Fearless III Read online

  BLAP. His nasal bones cave. Sweat drenches my muscles as the referee lunges in front of me. Kong’s legs cave. He drops, with the ref on top of him. With him down, I climb up to the top of the cage, straddling it. My gaze searches through the crowd. Fist pumping in the air, I glare through a sea of mudaks to find my wife. Eyes sparkling, she blows me a kiss.

  “I fucking love you!” I mouth.

  Danushka pumps her hand near Zariah’s face, breaking our connection. All the hot blood coursing through me runs cold as I remember the chat I’d had with Zariah before the match. She said to focus, to keep my mind on the game. Something dies in my soul at the thought of that cunt Danushka sitting with my daughter, my family.

  I move my leg back over, toward the inside of the cage, and jump down onto the blood-painted canvas. The referee is still hovering over Kong, waving an ammonia-inhalant beneath his nose. With a hungry glare, I watch; dark thoughts rove through my mind. Deadly ones.

  My heart barely slams against my chest. Adrenaline raw, I stare through the ref as he continues to rouse the fighter with smelling salts.

  He. Won’t. Wake. Up.

  But my mind is frozen to this moment. Kong laying, sprawled on the floor, means nothing. MMA means nothing.

  Danushka did that to me. She killed my love. Maybe Kong died, maybe he’s in a deep sleep for now. Fuck him; he was a means for me to get out my aggression. One day, Danushka will meet a worse fate. My hands hang at my sides, I smile at the thought of just how much pain they’ll cause my sister. My callused fingers will feel her pulse stop. For now, fuck MMA.

  “You put him in a coma,” Vadim groans. The cement walls behind him are almost the same color as his ashen skin. We’re in a dusty, old dressing room. While the old man can’t fathom how Kong is still in a dream state, I feel nothing. My coach rubs a hand over his fallen face. “Come alive, Vassili. You-you put him in a coma! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing!” I start to lunge at him. I’m a fraction of a foot away when the fear in his gaze stops me. This can’t be happening. Vadim had the respect of my family ages ago, since I was a little mudak who had a bone to pick with the world. I take two steps back, rubbing my neck. I gesture again to play it off. “Nothing, Vadim.”

  Nestor gazes at me; he’s too much in shock to speak.

  A little while ago, the smelling salts haven’t done their fucking jobs. Kong’s wife’s shouting slams through a sea of people.

  “You tried to kill my husband. You—”

  I have been in a daze the entire time. Nestor has to enter the cage. I probably look like a bitch, handholding, skipping, shit like that as my team leads me through the crowd. The flashback fades. With hands in fists, I issue quick pops against my skull.

  “Fuckkkkkk!” I roar. That’s enough to make me come alive and remember my first love. What the fuck am I without MMA? I ask, “Is he dead?”

  Nestor shrugs. “Let me text Yuri.”

  “Nyet!” I growl.

  The Ukrainian cocks a brow, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Why not? You asked if he died?”

  Because I need Yuri and Mikhail at my wife and daughter’s side at every fucking second. They have to keep watch while Danushka is around. This is something I can’t talk about with my training team. My broad shoulders lift in a half attempt at a shrug. I grumble, “I don’t give a fuck if he’s dead. He should’ve been prepared to fight!”

  “Don’t be a shit-head,” Vadim snaps.

  “Injury goes with the territory, mudak!”

  My coach steps toward me, bushy brows pulled together. The lion in me is ready to send him a few feet into the cement wall, but I allow my hands to hang at my sides. I need to feel the weight of them there. The numbness that had taken over me when I’d punched Kong’s lights out is returning with a vengeance. The delight from watching him stay down starts to pull me under, to transform me into someone my wife doesn’t know.

  I need to focus on her beautiful face. I need to remember our daughter’s laugh and keep moments like this for Danushka.

  Not sure how much time has passed, but when I blink, my family has entered the room. Zariah paws my cheek. I start to push her away, then notice Yuri’s still holding Natasha. My one-year-old is prepared to topple out of his arms to get to me. So, he keeps scooping her back up. Mikhail is at his side. Danushka too. I can tell Malich’s oldest is trying his best to stay away from my sister. Mikhail, Yuri, and I—we’re fucking dead right now.

