I FEEL HIS LIPS touch my neck, and then I feel his breath before I hear him whisper my name. Begrudgingly, I open my eyes and he’s there, standing next to the bed, already dressed in a suit for the day. My eyes flick to the clock and I notice that it’s eight in the morning, well past the time he usually leaves.
“I wanted to tell you goodbye,” he murmurs as he sits down on the edge of the bed.
“You did?”
“I also wanted to make sure you were okay,” he grins.
“I’m okay,” I say as my face heats and I shift my legs slightly, suddenly feeling the need for him all over again.
“Take it easy today, okay? Also, enjoy your lunch.”
“Do you have to go to work right this minute?” I ask, pressing my thighs together.
“I do. I’ll be home early tonight to take care of you, though,” he murmurs as he traces my lips with the tip of his finger.
“How early,” I ask.
My voice sounds husky and needy, but I don’t care. I am needy.
“The sun will still be out. I’ll try to get to you as quickly as I can. Don’t touch yourself while I’m gone, yeah?”
“Seriously?” I practically whine.
“I’ll punish you if you do, katyonak,” he chuckles.
I don’t get a chance to respond. In the next second, his lips are on mine, and then he’s up and walking out of the bedroom. I hear the front door open and close, then the sound of the deadbolt locking echoes through the empty condo.
I don’t feel like moving yet, so I grab the remote control and I flip on the television. I never really watched TV before, but since I’ve been indoors so much, I’ve come to find that there are a few shows I like to watch. Talk shows and daytime drama aren’t really my thing, and I tend to find myself tuned into the History channel, or BBC America.
As I flick through the channels, I freeze when a familiar face appears on my screen. Oswald Johnson. I look at the bottom of the screen and see that it’s a national news network, so I turn up the volume so I can hear what the reporter is saying.
“Denver District Attorney, Oswald Johnson, was found dead early this morning. The police are being tight lipped about details as of now, but what we know is that his body was found in an alleyway. The area he was found in is known to be a popular spot for drugs and prostitution.”
She doesn’t give any more information, just talks about who he was, the position and power that he held, and how wonderful he was for the city. I humorlessly laugh at her words of praise; Oswald Johnson was a sick and twisted monster.
My eyes flick back to his picture and I just stare at it. Oswald was classically handsome. He looked completely composed and put together twenty-four hours a day, even when he was beating the ever-loving hell out of me. He never had one single hair out of place.
I should have seen the evil in his eyes, but I was too blinded by the rest of the picture-perfect package to realize that he was sent to earth by the devil himself.
I pick up my phone and scroll through the few names I have until I find Ziven’s.
“Quinn?” he asks, answering on the first ring. I can’t help but tip my lips slightly in a smile.
“His body was found,” I whisper.
“I know, katyonak. Do you need me to come back?” he asks, sounding concerned.
“No, I just… I love you, Ziven,” I whisper.
“And I you, Quinn,” he mutters. That’s when I know that he’s not alone.
I tell him goodbye and that I’ll see him later. He asks me a second time if I’m all right, and I assure him that I am.
Standing in the closet, I root around for something to wear to lunch with Kristy. I decide on a pair of skinny jeans that have rips and tears in the legs, and a thick, navy, V-neck sweater. I slide my boots on once I’m dressed, and then I pull on a white puffy vest for warmth.
The sun is out, but I know from my few trips out on the balcony yesterday that it is still quite cold outside.
A knock on the front door lets me know that Mika has arrived as my escort, so I grab my brown tote purse, throwing it over my shoulder before I hurry to the door. I look through the peephole, just to double-check that it’s him. When I see his face, I sigh as I unlock and open up for him.
“Mika,” I smile, stepping out into the hall before I lock the door behind me.
“How are you doing?” he asks as we start to walk toward the elevator.
“I’m good, really good,” I smile.
“I’m glad for it,” he chuckles.
“And you?”
“Could be better, but I won’t complain,” he shrugs as he opens the building’s front door for me.
Once he’s outside, I ask him if his could be better response has anything to do with Oksana and her wedding that is coming up. He nods but doesn’t elaborate, and it makes me sad.
