Lawless 2 (The Finale) Page 7

  “I’ll handle it,” Beam suggests, opening my back door.

  “Now, why the fuck would I sit here and wait?” I grit, my hand claiming his throat as I climb out of the car. A pale ruddiness descends on his face as his breathing continues to be restricted. “You see me getting out of the car. Then you shut the fuck up. I ask, you speak! I do, you motherfucking follow. Dah?”

  The second I remove my vice grip around his throat, Beam issues a swift nod. He then doubles over to hack. Eyes are on us. The politsyia bagging fragments and capturing photos pause to stare. A few lower their heads—this isn’t an altercation for them to handle.

  “Who’s in charge?” Kirill clears the air.

  The politsyia closest to us nods his head in a sign of respect. “My apologies, Mr. Resnov. We arrived on the scene approximately twenty minutes ago. Some of our men are still attempting to reach the car. Given the circumstance, we had yet to know the vehicle belonged to you. Our men are still working their way down the crest. It looks bad . . . Should we leave?”

  Should they leave? Bratva and politsyia affairs seldom cross. I have my higher-ups in the department. And there are those who do not appreciate the Resnov presence.

  Puffs of condensation are emitted with my command, “Leave.”

  The politsyia whistles to the team, working along the impacted snow. “Let’s pull out,” he says.

  The private farthest from us, shouts down the bevy, “Let’s g—”

  His order is cut off by another command from down below. The request is for. . . homicide.

  Dazed, I start down the decline. My boots slip, and my hands cling to the snow. Kirill jolts past me, then sinks into an even deeper snowdrift. His face, ghost-white, mirrors the horror spinning through my veins.

  “Fuck,” I grit, righting myself. I gain speed and run down the mountain. With each step, my shoe sinks a foot.

  “Move, suka!” I shove the back of a struggling politsyia in front of me and continue to trek down. I weave around trees and grip at branches along the way.

  About fifty yards below, cops are surrounding a piece of metal, custom pearl black, measuring two feet in any given direction. My Anastasiya is tiny, but even she couldn’t fit inside. Blood funnels through my ears. My heart jolts in my chest.

  “Who the fuck is dead?” Kirill grabs the first cop by his collar, rattling him.

  “A male, approximately twenty to thirty years old.”

  “And the girl?” I growl.

  “Nyet, girl.”

  An hour later, the majority of the politsyia have left the scene. The body was identified as Luka Resnov. Not a second later, I bashed his brat between the eyes, sending a postal Kirill straight to sleep.

  “I need fucking order and answers.” I grab one of the byki by the face, my fingers digging into his jaws. I shake his head with me, “Dah?”

  “D-dah, Tsar.”

  I’ve already assessed the scene. One single bullet. Had an enemy murdered Luka, the hunk of shit that was craned up the slope would’ve been riddled with bullets. Take the queen pops into my head. The most sought-after crash specialist in Russia is assessing the scene. A Bratva detective is reviewing Luka’s body but the words continuing to whirl through my mind are . . .

  Take the motherfucking queen.

  Chapter 11

  Mikhail

  I’d prepared to leave Mother Russia, a place which I’ve never referred to as ‘home.’ The country where monsters named Simeon get everything, even innocent jewels named Anastasiya. Though I thought it was unfathomable, my father, Malich, saw fit to bury our mother here. After a visit to her grave, I’d downed my favorite cocktail, pills and scotch, packed, and surfed my phone’s internet for cheap airfare to L.A.

  Swinging the duffle bag over my shoulder, I walk out of the palace. A few feet away, I stop and stare up at the fortress.

  “Where the fuck are you, Anastasiya?” I mumble to myself. Perhaps she’s out governing, tainting her soul in Simeon’s delights. I wanted to say goodbye. My mouth tips at the thought. The cool evening sends a shiver through me. “No goodbyes, Mikhail, and not because of it sounding sappy. You planned to play Russian roulette with your life again.”

  I had deliberated while packing one single duffle bag that I’d kiss her. Kiss the fuck out of her. Cross my fingers and hope the similar feelings swarming through my heart sparked in Anastasiya’s too. I’m not a wistful man. The first and only item I’ve stolen was my father’s stethoscope while crawling around. From that day forward, concrete evidence ruled my life, the rush of adrenaline from the ER. Sex with beautiful women did have a place in my downtime list, not love.

  Closing my eyes, the trappings of success and reasons Anastasiya stayed fade from my view. I meander over the powdery ground to the bodyguard nearest the fleet of import vehicles.

  “Hey, may I have a ride to . . .” My voice trails off. We stare about half a kilometer out. An SUV coasts along the lengthy road. Second thought, I’ll ask whoever is driving. My last name should at least bum me a free ride to the airport. I’ll sleep on the plane and head straight to the community hospital to begin my shift. There’s no need to hear arguments from my mentor about flaking out on another opportunity since Igor’s death.

