Lawless 2 (The Finale) Read online

  LAWLESS II

  Amarie Avant

  Edited by

  Melissa Harrison

  Copyright © 2020 by Amarie Avant

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters in this book, including those inspired by real people, are fake. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  . No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means–electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other–except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 9798648501799

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Trigger Warning

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Epilogue

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  About the Author

  DIABLO Inside

  Trigger Warning

  This full-length novel is filled with

  sexy, ruthless characters,

  graphic scenes,

  and very sensitive subject matters,

  including explicit sex, violence, and rape.

  Please read at your own discretion.

  Prologue

  “Watching tears slide down someone’s face right before the end—it’s all a pleasure to me. But you, my Anastasiya, you’re irrefutably beautiful when you cry.”

  The words float like kisses from an angel across my skin. Simeon peers down from his position on top of me. Gentle, firm lips bathe over the rivers slithering down the sides of my face. His tender mouth presses against the duct tape, a simple barrier covering my mouth. Toxic hate taints his kisses, making them bitter.

  Momentary lust sparks in his otherwise dead, dark gaze. He pulls his mouth away from the tape. His mouth is twisted with a dash of amusement, his jaw clenched. Simeon groans, “So beautiful. Still, the tears won’t save you.”

  As much as I loathe the truth, I tell myself, this is it—the day Simeon stopped loving me and believing in us. Over the years, I’ve failed Simeon while he was unconditional, constant in his love for me.

  “I’ll do the opposite, moya milaya. I’ll prolong the pain.” Fisting a gleaming knife, he twirls it through his knuckles and over the taunting tattoo: M-I-N-E.

  I am his.

  He places the flat end of the knife over the warmth of my jaw. He twists the handle until heated blood pools up. His tongue draws over his morose work.

  With my soul screaming out my love for him, I pull at silk restraints. A wealth of dedication and tender care was taken when Simeon created the delicate bonds. The maniac in him declined into the recesses of his mind at that moment. I’m unable to free myself.

  “When I first saw you after four fucking years, Anastasiya, I wanted to tear you apart.” Simeon’s deep baritone drones out every word. Though his aura scares the crap out of me, I jut my chin out in defiance. The knife in his hand slides onto a silver tray among a sea of gothic torture contraptions—all shiny, new, and prepared for my torment, the woman he handed his heart to. One glance in Simeon’s eyes, and I know he doesn’t love me anymore.

  This enlightenment festers in my heart, doling more pain than any of his cruel actions.

  “I told myself to gut you in half, get back the heart you stole from my chest.” His hand skirts across my collarbone to my throat. “Own you like you’ve owned every moment of my thoughts since you left me at the Black Dolphin.” His forehead kisses mine. His breath wafts over my skin.

  A whimper of a cry crashes deep within my chest.

  “Then I saw you, and just like that, you fucking had me, Asya. And you used your deceptive tears about an innocent baby. . . about how others kept us apart.” His eyes gleam with the notion that I’ve lied to him. “I offered absolute vengeance for our unborn child. You! Were you pregnant? Did the story garner all the sympathy you were looking for?”

  Questions consume his eyes as I shake my head no. Simeon shrugs, disinterested in further dissecting my actions. He comes to his full height. My fear-stricken eyes are tense from a lack of blinking. I watch as he reaches into the lapel of his suit jacket. He pulls out a scrap of paper.

  “Over the past eighteen days, I’ve kept this where my heart once was. A subtle reminder you never truly gave a fuck about me, my beautiful Tsarina.”

  The paper is shoved in my face, too close to decipher the words. Simeon speaks, eyebrows lifting as if from rote memory. “Though it seems I’ve abandoned you twice, you have to know how much I’ve always cared. For now, all I can give you are my—”

  “My apologies with love.” My mind fills in the conclusion as he whispers them to me.

  “Any last words?” he asks. Fire lights across my flesh as the duct tape pulls across my lips.

  Rushing to explain, I shovel out the truth in one long breath. “Simeon, I didn’t write—”

  The silver tape is slapped back down across my mouth. Crying inconsolably, I concentrate on Kosta, the suka I once called sestra! I’d written the note the day before leaving Italy. The first note I’d started to write, I’d rambled, bled my heart out. Then I’d decided how delving into the past always seemed to fuel Kosta’s inferno. I scrapped the lengthy letter and left a short note. This note.

  “It’s your writing, Asya. And it pains me to see that you still need to lie. So, you will die for me, moya milaya. And because you will die with my heart still residing in your gorgeous body, I will meet you in death, one day. It goes with the territory of you always being mine.”