Mika is probably one of the nicest men I know. I went to him for a reason when I ran from Oswald. I knew for a fact that he’d take care of me, that he’d help me. Even if he hated me for leaving Ziven the way I did, I knew that he wouldn’t abandon me, or worse, send me back to Oswald.
“If she won’t defy her father then she doesn’t deserve you,” I whisper.
“I wish it were that easy. It’s different for you. You’re not Bratva, not really. Your situation is nothing like hers; not better or worse, just different,” he says, trying to explain.
I don’t understand their strict rules about contracts and marriages, about who can be with whom, or about how the men pretty much get the say-so in everything. It seems like they’re living with archaic rules and refuse to adapt to the current day and time.
“She’s the daughter of some powerful Pakhan, how does she not get to choose her husband?”
“Because she’s the daughter of a powerful Pakhan,” he murmurs.
“This isn’t the fifteen-hundreds, and she’s not royalty,” I announce.
Mika chuckles as he pulls into a parking spot and then turns to me with a smile on his face.
“You’re adorable when you get all fired up, mishka—but honestly, it is very much like the fifteen-hundreds, and she is very much like royalty. Her marriage is important, and I know and understand why Gavril was chosen above me. I don’t like it, but I understand it. His brother was a traitor, he was a piece of shit, and now it is time to heal the Zima family and the rest of the Bratva,” he explains.
“By forcing Oksana to marry him, it’s going to heal everyone?” I ask, practically rolling my eyes.
“It’s a start,” he says as he slides out of the car, abruptly ending the conversation.
I don’t say anything else as I see Kristy sitting inside of the restaurant through the window. Mika murmurs that he’ll be a couple tables away, close enough to see me, but far enough away where he won’t hear anything we talk about.
“You don’t want to hear about Ziven and his fabulous sex skills?” I ask as the hostess takes me back to where Kristy is seated.
“He’s my boss, so, no,” Mika grunts before he winks and walks away from me.
“He’s cute,” Kristy says as I sit down.
“My guard,” I explain. She grins.
“Lucky girl, a guard.”
“I’ll take it,” I shrug.
I realize that I am outside, almost alone, and I haven’t freaked out once. Mika distracted me with conversation the entire time, even up to the point where I sat down with Kristy. I don’t know if he did it on purpose, but I don’t care. I’m just relieved and happy that he did.
“When are you going to come to the salon and visit me? Get your nails done?” Kristy asks as she takes a sip of wine.
The waiter arrives and I order a white wine as well. Then I order a salmon salad with a side of garlic cheese bread, and stuffed mushrooms to share. Kristy orders, and then her smile widens before she speaks.
“Look at you, carb-loading,” she giggles.
“I’m starving. I had a long night,” I explain.
“I just bet you did. You look good, happy, full,” she says.
“Gaining weight, chunky,” I add.
“Not chunky. I don’t think that could be possible, but you look great. Ziven approves, I assume?”
“He does,” I blush.
We spend two hours talking. She tells me about her four children and how her husband, Edik, would like to have another. She rolls her eyes with that confession, but then leans in close and whispers that she stopped taking her birth control without telling him. She wants to surprise him with the fifth.
Her mention of birth control makes my eyes widen.
“Oh, no,” I whisper.
“Hmmm?”
“I was supposed to contact Doctor Sokoloff and get back on birth control,” I say with a cringe.
“Could you be?” she asks, looking down at my belly and then back up.
“I don’t know. I guess, I mean, who knows? It’s a possibility, right?”
“I’ll come over tomorrow with a test. We’ll take it together,” she smiles.
“What if I am?”
“You’re married. I’m sure Ziven knows it’s possible as often as you two boink.”
I giggle at her choice of word, and then I grow somber almost immediately when I think of the fact that I could be pregnant. I’m still not fully healed inside from Oswald. I don’t know if I could handle a baby, psychologically.
“It’ll be okay,” she says, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze across the table.
“Will it?” I ask.
“It will. Trust me,” she whispers.
“How do you know?”
“That’s a story for another time; but trust me, I know,” she assures me.
I signal to Mika that I’m finished, and then I stand, as does Kristy. The fun mood we had is now gone, and I wonder what on earth I’m going to do. What if I am pregnant? How will Ziven react? How will I react? I’m downright terrified.
