I THROW BACK A shot of vodka. I’ve lost count for the evening. Maybe I’m on my fifth, sixth, I don’t know. My apartment is quiet, too fucking quiet. She’s gone. Quinn has left me again. This time, I’m too fucking tired of fighting to go after her. She wants to be gone, she can go. I’ve been fighting for her for far too long.
Quinn decided I was scum the second she laid eyes on me. With her red hair and curvy little body, I thought the spitfire thing was natural to her. It was cute. She was a job. Her father owed us money, and he eluded to using her to gain funds. We didn’t trust him.
I watched her; I watched everything about her, and I liked her. Then her red hair disappeared and blonde hair replaced it—her natural color. She was beautiful as a redhead, but as a blonde, she was completely and totally stunning. I had to have her.
Then she started going out with an older man. Too old. Once I did some digging, I discovered that he was authority—and not authority on our payroll—an FBI Agent that went by the name of Bryce Wilson.
It was then that I had to make a decision.
It was then that I took her.
We’d been dancing around each other for months, fighting and kissing. Then, when I took her, when I had her alone and all to myself, I fucked her, and I knew she was meant to be mine. Maybe it was wrong of me, maybe that’s why she ended up despising me the way she did. I could never get her to just surrender to me. For whatever reason, I didn’t care.
Coaxing her legs open was becoming a favorite past time of mine. The way she responded to me once I was inside of her, it made me feel like a conqueror. But every single time I had her was a fight. Not once, not once would she come to me.
Taking her out of California wasn’t just to protect her against the plans her father undoubtedly had for her, it was to protect the Bratva as well.
Knowing it would anger her, I took her anyway in hopes that bringing her to Denver would change everything. She’d be away from her father; she’d be under my protection and my care. She’d see just the man I am, and not the Russian Bratva member she despised.
My move to Denver was a promotion. No longer was I just a Brigadier, I’m now a Pakhan, in charge of my own men, and fucking powerful. I have two Brigadier’s beneath me, Mika and Timofei, with crews that are growing like fucking crazy.
That thought alone should have made Quinn wet for me, yet she still fucking glared at me every chance she got. It didn’t matter. Even meeting Ashley and hearing her story didn’t fucking matter. Quinn still hated me, fought me, and ran from me. I’d catch her, bring her back, kiss her until she melted under me, and then I’d fuck her.
Christmas was the last straw.
I took her to New York, to a party, then to meet Yakov and Ashley’s newborn baby. She tried to run from me, in the fucking city, a city where she knew fucking nobody. I found her at some bar in Manhattan, wearing expensive clothes I bought her, looking far too inviting for the men in the bar.
If she would show me one ounce of sweetness, I’d be her fucking puppet.
After the festivities, we returned to Denver, and nothing had changed. Quinn was even nastier than normal to me. It had been months, she’s still angry with me, angry with the fact that I’d taken her away from her home, taken her choices away from her.
She’s also angry because she perceives me as being this horrible man, kidnapping her to use her, and I have a feeling she knows that is what her father had done her whole life, used her, and maybe she thinks I am just like him. I never verbalized that I wasn’t, this was something she must discover on her own.
I just let her be, hoping for a change that I now know would never happen.
I’d protected her from her father, from talking to the FBI—a move that would get her killed by the Bratva—and now I am done.
I’m not into holding women against their will. She left me this morning, and I won’t be following after her this time. I could find her in seconds. A simple app on my phone could locate hers, or a call to Oliver, a computer expert, could find her.
I’m too fucking tired.
I can’t continue to be the only person who gives a shit in this. I can’t be the one to chase her, only to have her constantly spit fire at me. The rewards for my efforts are zero. The only time she doesn’t tell me how much she hates me is when I’ve kissed that fight out of her and she’s riding my dick.
That’s not enough for me.
I stand on wobbly legs and stumble my way into her bedroom. Yeah, I even gave her her own fucking space. Her clothes are the only things gone. The laptop, jewelry, books, and trinkets I bought her during our time together still sit exactly where she left them. I walk over to her bed and sit down on the white comforter.
Reaching over to her nightstand, I pick up the delicate rose gold bracelet that I’d just given to her for Christmas. It’s light weight, with a little heart in the center, and it looks gorgeous on her pale skin. I knew she’d love it. I’d seen her looking at costume jewelry that looked similar, so I bought her the real thing. She left it here, just like she left me, like it was so fucking easy to just walk the fuck away.
I ball the bracelet in my hand and throw it as hard as I can across the room, pissed that it wasn’t bigger and heavier, so that it would make some kind of lasting impact on the wall, to show my anger. I leave her bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Slamming the door not only to her bedroom, but to her.
Quinn meant more to me than I did to her. I need to know when to let shit go, and I’m letting her go. Maybe I’ll just call Yakov or Pasha and see what girls are available for contracted marriage.
I’m so fucking tired.