Raze & Reap (17 page)

Of course I knew she was really warning me about what Alik would do if he suspected anything was up.

“I will,” I replied, my cell beginning to beep as yet another call tried to come through.

“Tal, I've got to go. I've got another call … It's Alik,” I said, suddenly feeling drained.

“Well, you'd better answer him. He already hates me. I don't want to give him more ammunition. Speak soon,” Talia promised, and I pressed the button to hear music blaring through the speaker.

“Alik?” I shouted, holding the phone away from my ear.

“Myshka?” Alik shouted over the music. “Just calling to check you were home and in bed.”

My stomach tensed and anger made me seethe. Alik wasn't checking for my safety. He was making sure I was back in
my
version of the cage—obeying his rules, accepting his control of me—while he went out to play, dipping his wick in anything with a wet pussy.

“I'm home. I'm going to bed,” I replied tersely.

“Good. Don't leave,” he ordered harshly. I closed my eyes, trying to rein in my ire, when a female voice enticed Alik to go to a back room with her.

“Where are you, Alik?” I asked with feigned politeness.

Stony silence greeted me until the music faded and the sound of a door closing came through the speaker.

“I'm out. It doesn't fucking matter where,” Alik said darkly. “I'm doing Bratva business. I'm here with associates.”

“You're at The Triangle?” I guessed. The titty club the Bratva owned, that his father managed. After Alik fought, he had to fuck. Normally, it was me who had to suffer against the wall at the back of The Dungeon, but this time we finished late because Alik had drawn out his kill. Papa ordered me straight home, courtesy of Serge, and of course, he wouldn't let me stay at Alik's place overnight, not until we were married, so Alik took his cock to the sluts. I knew with these women, he really let his true colors show. I'd heard that some ended up in such a state that they'd been hospitalized. Talia had heard rumors that some of the women he fucked, once they'd disappeared into a private room with my fiancé, were never heard from or seen again.

As screwed up as it sounded, I was glad he took out his sick fantasies on them and not me. Yet strangely, I knew as messed up as Alik was, he would never hurt me … not unless I tried to break free of him. My life was safer with him if I acted the role of the perfect Bratva wife. What hurt most was my father was so proud of me for taking that honorable mantle.

“Shut the fuck up, Myshka. I'm out, working off the fight. Your papa took your wet cunt from me or you'd be screaming under me right now. Even though his wrinkled dick is here in the club with me, getting sucked off by hookers your age. You know I need to fuck, but these sluts are never you, baby, never my Myshka. They're just whores, nothing but cum bags. I think of you the whole time I'm inside them, picturing you squirming beneath me, scratching my back. How's that? That make you feel better? You just sit tight at home and I'll see you tomorrow. And as long as you stay inside, we don't have problems. Yes?”

“Yes,” I whispered in reply, feeling sick to my stomach.

“I love you, Myshka,” Alik said, his harsh tone thawing a few degrees.

“I love you too,” I replied. It was rote, sounding more like a Stepford Wife than a loving fiancée besotted with her true love.

The cell went dead, and I leapt from my bed, hand to my forehead as despair swept through me. I hated this damn life, trapped in a cage by Papa and Alik's psychotic obsession. I was twenty-five, for Christ's sake, yet I was locked away like some virginal fifteen-year-old.

At times I hated my life.

The Byki would be downstairs, protecting the Pakhan's stronghold, in reality stopping me from leaving the front door, but I just had to get out. I needed fresh air. And I'd never disobeyed rules, so even contemplating sneaking out was causing me to break into cold sweats.

Grabbing my jacket from my closet, I swung it on and headed to my window. Carefully opening it, I crept onto the fire escape. Tiptoeing down the metal stairs, I jumped onto the sidewalk. Checking that I hadn't been seen, I began walking in the shadows, occasionally glancing up at the night sky, picturing Raze's eyes meeting mine as he won the fight, my relief of his victory evident on my face.

He had looked for me. He'd found me in the sea of gambling men.

Lord! I couldn't get him from my head! I was going crazy wondering if this mysterious homeless man could be my Luka.