The ride back to the condo is silent. Thankfully, Mika doesn’t try to engage in conversation with me. I need time to try and process what could be a new reality for me. I bite my bottom lip and close my eyes.
Holy shit—I could be pregnant.
I thank the man they call Soar, and shake his hand before I start to walk away from the warehouse. It’s been cleaned of the three men whose blood I spilled not long ago, and now it’s housing the shipment from California that the Notorious Devils have driven over.
“Hey, man, you know where I could party?” he calls out.
I turn to him and grin.
“What kind of party?” I ask.
“One that involves pussy, maybe a little green?”
“I might know some people. I’ll make a call, get you hooked up,” I offer.
“’Preciate it,” he murmurs.
I make a call to Timofei and let him know that one of our motorcycle friends wants to party, and then I inform him exactly how he’d like to do so. Timofei chuckles and agrees to make arrangements with a couple of women and offers to send a car to pick him up. When in business, you must always keep your associates and their men happy. Whatever Soar wants, within reason, he’ll have. Pussy and weed are easily accessible and not a hardship for me to provide for him.
“A car is on the way to pick you up,” I mutter. “What about your man?” I ask, lifting my chin to the man who accompanies him.
“Nah, he’s good. Torch doesn’t play around,” he grins.
“Okay. Thank you for the fast delivery, and give my regards to MadDog,” I say, referencing his boss, the President of the club.
“Will do, brother,” he rumbles.
I leave my men to take care of the business of unloading the truck and storing all of the merchandise to distribute tomorrow night. I promised Quinn that I would be home at a decent hour, when the sun was still up, so that I could fuck her. I aim to make good on my promise.
The drive back to the condo seems to take forever, and my mind drifts to the fact that Quinn saw the news this morning.
She saw the reports on Johnson’s death, and I wonder how she’s handling it all. She’s been incredibly strong, and she’s healed both physically and psychologically incredibly fast. I hope that this isn’t something that will break her, or send her mind back to the place where she was when she was with him.
When I finally park my car, I just sit in silence for a moment. I’m not afraid to move, but I’m not anxious to see if she’s in some kind of state or upset over his death, either. She sounded all right on the phone earlier, but now she’s had all day long to contemplate him and his death.
“Pussy,” I grunt before I force myself to open my door and walk toward my building.
I’m acting like a pussy, too. It shouldn’t matter if she tries to retreat to a bad place. I’m a man, I’m her man, and I will bring her back to me—Every. Single. Time.
I unlock the condo’s front door and walk inside, careful not to make too much noise. My breath hitches when I see her.
Quinn is standing on the balcony, her boot covered feet resting on a thin bed of snow, and her blonde hair glimmering in the sunshine as she looks out at the snow-covered grass and pond below her. She’s wearing a puffy vest and skin tight jeans.
I make my way toward her, opening the door then wrapping my hands around her waist, beneath her vest, before I press my lips to her temple. She melts against my chest with a sigh but doesn’t speak. I slide my hands underneath her shirt and splay them out across her belly, wondering, not for the first time, if I’ve put a baby inside of her yet.
“You’re home,” she whispers.
“What are you doing out here, katyonak?”
“Enjoying some sun,” she shrugs.
“You lie, my wife,” I murmur against her temple.
“Thinking,” she admits with an exhale, probably annoyed that I called her on it.
“About Johnson?”
“No, not at all, actually. After I talked to you this morning, I haven’t thought of him once,” she admits. I can’t stop my smile.
“Then what are you thinking about?”
“You,” she says as she turns in my arms.
Her lips press against mine before I can say anything else, and then her tongue fills my mouth. I moan as I taste her sweet lips and tongue.
My hands travel down to cup her ass, and I pick her up before setting her down on the banister. She yelps, as the wet snow seeps through her tight jeans.
“Ven,” she whispers against my lips.
“Did I get you all wet?” I ask with a smile.
“You did,” she admits as her lips graze my jaw.
“How does your ass feel today?” I ask as one of my hands tangles in her soft, blonde hair.
“Deliciously sore,” she whispers.
“Your pussy?”
“Neglected.”