  The luxury vehicle stops right in front of me. A familiar bodyguard exits the driver’s side, opposite to me. “You, give me something to sedate your kazen with now!”

  My eyebrow cocks. Simeon? Sure, I’ll have him in an induced coma for the next hundred—

  The SUV jolts around. Glass crashes outward from the backseat. I jump back as a foot goes slamming out of the back window.

  “Sedation, now!” The driver orders, opening the back door. He heaves forward, and I start around the limo-tented windows to get a good look. My cousin, with the thick neck and no brain, is being dragged out of the backseat.

  Kirill shouts, “My brat, my brat—”

  The driver forces his body onto Kirill’s upper area. Another man is kicked on the opposite side of the vehicle. They maneuver around, holding him down. With the swiftness of a doctor prepared for the ER, I retrieve a vile from my bag, and I administer a dose of propofol. While Kirill continues to wriggle around, I stab him in the neck.

  The driver slides out of the car. Huffing, he falls to the ground.

  I hold out a hand.

  “Thank you, Mikhail,” he stands. “Shit, I could use a little of what you’re giving.”

  “What’s happening?” I ask.

  He shuffles a shaky hand through his hair. “Luka’s dead. Anastasiya was taken.”

  “Missing,” the other bodyguard grits, climbing from the backseat. “Killed Luka, fled is what she did. History repeats itself.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I stroll toward him. “She’s your Tsarina! What you’re saying is treasonous.”

  “Listen, the Tsar, Kirill, we all saw the scene. We all observed the crash area. An enemy would’ve left a ransom note or a little token: the girl’s head, toe, a fucking tattooed finger. Something. Four years ago, the Tsarina left . . . good men paid the price for her weakness. Luka was her brat, and she mur—”

  A shot slams through his skull. The driver places his gun back into his slacks. “You’ll be my witness as to his lack of loyalty, won’t you, Mikhail?”

  “Tell me everything!” Discarding my duffle bag on the ground, I pick up Kirill’s legs, and the driver grabs his shoulders. I wish I had laced and downed a few more glasses of scotch before heading back toward the lion’s den.

  Chapter 12

  Anastasiya

  Peaceful darkness invites me to stay in paradise. Essential oils permeate the air and funnel through my lungs. Throat vibrating in a delicious moan, I peel my eyes open only to preview heaven on earth. Candles flicker. The bed of clouds melded to my frame has exceeded the tranquility of the one Simeon and I shared at the palace.

  “Hmmm . . .” I groan, captivated by invigorating tingles in my muscles. Had I just been given a massage? Si
meon promised a tropical island, and yet I don’t recall the purge of sharing—What did I need to share? “Sim—”

  “Nyet,” is issued with a leveled breath. “Awaken my little krasivaya. We mustn’t mention such atrocities anymore.”

  Gasping in air, I jolt into a seated position. A white, lace gown brushes abrasively at my skin, burning from the fire shining in the eyes of the man staring at me. A man who once coaxed my innocent heart years before I met the family I was predestined to hate.

  “Atrocities?” I gulp, fixated on the specific word, and not the blaring truth. Candlelight flickers across gleaming tapestries, ornate walls, and glittering jewels. The four-poster bed rivals the one I share with Simeon, and he is nowhere around.

  “Make no mention of The Young Resnov.” Volk removes his hands from the pockets of his suit. The material drapes over lean muscles. More crinkles have aligned his attractive face.

  “Anastasiya,” he murmurs. Desire flashes across his molten blue eyes. He settles on the side of the bed. My arms start to lunge out at him and then are yanked back by manacles.

  “What has the Young Resnov done to you, krasivaya?” Warm concern drenches over his face as he glances at tattoos on my knuckles. “Blemished your skin, claimed you like an animal. You’re safe now.”

  “No,” my voice grows hoarse. “I was safe, okay?”

  Volk’s pupils dilate. His mouth is a fraction from my mouth. Bile churns down my throat as his lips crash onto mine. His tongue slithers in monotonous rhythm. Volk’s breath skirts across my jaw as he pulls up for air.

  Still in shock, I implore, “Will you let me go? You’ve always cared for me. I must return home. Simeon will be looking for me.”

  Volk laughs a little. “He cannot find you. Although, it’s possible if the Young Resnov contains his emotions and utilizes his intelligence—he will die.”

  “Irek,” I grit the Volk’s true name. President Irek Chutin, the man whose power exceeds that of any Bratva. “Irek, I didn’t ask for this.”

  As he ponders my words, Irek’s lips suck into his mouth. “You have choices, Anastasiya. Most essential—reconcile with the man who loved you first.”

  “I was a little girl!” I gasp. “It was wrong!”

  “Those are lies force-fed to you, Anastasiya.” His hands claim my face, lips targeting mine.