The sound of a car pulling up beside me made me turn. Headlights flared and blinded me. I jumped back, suddenly fearful of who might be after me. Then Serge's familiar face came into view, his window open and his light eyes boring into mine.

“Serge!” I said, out of breath and in shock.

“Miss Volkova, what are doing out of the house? You know it's not allowed.” Serge reprimanded me, and then all I felt was pissed off.

“Serge, I needed fresh air. My fiancé and my papa are out at a titty bar. Alik's probably screwing a long line of whores while I'm trapped inside my bedroom like a naughty child. He told me not to move or I'd piss him off, and
that's not how a good wife of a Bratva boss should act
. So I needed some fresh air, okay? I'm twenty-five, I run a multimillion-dollar gambling ring made up of murderers and psychos, and I just wanted to take a damn walk on my own for once in my life!”

Serge's face softened as I panted, my breath lost through exertion, and pulling the car to a stop, he got out of the driver's door.

“You can't be out here, Kisa. It's too dangerous. Too many men wanting revenge on your papa, Alik, Abram, Ivan … Hell, take your pick! I know you feel trapped. I'm not stupid. I've been with you since you were little, but I can't disobey orders or they'll kill
me
.”

Dropping my head, feeling guilty at my tirade, I insisted, “I'm not going back yet, Serge. I'm suffocating under their rules. I'm drowning…” Tears filled my eyes and I tried in vain to blink them away, but I found myself whispering, “I'm miserable.”

Serge sighed and stepped forward, pulling me into his chest for a hug. “Then I'll drive you somewhere. That way I'll know you're safe and you can still have some freedom.”

Tipping my head back at the bright moon, I then looked to Serge. “Fine, thank you. Please take me to the gym. I may as well get some work done if I can't sleep.”

Serge's face relaxed and he opened the rear door for me, nodding his approval. He slipped back into the driver's seat, and we raced through the streets of Brooklyn. I smiled at the groups of women stumbling from bars with their friends, not a care in the world, and the couples wrapped around each other's waists, high off being together, enjoying each other's company—probably heading back home to make love.

I was happy for those people, but what I felt was crushing disappointment. It would never be me. I would never be allowed out with friends. I would never, could never, have a loving relationship with Alik. Jealous possession isn't love. I knew that much. He would always control me. I was becoming so desperate to escape my fate that I was imagining a homeless fighter being the only boy I'd ever loved.

I would be a prisoner until I died … the life of a Bratva queen.

Deciding to close my eyes to any other sight that would cause me pain, I rested my head back on the seat and zoned out until we arrived at the gym.

As I opened the back passenger door, Serge tried to follow me inside to the gym.

“No, Serge, please. I want to be alone,” I pleaded.

Serge stopped in his tracks.

“Miss Volkova, you know I can't leave you. It is forbidden.”

“I know. Can you please just wait out here until I'm ready to go home? Please … I need some time alone.”

Serge stared at me, and my stomach rolled, thinking he was going to say no, when on a sigh he shook his head. “I'll wait in the car. If you need me, call,” he said, getting back into the cab and waving his cell to show me he was keeping it close by. Giving him a thankful smile, I unlocked the side door and entered the sparse and empty warehouse-turned-gym, switching on only minimum lights. I headed for my place of solitude, my office.

As I approached the office door, I noticed a muted glow coming from under one of the training room doors at the back of the gym. I frowned. Nobody was meant to be here. The gym had been locked and secured once all the fighters had gone to The Dungeon earlier in the day.

Someone was here.

Feeling a sense of fear run down my spine, I hurried to my office safe and, checking over my shoulder, opened a heavy door to pull out my Beretta. Papa insisted I could access one of these bad boys wherever I went—all over our house and at several secret locations here at work.

My breathing was shallow as fear took hold. I walked slowly and silently toward the back room that emitted the light. Rather too preoccupied with steadying my shaking limbs, I took little note of where I was and whose training room it was.

Standing at the door, I steeled my nerves and took in a deep breath before placing my hand on the doorknob and slowly turning it. The door creaked open.

