WIFE.
I gasp at the word and at the thought.
Ziven takes the opportunity of my mouth being open to press his lips to mine and slide his tongue inside. My arms instantly circle his neck, and I hold onto him, arching my back and melting into his chest even more. His hands leave their place on the counter and grab onto my ass, bruising my flesh with his fingertips in the process.
“You’ll be my wife, Quinn,” he mumbles as his lips travel down my neck.
“I—I don’t understand—why?”
“It will not only ensure your protection, it will mean you can’t leave me again,” he says, lifting his head and looking into my eyes.
“Do you think I will?” I ask, seeing so much uncertainty in his gaze.
I feel so guilty, knowing that I’m the reason it’s there.
“I think if you’re married to me it wouldn’t fucking matter because you couldn’t leave,” he grunts.
I stare up at him, my mouth gaping open slightly at his words. I’m unable to say anything; my thoughts have escaped me, but he continues.
“Women of the Bratva never leave the Bratva,” he announces.
“What does that mean?” I ask on a whisper.
“It means, if I die, you marry another Bratva man. If you have children, the Bratva will care for you until you’ve mourned my loss and can move on. But if you don’t, you marry another member or you’re out with nothing. I die, my money goes back to the organization. It does not go with my wife,” he explains.
“That’s crazy,” I say on a breath.
“That’s Bratva,” he shrugs.
“What if I don’t marry you?” I ask out of curiosity.
Honestly, being married to him and what the future holds sounds kind of sketchy.
“Then I can make no promises for your security or your future,” he explains ominously.
“Ziven,” I whisper.
“You don’t want me?” he asks, arching a brow. “You should have taken your chance to leave when I offered it then.”
He takes a step back and releases me, turning and walking away from where I’m frozen still. My eyes track him and watch as he pulls on his clothes, including his shoes, before he leaves the bedroom.
As soon as the door slams, it’s as if him walking away becomes a reality, and I sink to the bathroom floor. I don’t know what just happened here. I’m so confused; but I know that, right now, I’ve done something to upset him.
Maybe I should have been more open to the talk about marriage. Maybe I shouldn’t have questioned the reason why he suddenly decided we needed to do this. Maybe I shouldn’t have made him feel as though I don’t want him, when that’s exactly the opposite of how I truly feel.
I do want him, every part of him. A few minutes ago, I had him, and it was the most wonderfully beautiful experience of my life—and I screwed it all up. Again.
I try not to let myself dwell for too long on the cold floor. I get up and take a warm shower once I start to shiver, and then I walk into the bedroom and slip into one of my cotton dresses. As soon as I braid my wet hair down my shoulder, there is a knock on the door.
I hurry to the door, looking through the peephole before I answer it, only to find it’s Mika standing on the other side, surrounded by dozens of bags. I wrench the door open and he grins at me, holding a garment bag in the air.
“You went shopping,” he rumbles as he steps past me.
I make my way into the hall and collect a couple of bags just as he goes to do the same after setting my dress down on the couch. Once all the bags are inside, I feel myself filling up with guilt. Mika looks at me, and I watch as his brow furrows.
“What happened?” he asks. I hate that he’s so astute.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Yeah, is that why Ziven isn’t here?”
“I was a bitch, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” I shout before covering my mouth in surprise. Mika just lifts a brow and looks at me. He doesn’t say anything, he just watches and waits for me to continue. “He wants me to marry him.”
“That’s bad?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Why would he want to marry me?” I ask before I continue without taking much of a breath, “Then he started telling me if I married into the Bratva, there’s really no way out. He left, he left thinking that I don’t want him.”
I bury my face in my hands and I cry. I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to not know that Ziven wants me. I’ve always known he’s wanted me, desired me, and cared for me, but I haven’t shown him how much he means to me. I take, take, take, but I don’t give much of anything. I’m selfish, and horrible, and a downright bitch.
“Whatever you’re thinking, just stop.” Mika says. “Ziven is patient and level headed. Maybe he just needed some air; but I have to know, do you want to marry him?”
I don’t know that Mika needs to know for any reason other than to satisfy his curiosity, but I do know that they work together, so maybe he feels protective over his boss and friend. I bite on my bottom lip and think about the question. A couple of days ago, I would have said definitely, yes.
However, today, after Ziven explained things to me, I’m not so sure. The thought of being with him and then possibly handed off to some stranger terrifies me. I now know what men are capable of, and I couldn’t survive being married to someone like Oswald.
“If I had to make my decision immediately?” I ask trying to vie for more time.
“Quinn,” he warns.
“Yes, the answer is yes. A chance at spending my life with Ziven, a man who has been nothing but kind to me, even when I was an awful bitch, and a man who helped heal me, the answer is yes,” I whisper.
“Then you know what to do,” Mika rumbles. I look up at him.
