I SIT UP IN bed, my heart racing and my eyes frantically searching next to me for Ziven. He’s not there. Wiping the sweat from my forehead and neck, I stand on shaky legs and explore the condo for him.
I just need to feel not alone right now. I’m thankful that there’s a light on in the kitchen as I make my way in that direction, which means he hasn’t left me.
I walk into the kitchen and I freeze at the sight in front of me.
Ziven is standing at the island, a glass of milk in one hand and a cookie in the other. He’s only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs, and he looks absolutely stunning as his stomach flexes when he bends over to take a bite of his treat.
My mouth waters and I feel a tingling sensation between my legs.
Desire.
I haven’t felt desire in months, not since the last time I was with Ziven. Now, looking at him, watching him—the way his mouth is chewing, the way his throat is working down his cookie—I want him. I want all of him.
“Katyonak, you stare at me much longer, standing there in my shirt, I won’t be responsible for my actions—and you, my sweet kitten, are not ready for me,” he practically whispers.
I feel every single word, as though they’re washing over me, rolling up and down my spine, sending chills over my entire body.
“Ziven,” I whisper.
“You can bake. You can’t cook, but you can bake,” he grunts before turning and giving me a wide, white toothed smile.
“I told you,” I murmur.
“You bake whenever, whatever you want, yeah?” he grunts, holding out his hand.
I slip mine inside and allow him to tug me into his side. Tipping my head back, I look up to his smiling face, and I melt into him. It’s easy to do when he’s grinning down the way he is, looking so young, handsome and completely devilish.
“You have a nightmare?” he asks as his face turns serious.
“Not one that I remember. I just woke with a start,” I whisper.
“One day soon, I’m going to be able to exhaust your nightmares away, katyonak.”
I press my thighs together at the thought.
“Can I have an iPad or something to go online with?” I ask randomly. His body stiffens, and I see the question in his eyes—the complete distrust and the suspicion. “I’d like to look up some more recipes. I used to have a Pinterest where I had them all saved,” I explain.
Ziven’s body physically relaxes, except for his hand, which tightens around my waist.
“I can’t trust you yet, Quinn,” he murmurs. I close my eyes with a nod. It’s only been a few days. I don’t blame him, not at all. “Let’s go back to bed.”
I watch him slam down the rest of his milk, setting the glass in the sink before he wraps his hand around mine and tugs me toward the bedroom.
I climb into bed with him and sigh when he pulls me into his chest, my head resting on the smooth, firm skin of his torso.
“I’ll get you some cookbooks. You can make me a shopping list, yeah?” he sighs as his fingers gently whisper up and down my back.
I wish that they would touch over my skin, but I don’t ask for more than I deserve, and already he’s giving me that anyway.
“I would like that,” I murmur.
“Sleep, katyonak,” he grunts.
I can’t help but smile at the name. I used to hate being his kitten, usually because he’d call me that when I was being a bitch; but now, it’s sweet.
When his voice is soft and he whispers it into the night, it’s almost beyond sweet and more—loving.
I grab a handful of Quinn’s sinfully delicious cookies and head out the door. I know that she’ll be safe today, just as she was yesterday, and that eases my mind.
In the middle of the night, when she talked about getting something with internet, I fucking panicked. That’s how she communicated with whoever that man was that kept her. I took all of her electronics after she left and destroyed them. I know that I should give her some kind of freedom, otherwise I’m much like that cocksucker, but I can’t do it. Not yet, at least.
“Find that FBI fuck that was messing with Quinn last year. I want to know what he’s up to,” I snap into the phone as I jog toward the elevator.
“Yeah, boss,” Mika grunts.
It doesn’t take me long to slide into my car and get on the road. My destination has to do with work, as seedy as it may be. However, my first stop is a bookstore. I promised Quinn a cookbook, and a cookbook is what I will deliver.