  I still can’t fathom how Mikhail has gone from “God and Church” to being ready for murder. The death of their brother, Igor, has changed us all. While I am making moves to recreate a connection with his father, my Uncle Malich, I haven’t noticed how hard it’s hit me. Not until I got into the octagon. Of course, it has been bad from before.

  It’s worse now. I find myself pawing at Zariah’s ass; my breath is at her forehead. Her dress is so tight that my dick is ready to slam straight through her wet pussy. Pressing my cock against her, I grip her ass, bringing her closer.

  “That’s love,” Danushka clucks in agreement.

  “Vassili.” Zariah steps back in her stilettos, looking up at me. Her brown orbs track over mine. We’ve had arguments about how she wanted to fuck faces at parties—I’ve always refused.

  “I’m good, girl.” I step back. I pull her waist to me again. I press my lips to hers and kiss her like the piz’da of a father had kissed my mom. My tongue darts into her mouth, all the way down her throat. She moans, melting to me.

  “Mmmm.” Zariah presses her head against my chest. “I’m not used to all of that PDA stuff.”

  Tipping her chin, I whisper against her lips. “Tonight, my cock is going straight between those two chocolate cheeks of yours.”

  “Vassili.” She slaps at my arm. With a sigh, she changes the subject, saying, “We argued our way back here—”

  “I did all the arguing,” Danushka says.

  “Don’t you speak!” My index finger goes straight to her forehead. “Don’t speak to me.”

  “I love pain, big brat.” She chuckles. “Don’t stop . . .”

  My eyebrows pull together. A million things are wrong with her request.

  Zariah plants herself between us. Nobody seems to notice or care about Danushka. My wife says, “An ambulance took Kong almost an hour ago.”

  An hour . . . How could that be? Vadim had been arguing with me, and then I’d blinked. Now, my family is right before us. It couldn’t have been an hour.

  Zariah licks her lips in trepidation. “We have to visit the hospital to check on Kong.”

  “Or do we?” Danushka asks.

  “Vadim, Nestor.” I turn to my team. “Can you guys go see if the place is cleared out?”

  They exchange looks before heading toward the double doors. Natasha lunges herself into my arms.

  “Cutie Pie,” Yuri growls, catching her at the knees so that she doesn’t fall face-first.

  I grab my daughter. She feels good, soft, innocent. I almost want to send her home to Zamora Hankins, my wife’s mother. I don’t need good, soft shit right now. I need to put Danushka in her place.

  My sister speaks first. “Nyet, no time for Kong. We’ll send him flowers if it behooves you, Zar. We have to get to Italy. Horace is awaiting us.”

  “Fuck you, fuck that mudak that you brainwashed into marrying you.” I place my hand over Natasha’s ears. “Fuck everything about you, Danushka.”

  “Are we done with the toddler squabble? That piz’da, Kong, may have taken one too many hits from you, but me,” she pauses. With a wide grin, Danushka opens the tailored blazer she’s wearing. The pearl handle of a revolver is shown for a split second. “Remind me that we’re blood, brat.”

  Mikhail is in her face in an instant. It’s so quick I jump back, pressing my daughter to me. I can’t fault him for wanting to put her down in front of my seed.

  Yuri grabs his arm. “Not here, Brat!”

  “Then where, Yuri, Mikhail. Where?”
Danushka’s faux blue eyes trackback across them all. She was born with brown eyes, is taller, and built like a fucking ox. Now, for Horace, my father’s once assassin has become a fuck toy—just as postal. “Where the fuck do you plan on biting the hand who wants to feed you? To help your family become invincible like we once were. The Bertolucci’s—”

  Mikhail’s arm moves in a flash. I have to hand it to my fat cousin Yuri because he’s even quicker. Danushka’s mention of the Bertolucci family retaliating on ours, which led to their brother Igor’s death, has crossed the line.

  “Alright, Mikhail.” Zariah presses a hand to his chest. “You’re better than this, than her.”

  I watch her tiny hand against his suit. He wore it yesterday while driving like mad to get to Zariah before Noriega could murder her and Natasha. Only, Danushka arrived at our home first. One devil died. The other is glaring up at her cousin.

  Zariah’s tiny hand moves with every hitch of breath he takes.