“I don’t.”
“You have to convince him. Don’t ask me how,” he chuckles before he winks and leaves me standing in the living room surrounded by clothes.
My stomach rumbles, and I realize that I never did eat lunch. Ziven and I chose to make love over food. That is what we did, isn’t it? Making love. I want to think that’s exactly what we did. I’ve never felt that way before with him, or anybody else.
Walking into the kitchen, I reach for a couple of cookies I have in the cookie jar. I lean against the counter and stare out of the window ahead of me as I eat. My thoughts are consumed with Ziven, marriage, and love.
Do I love Ziven Dorosh?
Do I want to marry him?
Can I imagine myself with anybody else?
The answers are simple. They come to me without hesitation.
Yes. I love Ziven Dorosh.
Yes. I want to marry him.
No. I can’t imagine myself with any other man on this earth.
I turn around with a mission—first, to put all of my clothes away, and then to come up with a way to apologize to Ziven and accept his proposal. When I lift my eyes, he’s standing there, just a few feet away from me, with his gaze focused on nothing but me.
“Ziven,” I murmur as my eyes water.
“I try to be patient, I really do, but I’ve been so patient with you, and you’ve rejected me at every turn. I know things are different now, and I know with what you’ve been through that you need time,” he says.
His eyes are pinning me to my spot. I watch as he closes them slowly in a blink. I take that opportunity to unfreeze myself and I run toward him, jumping into his arms when I reach him, my legs wrapping around his waist as his hands wrap around my ass to hold me.
“It all caught me off guard,” I admit. “I’ll marry you right now if that’s what you want. I can’t lose you. You are everything, but I’m scared, Ziven. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want you to ever leave me. If you died, I don’t think I could go on,” I whisper before pressing my lips to his.
“Obviously, I’m needy, and moody, and quick tempered. I understand your fears, they are valid,” he grumbles as he squeezes my ass with his hands.
“You’re this way because of me, it’s all my fault.”
“Two people are in this relationship, and I should be more patient with you,” he murmurs.
“Marry me, tomorrow,” I announce, ignoring the way she’s blaming herself.
“Ziven,” she breathes. It makes my cock rock hard.
“Marry me tomorrow. I don’t want to wait. If you’re my wife, I can protect you,” I reiterate.
“Do I need protecting?” she asks, tilting her head to the side and looking at me with confusion.
I don’t tell her the truth. I don’t tell her that there is some kind of twisted web between her father, Agent Wilson, and Oswald. Instead, I tell her a half-truth, omitting from her the rest of the story. I don’t know it all yet. There is a story there, but there’s no reason to concern her or frighten her yet.
“Living with me makes you a target. Anybody who dared to touch you as my wife has a death wish. They know that it may not be that way if you’re just living here with me,” I try to explain.
“So what you’re saying is, you wouldn’t be able to kill someone who hurt me if we weren’t married, but being married gives you the right to murder them?” she asks. I grin.
“Correct, katyonak,” I mutter as I set her down on the counter top, keeping my hips between her warm thighs.
“I don’t want you to kill anybody,” she whispers, looking at me with sadness.
“I know you don’t, Quinn. It’s why you didn’t tell me his name, why I had to find it out on my own.”
“I’m sorry, Ziven. I’m sorry for everything,” she says, her eyes wide and staring right at me, right fucking through me.
“Tomorrow we’ll be married. That’s all the apology I need. That, and a vow that you’ll never run from me again,” I say, lifting a brow.
“Okay,” she smiles.
I lower my face, pressing my forehead to hers as I exhale.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she confirms.
“I have some calls to make. You put your shit away, and I’ll order some dinner,” I offer.
“Okay,” she sighs, pressing her lips to mine.
I help her off of the counter and watch as she gathers some bags and walks toward our bedroom. I bite my bottom lip, thinking of her, of the fact that she’s going to be my wife tomorrow—mine.
“Ziven,” Oliver’s soft accented voice greets after two rings.
“You have news?” I ask.
The only reason I returned back to the condo after my argument with Quinn was because Oliver sent me a text telling me he had news, and to make sure I was at my computer so he could send me some documents.
When I saw Quinn standing in the kitchen, eating her cookies and looking so lost and so far away, I couldn’t help but just watch her. It surprised me when she apologized. She surprised me again when she agreed to marry me tomorrow. Now, hopefully Oliver doesn’t dampen my spirits.
“Agent Wilson is Oswald Johnson’s father,” Oliver announces.
“Excuse me?” I ask, sure that I haven’t heard him right.
“It took me some serious digging; I’m talking some extremely illegal digging. But it’s true. Oswald’s original birth certificate lists Bryce Wilson as his father. He and the mother weren’t married, and she ended up remarrying, having Oswald’s last name changed to hers when she did, with permission from Wilson. From what I could dig up, Wilson wasn’t in the picture at all, not until Oswald became the District Attorney; then, all of a sudden, Wilson appeared,” Oliver explains.