Once I’ve found a parking spot, I lock my door and make my way into the small store. It smells like books, something that can only be described in that way. I’m not a big reader. The written word has never quite appealed to me, probably because I can never sit still long enough to read through one chapter in its entirety.
“Can I help you find something?” a young woman asks.
I watch as she puffs out her chest a bit, giving me the perfect view of her cleavage peeking out from the low scoop neckline of her top. She’s pretty, young, but not really my type. I have a thing for blondes—well, a specific blonde, one who is holed up in my condo trying to get better; trying to cope.
“I’m looking for a cookbook, but for baking only,” I murmur.
“Oh, my gosh, you’re going to bake? That is the sexiest thing I think I have ever heard,” she squeals.
“My woman bakes,” I grunt. Her eyes widen.
“Oh,” she murmurs as her chest falls. “Follow me.”
I follow her toward the cooking section, and she explains to me the differences in each book. After a few moments, I thank her and start to thumb through them.
I watch her walk away, wondering when I lost that charisma and charm I once had. It’s gone now, completely and totally gone. Then my phone rings and tears me out of my distant thoughts.
“He’s a ghost,” Mika mutters in my ear as I take the book I was looking at and walk toward the counter.
“Explain that,” I bark, setting some money on the counter.
“Vanished, boss. Personally and professionally.”
I walk outside with my book in hand and make my way toward my car. All the while, my mind is spinning with what that fucking means, and why I got goddamn lazy and didn’t keep a closer eye on him.
“You dig at all on her father, Johan Parker?” I ask, tossing the book in the passenger side and starting the engine.
“Same thing. A fucking ghost,” he rumbles.
I slam my hand down on my steering wheel. It was up to the man who took my position to collect dues owed from Quinn’s father. I thank Mika and hang up the phone, calling that man to get to the bottom of this story.
“Nic, yeah?” he grunts into the phone.
The fucker sounds like he’s sucking on a goddamn chicken bone, and it makes my teeth cringe.
“What happened with fat man Parker?” I ask, referring to Quinn’s father.
“He settled, paid his debt. I haven’t heard from him since,” he grunts.
“You didn’t check up on him at all?” I ask, wrapping my fingers so tight around my steering wheel that my knuckles turn white.
“Why?” he asks. “He paid, what else is there?”
I hang up on him immediately and call Kirill.
“Baryshev,” he barks into the phone.
“Nic needs a lesson on how to collect debts, and what to do once that debt is collected,” I announce.
“Ziven,” he mutters.
“Nyet, Kirill. That man is lazy as fuck. You know Quinn’s father paid his debt in full? How? How could he have done that? Oh, and I’ve just found out that not only he, but that Fed that Quinn was seen with before I took her? Yeah, they’ve both fucking vanished,” I growl.
“Do you think this is blowback from Green?” he asks, lowering his voice.
Agent fucking Green was a rogue FBI Agent that not only had it in for the Bratva itself, but also for Kirill, my old Pakhan. He had a serious hard-on for him; tried for ten years to bust him, all the while he kept the knowledge that Kirill had a daughter to himself, and that his baby-mama was living just a few hours away, supposedly under Green and the FBI’s protection, which was a big, fat, fucking lie.
“Green was a piece of shit, but Green hadn’t worked for the FBI for a while. He was rogue as fuck. I think this has to do with this Fed’s extracurricular activities, and the fact that he thought Quinn and her father could help his career all at the same time.”
“What extracurricular activities?”
“Agent Wilson likes slave girls; you know, like the ones Ivan used to provide? He can’t just get them from the Bratva anymore as his hush toys. That was his whole deal with Quinn’s father. He was going to give her to Agent Wilson. That’s why I took her. I knew what the fucker liked, and I could see him pretending to wine and dine her, to make her comply,” I explain.
“Why did you never tell me this?” Kirill asks.
“It wasn’t important. I took her away from the situation. But then I got so caught up in moving and—everything. I fucked up, and I lost track of them,” I admit.