  Chapter 1

  Anastasiya

  Eighteen Days Prior . . .

  A spotlight bleeds over the raw beauty of Simeon Resnov. His obsidian gaze, which you can’t quite put a name on . . . seductive . . . calculating . . . deadly, tracks across the room. He has a physique honed by years of discipline. A delicious tattoo peeks from his collar. Though he was born in the dark, light loves every inch of him, as do I.

  His linen shirt attempts to contain his broad chest and biceps, straining at the seams. His self-assured gait
exudes power with each move he makes up the left side of a gilded, grand staircase.

  A sea of people surrounds the marbled entrance of the palace. They’re enthralled by his every movement. Through lengthy lashes, my gold-shadowed eyes peer up at Simeon. His thick forearms brush the bannister. He leans over to address us all. My fingers rove over the deep, dark peacock feathers at my lower abdomen. The feathers hardly cover my breasts and curves. The dress took from dusk to almost midnight for the seamstress to stitch onto my body. The feathers gather at a train where more material trails behind me than what covers my warm brown skin. Woven along the vein of each feather is a line of diamonds. This decadence sets me apart from even Bratva nobility. All of the Resnov family and their acquaintances, a little Castle Girl like me never compared to, now gawk at me while I stare at him.

  In a billion years, they’d never imagined I’d be here—with him. As soon as we landed in Russia this evening, my coronation was announced for half-past midnight. I hadn’t a moment to spare for thought, and gazing at the sheer power before me, well, there was nothing to contemplate anyway.

  Champagne raised in his hand, Simeon starts with a speech, searching through the crowd to look at me. I cannot hear the words. My brain reverts to a rudimentary form as I gawk at him in reverence. Simeon stole all the breath from my lungs when he was fourteen, and I was a mere twelve. Even when his father’s hand balled into a fist to strike, he had this authority about him. It took me ages to say my first words. Partially due to fears that will stay in the dark, partly due to his demeanor.

  Hard one second. Tender another—and only for me.

  And now, he’s Tsar.

  Simeon finishes his speech with a raised hand, the muscles working in his chiseled jaw. Two byki come to his side. Neither are familiar to me, and one is cuffed to a silver briefcase. The other hands over a silver key as if its contents rival all the Bratva possessions.

  While we all stare up entranced by Simeon, Luka is suddenly at my side, elbowing me softly. The man who became my brat years ago whispers his excitement in my ears. His older brat, Kirill, is on my opposite side. Luka’s eyes are like a warm lap in a clear pool. Kirill’s are an iceberg. Though the brothers differ, I trust Kirill equally because his hard, deadly gaze has one sole allegiance—his cousin, Simeon.

  Luka’s elbow nudges at my ribs again. “Sestra, now,” he whispers. His features resemble Kirill, although his are soft and malleable. He also doesn't have his hair in a long ponytail like his older sibling. Hand at the small of my back, Luka urges again. “Now.”

  I nod. White noise funnels through my ears. Before I take my first stride, Luka whispers, “She isn’t here. Breathe. Enjoy this moment.”

  Luka means well, but his Sofiya remark discharges adrenaline through my veins. The kind which leaves my breathing shallow. Sofiya is supposedly still ill. Nevertheless, the Bratva is aware she isn’t of sound mind. Focusing on a deep exhale, I glance over to Kirill. He moves ahead, swiftly commanding each step. Two servants come behind Luka and me to assist with my train. Hushed gasps ribbon throughout the opulent room. All hail the Castle Girl.

  At the first step, I place one crystal-encrusted stiletto before the other. Head held high, I personify all that I must and ascend.

  Simeon’s dark orbs glitter across my skin, ceasing the nerves rattling around my bones. The residuals of worry fade away. This could be . . . our wedding day.

  I float toward him, imagining that the dark gown, which complements my golden complexion, is pearl white—like I’m a saint, and he is too. I don’t give a fuck how many people we’ve murdered; I’m wearing a white dress one day.

  As if reading my thoughts, an angel’s smile perches on Simeon’s lips, beautiful, deceptive, and promising to shield me from harm.

  He clasps my hand and begins to speak. His fingertips trail down my bare spine, and his mouth moves over my skin.

  “My empress, my Tsarina, my all.” His words float across my shoulder. He signals. My heart squeezes. Damn, I should’ve listened to the speech he gave.

  The man, who was chained to the briefcase, kneels. Throughout the mansion, every person falls to their knees.

  Everyone but the man I love and me.