“Why then?”
“You’re going to love this. They actually ran into each other in a sex club. They were both in the dungeon, beating the shit out of some girl. Oswald was in Washington for business, and so was Wilson. They just happen to enjoy the same sick and twisted sexual shit,” Oliver says.
“Hey, sometimes those clubs can be fun,” I chuckle defensively.
“Oh, I agree. But the shit they like? I don’t know about you, Ziven, but I am not into making my lover bleed, pissing on them, fucking them with objects, plus multiple penetration. That’s more than just a little bondage and flogging,” he grunts. It sounds like he’s probably grimacing as well. I know that I am.
“Multiple penetration?” I ask.
“Multiple dicks in pussy or ass. There are pictures. I’ve seen more of Wilson, Johnson, and some poor girl’s used body than I ever want to. But that isn’t my major concern, or it isn’t the reason I contacted you. Pull up the e-mail I’m sending to you right now,” he instructs.
A few seconds later, I refresh my email and I see there’s a new one from him. I open the attached file and it reveals a spreadsheet. There are full descriptions, including body measurements and ages; then there are prices next to them, and a list of what they’ve been trained in. Including multiple penetration, anal penetration, rape, and a million other sick things that make my skin crawl.
“Look at the bottom,” he mutters. I scroll down to the bottom and my stomach twists.
Five-Foot-Two. Red hair. Green eyes. Eighty pounds. Double D silicone breasts. Trained to accept: physical abuse, choking, hair pulling, rape, vaginally and anally, liquid and food withholding, isolation, and tied by arms for long length of time. Extremely dependent, no family, and no friends. $60,000 USD.
“Quinn,” I murmur.
“It was added a week before she ran away from Oswald.”
“He’s dead,” I grunt.
“Wilson is helping collect these girls. They’re selling them, but first they’re breaking them,” Oliver rumbles, his voice strangely scary for the usually soft spoken man.
“Yeah, it’s nothing new in our world, Oliver. We used to sell them ourselves, when Ivan was in charge,” I mumble.
“Yeah, well, not anymore,” he announces.
“You take any of this up, what you found, with Kirill?” I ask.
“I did. I talked to him before I texted you. He wants you to call him,” Oliver says.
I almost roll my eyes, but I don’t. I thank Oliver before hanging up the phone, and then I find Kirill’s name and call my old boss. My ex-Pakhan. My friend.
“You’ve talked to Oliver?” he asks. I grunt as my response. “You found her then, at the bottom. Now, don’t do anything rash, Ziven.”
“Like finding Wilson, Johnson, and her fat fuck father, and killing them?” I ask calmly.
“Yes, exactly like that,” he says. I can tell he’s trying to hold back his laughter.
“What would you do if Tati was up for sale, listed along with the things she’d been trained in, right in front of your face for you to read?” I ask, not feeling much like laughing, feeling more like murdering three sick-fucks.
“If we can do more research, we might be able to find out who they’re selling them to, and we’ll have the potential of shutting it all down,” Kirill advises.
“Well, you know some of them are the Cartel,” I grunt.
“I’m sure,” Kirill agrees. “Those fuckers are like roaches. They never fucking die.”
“Gather what you can by the Valentine’s Day engagement party. I won’t be able to hold off killing those three fucks much longer,” I growl.
“Yeah, I’ll see you in a week,” Kirill mutters before he hangs up the phone.
“Ziven?” Quinn’s timid voice calls out from the doorway.
I turn around and see that she’s white as a ghost. Her lip is trembling, and she’s holding onto the doorjamb for support, her eyes wild and staring right at me.
“What did you hear?” I ask, resisting the urge to run over to her and grab ahold of her so she doesn’t sprint away from me.
“I heard you read my listing, but everything after is just a blur,” she admits.
“Katyonak,” I whisper.
I watch as she walks toward me on shaky legs, and then she sinks down to my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and looking at me straight in the eye. It’s almost surreal. I’m afraid to move, to speak, or even to breathe. I’m waiting for her to bolt, to scream, or to panic.
“This is what you want to protect me from?” she asks, her voice soft and almost shy.
“I didn’t know this is what they’d done, or what they were planning to do,” I admit, wrapping my hand around her hip.
“But you knew that my father, Agent Wilson, and Oswald were up to something, and they were connected somehow?” she asks.
I nod.
“I don’t deserve you, not at all, but I’m keeping you.”
Quinn presses her lips to mine, and I pull her closer to me. My fingers are bruising her, but I need her close. I need to know that she’s safe in my arms; and I need to know that she’s mine—only mine.