  “Don’t do it, kuzen,” I say. Although I’m all words right now, if Mikhail attacks, we all attack.

  “Thank you, brat.” Danushka nods at me. “Honestly, time is of the essence. Kong is of no importance. It’s not our fault that he was no match for a Russian bull.”

  I gaze away from her as she compliments me.

  “We still must meet with Horace.”

  “Why?” I growl.

  “Our father’s death is of the utmost importance to the Bratva. Now rather than later, I always say.” She brushes a manicured hand over her tailored suit, grooming herself at the mention of murdering our father.

  She wants to be king. She wants me to be the substitute who sits at the table of seven and pretends to call the shots. She wants me to be a fucking robot who speaks her words, but the dead don’t speak.

  2

  Zariah

  The last 36 hours have zipped by like a whirlwind. It’s taken over three hours for us to leave the convention center. Media outlets have surrounded the place, craving a statement from Killer Karo. When we finally enter the suite, Yuri and Mikhail go to the room on the far side. Danushka claims the couch. Vassili holds a cranky Natasha who rubs her eyes and whimpers. She’s a bully without sleep.

  I slip off my stilettos as Vassili places Natasha into a crib borrowed from the hotel. Reaching behind me, I start to undo the zipper of the couture dress my new “best friend” bought me. If Danushka weren’t threatening my life after my encounter with Noriega, she would’ve placed me in the best-friend zone. This trick acts like the past couple of days haven’t transpired.

  Vassili’s callused hand goes over mine. He stops me from unzipping the dress. Stepping behind me, his sweaty scent infuses into my nostrils. He still hasn’t taken a shower since the fight, though he did wash off the bit of blood on his marble face. Now, I have no qualms with how he presses his lips at the nape of my neck.

  “Vassili, should we take this party into the tub,” I murmur. My breath hitches in my throat as the zipper moves titillatingly slow down my back. Cool air teases down my spine, then my husband leaves a trail of soft kisses. The sensation becomes a ribbon of a moan in my mouth. “Baby, we should . . .”

  “Nyet,” he grumbles from deep in his abdomen, moving to his knees. I reach out for the column at the foot of the bed while my knees turn to jelly as his kisses fall toward my lower back. “Tonight, I will worship this body, in all its glory.”

  I shudder, having lost my voice. My feet move a fraction of an inch as he removes the dress from my curves. Heartbeat slamming in my ears, I wait for his lips to caress the small of my back that leads to the meat of my ass. He doesn’t. My body is flooded and invigorated by how his mouth has tasted me only a few times. Damned him.

  “Vassili . . .” I whimper just as my husband pops up.

  I’m spun around and pressed against the column so swiftly that a yelp doesn’t have time to catch up. Vassili presses his body to me. He leans forward, kissing the curve of my neck, his tongue swirls around that spot. He’s swirling so perfectly that I move my hips, widening my stance, my treasure is as jealous as can be.

  Natasha’s breath starts to taper off in her crib. I groan, “Babe, let’s go . . .”

  “Nyet,” he finally says. “I promised to worship you, worship this body.” His fingertips trail down the arc of my side cleavage. His gaze roves over my face. I feel an inescapable pull towards his lips, even though my body is now achy and fully supported by the column. His fingertips continue their decline along the shape of me. His low Russian voice is hardly an audible rumble. “Worship all these beautiful, dark sweets, in all your glory,” he growls. “But I’ll do so in all my glory.”

  Conjuring all my energy, I exhale then lean forward. My lips meet his and warmth blossoms across my chest, tingling and rippling all over me. “All your glory?” The words tumble from my mouth, hardly audible. In a daze, I ask, “Hmmm, that means you’re fucking me now?” Please don’t stop touching me. I wait on bated breath. Damn him! I’ll take this man dirty as hell. He’s a Russian god to me.

  “Dah,” Vassili replies, pulling the compression shirt over him.

  There I go, using the column as my support again. I lean my head back, hungry eyes viewing art. Every inch of his body is dripping in tattoos, muscles. My mouth pools at the thought of seeing him naked, but he stops from removing his pants. I’ve known Vassili for just shy of a decade, and everything about him is still the greatest: sex, touch, love. Amazed, I shake my head a little.