  “Two million.” Simeon smiles. His thumb presses over a latch on the briefcase. The silver casing pops open, revealing a crown. “And it still doesn’t compare to you, moya milaya. Please kneel.”

  My insides melt. My heart is laid bare. The servants behind me usher my movements to allow me to kneel in the custom feather gown. Simeon places the diamond crown on my head. His hands clasp my face, his mouth intensely feasting of my own.

  It’s official.

  Less than forty-eight hours ago, I had a slice of birthday cake in Los Angeles. I also made my first female friend, who lacks Kosta’s attitude. Today, I belong to Simeon Resnov, and I belong to the Bratva.

  We descend the steps together. Simeon wears a crown too, though one could tell his only interest resides in showing off his new possession. We hug Bratva-allied politicians, blood, and everyone else worthy enough to be in our presence. Then we are escorted to a ballroom. The crown, which Simeon wore for all of five minutes, is on a plush pillow next to his beloved guns. He sits on an opulent throne in a corner of the room, yet still dominates the entire space. Simeon watches as I dance with a never-ending line of well-wishers.

  “May I?” A man whose weathered skin is almost my shade from years of sun steps forward in line. He’s slime wrapped in the finest garb.

  His fingers latch onto mine, and his hand drops to a respectable level on my bareback. I wonder if Simeon’s watching our every move has something to do with it.

  “You look familiar,” I murmur, praying the quartet will quicken the tempo soon.

  “Dah?”

  “One of my ses—” I bite down the word, sestras. “A girl, who grew up in the same boarding house as me, ahem, I believe, I’ve seen you with her.”

  “Oh, I acquired a select few of them over my years.” His leathery face smooths a tad in disgusting nostalgia.

  “That’s it.” I plant my hand on his lapel and stare up into his soulless eyes. My gaze gleams at the mudak. Them? You mean us, I stop myself from saying.

  “The porcelain ones intrigued me,” he says as if the Resnov Castle Girls were a collection. Dah, we were an assortment, but that’s beside the point.

  “I see.” Disgusted with myself, I offer a faux smile. The rich man’s presence makes me itch; however, Simeon taught me to listen—listen and allow a person to dig their own grave. The rich man continues to prattle about the Castle and “all the good times.” Yes, he’s almost six feet under.

  “It’s a shame, the decommissioning of the Castles, Tsarina. Up until this moment, I assumed you were the reason for such a mistake. My dear Anastasiya, I misjudged you. Would you be willing, for a price? Do tell me if I’m speaking out of turn.”

  “Please continue,” I purr.

  “Alright, will you speak with the Tsar? Perhaps he closed the Castles thinking his actions were aligned with your desires.”

  “I see,” I murmur. “You believe Simeon closed the Castles to placate me.”

  “Dah, your presence has brought back fond memories. I mean, all though you’re no longer one of them, Anastasiya. I’m overdue for a new . . .”

  The man’s words wilt as I glower at Simeon. Them. Them. Them! echoes in my ears. A slight smile plays at the corner of Simeon’s lips. He nods. I lean closer to the man, bringing my body flush to his feeble flesh. I know he likes them younger, although I feel his arousal increasing.

  “You’re asking your Tsarina to assist you with obtaining another trinket, dah?” My mouth plays on each word, uttering them saccharine sweet.

  Somehow, my words entrance him enough to clutch me tighter. Though this rich man stands before me, I can only envision Oleg, my old headmaster. Their voices and words are so similar. Just a day or two has passed since I begged Simeon to change for me, less bloodshed, less need fo
r revenge. But with thoughts of Oleg, my hand gravitates to the emerald sash tied at the tiniest part of my hourglass figure. The only accessory I insisted on became a last-minute wardrobe adjustment and now a necessity—a diamond-encrusted dagger.

  In one fluid movement, I’m to the side of my tormentor, the knife arcing along his throat. Skin severs like wrapping paper. It reminds me of scissors running free over the thin sheets I used, forever wrapping New Year’s gifts for Simeon as a child. A blood-red cascade sprays across the floor.

  The music stops. The line of men waiting to celebrate my coronation with a dance seems to waver. All eyes are on me. Mine are on the rich man as he clasps at the splashes of copper from his artery. A sort of half-smile plays at my lips. For a few precious seconds, he truly becomes Oleg.

  “I detest handing out promises.” My voice travels flawlessly throughout the ballroom. The soaring ceilings offer a precise reverberation. “You all will understand this promise, this truth. As your Tsarina, I’m not weak.”