with them that I decided what I needed was to get back to the life I had before. Only now that I am back to living on my own and teaching, I still feel off. Something is missing; only I don't know what.

  With my keys in hand, I open the door to my apartment, and a smile takes over my face when Bo greets me. Setting my purse down on the table next to the door, I crouch down and give my boy a belly rub. "How's mommas little boy doing? Huh." Giving his fat belly one last rub, I stand and pat my leg. "Come on, Bo. Let's get you something to eat." Once I've given Bo his dinner, I make my way through my living room and past the grand floor to ceiling window that overlooks the city. I love my apartment and pay a pretty penny in rent for it too. I love the finer things in life. I guess you could say I grew up privileged. I come from money, and my trust fund allows me to enjoy a particular lifestyle. But having money does not mean I don't work hard every day of my life. My parents did not raise me to be a spoiled brat. In fact, I had to work for my allowance growing up. They made me keep my room clean, wash the dishes every day after school, vacuum, clean the bathroom, you name it, I did it. I didn't receive my trust until I finished college. School was something else my mom and dad insisted I excel at.

  Ambling to my bedroom and into my walk-in closet, I step out of my pumps and place them on the shoe rack. Once I've stripped out of my clothes, I walk into my bathroom and start the shower. When the steam of the hot water fills the room, I step inside the tiled stall and under the hot spray of water. Tilting my head back, I close my eyes and relish the feel of the water beating down on my body. In an instant, my thoughts drift to him, and it causes a familiar ache between my legs—the very ache that as of lately seem
s to be owned by Volkov.

  Giving in to the urge, I run my palms up my hips, and along my ribs until I reach my breasts. Feeling heavy with need, I cup them and let out a throaty moan. I tug on my nipples; the sensation is having a direct connection to my throbbing clit. The moment my hand makes contact with my wet center, the sound of the doorbell ringing blares through my apartment. Fuck.

  Turning the water off, I step out of the shower and yank my robe that's hanging on a hook on the back of the door off and wrap it around my wet body. The bell goes off again followed by a loud knock adding to my frustration. "Hold the fuck on! I'm coming!" I shout.

  Flinging the door open, I square off with the twenty-something guy standing in front of me with his mouth gaped open. Probably due to the fact, my wet body has soaked through my robe, and my hard nipples are on display. Who the fuck cares? I'm not shy. I'm sure my tits are the best thing this dude has seen all week. "What!" I fume. When the pervert doesn't speak and continues to ogle my breasts, I snap my fingers in front of his face. "Yo, dipshit. Eyes up here." I gesture to my face, knocking the guy out of his stupor.

  "Sorry, ma'am. I have a delivery for a Ms. Glory Keller," he says thrusting an abundant bouquet of Morning Glory flowers towards me. As soon as the flowers are in my arms, the guy continues to stand there and stare as if he's never seen breasts before. "You can go," I say dismissing him, before shutting the door in his face.

  With my flowers in hand, I walk out onto my balcony and place the crate down on the patio table. Spotting the card sticking out of the arrangement, I pluck it out and open it. Although I already know what it says and who they are from. I get the same delivery every week; once a week since I moved in. And considering who he is and the connections he has, I don't have to ask how he knows where I live. My balcony is overflowing in Morning Glories. Each week a different color. Today's…blue. Opening the card, I read the same words I read every week.