  Like he can read my mind, a cocky smile flashes before my gaze as Vassili descends again. He sinks into my arms, his mouth taking to mine. I drown in the taste of him. Our tongues dance, colliding for so long that I’d happily die in this moment, in his arms.

  “Fuck,” my husband says, coming up for air. His heartbeat hammers into mine. I lean back against the column again, feeling damn near tipsy off of his mouth.

  He moans from down low in his abdominals while snatching up the golden, shimmery dress.

  “What are you doing?” My eyebrow arches.

  “It’s a dress fit for a queen, my queen. And I’m the mudak who never did a thing to deserve this, so I have to prove otherwise.” With tender hands, Vassili helps me back into the snug-fitting designer outfit.

  “You deserve me,” I murmur, as his hands smooth the dress back over my hips. The entire movement has my brain going delirious and my pussy screaming for attention that we’re doing it wrong. But no. We are doing this so, so damn right. My husband is reinventing foreplay with the focus he gives my body. He kisses my shoulder, smoothing the shimmery material over my ass.

  “No,” I moan when he begins to zip me up. He stands. My eyes are ablaze with curiosity. If I could’ve seen myself now, I would swear I’m smiling at him like I am 18 again. Back then, Vassili scared and enticed me at the same time.

  He steps back, again, my body wavers beneath his heated gaze. Shaking his head, the look in his gaze tells me never to change. “Girl, if I could get you pregnant right now . . .”

  Innocent heat flutters across my cheeks. Damn, Vassili’s staring at me like this is the first time. I chuckle softly, pressing my hand over the gold material covering my flat abdomen. Delighted, I murmur, “Vassili, I’m having your baby. Happily pregnant again by you. You’re so crazy, boy. So, so crazy.”

  Shaking my head, I rise to the tips of my toes to taste him again. Vassili cups my cheeks between his palms, his dark orbs are smoldering even further as his eyes rove across my face. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Shit, girl, you look so good in that motherfucking dress. I’m about ready for you to come out of it again.”

  I laugh from deep in my body. We can both be committed in this second. Feels like happy drugs are pulsating through my veins, happy drugs, and a few shots of Resnov Water. The fighter, my fighter, slaughtered a man in the cage tonight, then he treats me infinitely better than I could ever imagine a man treating a woman.

  His square jaw nudges behind me. “Remove your panties, get in
bed, ass all in my face.”

  Moving my hands behind me, I start for the zipper of the shimmery material. But his palms are over the back of mine again. Vassili’s warm breath sets my skin on fire.

  His voice is passionate, slow as he says, “Did I give you orders for the dress?”

  “No, but I thought the entire scenario was to get me out of it, again,” I whimper. Though I won’t voice that I’m torn between loving every single second of us doing so, I’m also torn by wanting us naked in a flash.

  His hand clamps softly over my throat, ceasing my defiance. All those giddy moments that remind me of falling for him flee. All that’s left is hard passion.

  Vassili’s stone-carved, handsome face leans in until his lips are a breath away from mine. Half elated, half terrified that I’m in trouble, I wait for his reply. Punishment, praise, whatever he offers, comes with attention; it includes him worshiping me.

  “You want to be worshiped tonight, girl?”

  His hard, Russian tone and those delectable words unravel the past 36 hours. The image of Noriega holding a gun to my face and Natasha’s face has been whisked into oblivion. All that’s left is desire sparking across my entire body. Damn straight, I have a mouth that knows every angle of my man’s cock; it also knows how to say too much. So, I moan my response, nodding slowly. He offers another squeeze. This one takes my breath away.

  “Khorosho,” Vassili tells me ‘good’ in Russian. His voice becomes a low, rasp as he orders, “Lift your dress up. Lift it just enough, girl. Enough for me to see the bottom of that meaty ass and those fat pussy lips.”

  Like a chameleon, the good fighter vanished, leaving me standing before the guy I knew was bad the second I laid eyes on him.

  I have never felt so good in a dress. I owe that to Vassili, that and the fact that he makes me feel perfect in my own dark brown skin. He’s right, the garb fits every inch of me, elevating my beauty to its own Black Queendom. Pressing my hand over my shimmery dress, I start to inch it upwards. Vassili steps back in the grand bedroom. His thick, muscular body owns the entire area as he watches me. The expensive material glides up my curvy, dark brown hips.