“I’ll have Oliver take a look, see what he can dig up. Is she safe now?” he asks, sounding concerned.
He knew that Quinn was gone for a while, and he knows she’s back, but he doesn’t know any details.
“Physically, yes. I have her in my building, in my condo. They can’t get to her there. She’s secure,” I affirm.
“Mentally?”
“Jury is still out. I’m waiting for her to completely and totally melt down. She’s handled everything very calmly,” I confess, chewing on the corner of my lip, wanting a drag from a cigarette but trying not to go there.
I’ve been trying to quit for months, and aside from Quinn, it has been the hardest thing in my life to do.
“She may never. Maybe she’s just relieved and wants to move past it all,” he mutters.
“I hope that’s the way it is,” I admit.
“Tati’s been worried about you. Give her a call, yeah?” he rumbles.
“Give me an update on Wilson and Parker when you get a chance.”
Kirill agrees before I end the call, and I let out a heavy sigh as I pull up to the club.
During the day, the nightclub I own looks safe, quiet, and almost nice. Inside, it’ll be brightly lit up with a cleaning crew and delivery men working hard to get it set up for this evening. Every day. This place is cleaned from top to bottom, front to back, every single day. I don’t just run a clean club, I run an OCD fucking club.
I wave at the crew, all Bratva, every single one of them. The only part of the staff that is not, is the wait staff. My waitresses are all pretty young things, girls who work their asses off in barely-there clothes for good tips.
Once I’m in my office, I close the door and then my eyes.
Fuck.
How could this have happened?
How could I have gotten so fucking sloppy and so goddamn lazy that I let these dicks get out from under my nose—and for how long? As if we didn’t have enough to worry about with the Cartel always lurking in the shadows, and the transports of guns and dope from the MC in Cali. Now I got this shit on my back, too. Plus, Quinn. Always Quinn.
Fuck.
“Boss,” Timofei grunts, walking into my office.
“Yeah.”
“Got a guy that was beat to shit last night. Nobody claimed it, so I don’t know who did it. Wanted to let you know,” he informs with a shrug.
“Cartel?” I ask.
“No fuckin’ clue. He didn’t see shit.”
“Yeah, keep an ear to the ground; your guys, too. How you doin’ with the fiancée bit?” I ask, arching a brow.
“I have two years to get used to it. The date’s been set, apparently; they don’t want another Dominik situation to spiral out of control,” he says.
“How old will she be?” I ask in confusion.
“Marrying her on her fucking eighteenth birthday.”
“Eighteen?” I ask, lifting my eyebrows in surprise.
“Apparently, there’s no reason to wait. They want this over with. Her father pushed for another year earlier, but papa refused.”
“That’s… and I thought our rules were a bit crazy,” I mutter.
“No clue; but I’m to have a goddamn child bride, Ziven. She’s eight fucking years younger than me. How do I marry an eighteen-year-old? I haven’t fucked a girl anywhere near eighteen since I was in high school. I feel dirty just knowing she’s going to be practically underage when I put my ring on her finger, let alone when I put my dick inside of her,” he rants, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“You can wait a bit. Nobody says you have to consummate immediately,” I suggest. He barks out a harsh laugh.
“That contract is so fucking whacked, Ziven. She’s gotta be knocked up by her nineteenth birthday. One year after it’s legal, she has to be pregnant.”
“Christ,” I curse.
“No shit. I’m fucked.”
I watch as he walks out of my office. I let him go without scolding him on how he’s supposed to leave with a goodbye to his boss, out of respect. He’s got a ton of shit going on in his head, and the last thing he’s worrying about is me and being respectful. Besides, that conversation, it was between friends, not boss and subordinate.
I close my eyes and think about everything that’s swirling around in my head. This whole fucking situation just got even worse.
Now, not only do I have to worry about the mystery man that Quinn spent six weeks being abused by, I also have to worry about a sick fuck Federal Agent and her even sicker fuck of a father.
Goddamn it.