Bringing my gun up higher, I edged through the doorway. The first thing I noticed was a mat on the floor and a thick blanket forming what looked to be a makeshift bed.

Someone was sleeping here?

Who—?

Taking me off guard, a hand slapped across my mouth. I tried to scream as I was quickly disarmed and held in an unyielding grip. Warm breath ghosted past my ears and a pit of dread opened in my stomach.

I could feel a heart pounding in the attacker's chest pressed to my back. All I could think was that my father wouldn't cope if I died too. He'd lost my brother, my mother, and I was now sure I was going to die here too, until my attacker rasped out, “Stop struggling.”

All the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and every muscle froze, obeying his command.

“Good,” he growled. “Don't scream and I'll remove my hand.”

I nodded awkwardly, still trapped in his grip. As I tried to relax my muscles, his hand gradually pulled away from my mouth. His large body stepped back from being flush to my back.

Unsure if my feet would work, I started to turn, hearing deep breathing behind me. The dull glow from the adjoining bathroom was the only light in the dim room, the man's shadow darkening the old whitewash wall.

Holding my breath, I whipped myself around and immediately gasped when I found Raze glaring at me. Dressed only in black boxer briefs, his large muscled, ripped body tensed as he watched me with those hypnotic brown eyes.

“Raze?” I whispered, legs now feeling like Jell-O.

Raze watched me and his nostrils flared, his cheeks flushing as heat rose up his face. “Kisa…” he rasped out, almost like he was in pain.

As my name tumbled from his lips, my stomach tingled, my breasts ached, and moisture pooled between my legs. Raze had switched on every part of my body, as if it were on fire.

Edging closer, feeling the waves of heat from his body, his fresh scent hit me, and a whimper escaped my lips. A rumble sounded in Raze's chest. My need to touch him, to feel him, grew to an impossibly high level. By the clenching of his fists at his sides, the gritting of his teeth, and those hungry eyes, I knew he wanted me too … desperately.

“Raze…” I whispered as my toes met his and, unconsciously, my finger lifted to run down his stubbled cheek. There wasn't a scratch on his body from the fight tonight. “Why are you here?”

Raze's eyes closed at my touch. Looking down, I saw him harden beneath his black boxers, the material straining with his size. My hand continued to travel down, shivers wracking Raze's skin at my touch, his full lips parting to let a slow hiss of breath slip from his mouth.

At this moment, I wasn't thinking of Alik, my father, my duty as a Volkova, or even the consequence of touching Raze like this. The need to break free from my suffocating life was driving me forward, making me reckless in my choices.

All I could think was how beautiful Raze was. How strong and fearless, how feral, how raw. He was untamed. He had no social grace, was devoid of knowledge about how to be a regular person. He was curt and aggressive, but his expressive eyes, when they looked at me, made me feel safe, made me see there was someone else in there … someone my soul matched. Gave me faith that he wasn't the monster he seemed.

“I sleep here,” he answered eventually. His body remained as still as a statue as I continued to marvel at his muscles, drinking in his demonic tattoos, wondering why he had such evil images permanently etched on his skin.

My finger stopped its exploration and my eyes looked up to his. “You're staying
here
?”

“I have nowhere else to go,” he replied gruffly. And with that, pain sliced through my chest as if my heart had split in two.

Raze dipped his head to escape my sympathetic gaze.

I lifted my finger and tipped up his chin. I stayed silent until his eyes looked to mine, and I asked, “Where have you come from?”

Emotion leaked from his expression and he whispered, “Hell.”

My attention was drawn to the demons on his chest, the number, then his tallies … and finally to the newest addition scraped onto his skin—his kill from tonight.

The air seemed to pulse around us as some unexplainable force pulled us together. Raze's neck tensed, every vein and threaded cord protruding. He was physically holding himself back from me.

I was fighting the attraction, tensing my thighs as I squirmed, trying to alleviate the pressure building at my core. But when my palms landed on Raze's chest, his hot skin almost scalding my palms, he leaned in, his nose tucking into the crook of my neck.

I moaned as he inhaled and growled, “I want you.”