  The previous bout of disbelief doesn’t latch on. I growl, “Truth! I was nine when we met. The thought of kissing you a second ago makes me want to drink industrial cleaner!”

  Irek runs the back of his hand along his wet jaw. “The Young Resnov came to see me once. He had a tantrum, started a fire. Aside from having my life flash before my eyes, he made me realize something.”

  “What.”

  “I learned how I’d never be over you. There was a girl that night, too, when that savage came by. She resembled you in age, mannerisms, looks. Notwithstanding her mixed heritage, she lacked your spunk, albeit she learned to submit. To say the things you said, to fear me as you did.”

  “I never feared you!”

  A fond memory softens the fine grooves in his face. “You feared my disappointment, Anastasiya. That if you didn’t regurgitate precisely what I taught you about a certain piece of art, you’d no longer have my love. You were perfection. You passed the test.”

  Again, I reach out to lunge at Irek while he rises from the bed. “What test?! My life is not a game, mudak!”

  Irek unbuckles his belt. His eyes sear into mine.

  “What’s your plan? To hit me because I’m the same breed as Simeon? I love him. I hate every part of you.”

  “You love the Young Resnov, yet you won’t speak Russian? Ha! Hit you? Nyet.” His barely there lips move into a devilish grin. The nickname, Volk, had come from a naïve, young girl’s need to recategorize a man she once adored. But he is the fucking Wolf.

  The monster, the scum. I lunge my knees together to shield a part of myself from him. Irek had a claim to my soul years ago, though he never touched my virtue. My sex belongs to Simeon.

  “If-If you touch me,” I choke out the words, “I will kill you, Irek. Not a single man on this earth will stop me from tearing you in half! Don’t you dare touch me.” Please, please, don’t touch me. Simeon, where are you? What happened?

  Irek unleashes his belt, lets it fall to the ground. In a debonair manner, he removes his cufflinks. A low, pleasing hum of enjoyment emits from his abdomen.

  “Remember the well-educated young lady I trained you to be, Anastasiya.”

  Clothing tailored for him alone slides to the ground. Continuing to hum, Irek removes a small set of scissors from his pocket. He gestures toward my gown. “May I?”

  “No, please, n-no,” I croak. C’mon, Asya, fight him. Do something, save yourself, you stupid suka!

  With meticulous care, the fine, hand-sewn lace shreds down the center. The humming stops. Irek licks his lips and unsheathes my breasts. The warmth of him slithers across my nipple. Rearing my chin back, I headbutt him. Too frantic. I’ve connected with his jaw. All the stars meant for him dance before my gaze.

  “Uh oh, you shouldn’t have done that,” Irek replies in a playful tone. He climbs from the bed, grabs his belt, and twirls each end around his fists. I scream as the leather strap confines my throat.

  The pressure applied to my throat teases, pulls at my oxygen. Wetness blurs my gaze as Irek aligns his body over mine. This is my last chance to save myself from him! I’m bound, but the mudak cannot silence me.

  “Irek . . . please. You love me.” My lips tremble on each enunciation. Gathering conviction from deep down in my soul, I repeat, “You love me. I am not a Castle Girl. I am not one of them. I’m the one you have loved so much. So, so much.”

  Irek stops shoving my legs aside. His forehead falls, only to kiss my jaw. His breath skirts across my skin in a heavy sigh.

  “I am not a Castle Girl,” I sniffle.

  “True. Your value far exceeds those whores. You’ve been corrupted, my love,” Irek murmurs in my ear. “Only I can fix you . . .”

  Crushing my eyes closed, I wait for him to invade my body. I suddenly have one last desperate thought that might save me.

  “Our first time,” I strangle out. “You want it to be special.”

  Oxygen depleted lungs squeeze in my chest. Then I choke on air like I’ve come up from a thousand miles below the ocean’s surface.

  Irek moves from between my thighs. His lips are a tight line. His gaze dances over my nakedness before settling confidently on my pupils.

  “Forgive me for my momentary lapse in judgment, Anastasiya. After all these years, our first time should occur under mutually favorable circumstances. Once you are reinstructed, we will have our special night.”

  Without warrant, my lips tremble at the thought of what could have been. He almost stole a part of me that I’ve only ever granted to Simeon. Irek clears his throat, redressing. Tears flood my eyes. I blink back blurred vision because I’m still in his presence. What’s to determine that the Volk won’t break?

  “Let us resume our proper course.” Irek moves across a room as grand as the Resnov palace to the double doors. The illumination is faint, yet I perceive two armed guards in the hallway. Irek speaks with one of them. Then from the shadows, sauntering into the room is the Resnov Castle Girl whom I love more than blood.

  “Kosta!” I jar at my confines. “Help me, sestra.”

  “She . . . does . . . not . . . remember.” Kosta’s lips pull into a vicious line.

  My eyebrows stitch. “What don’t I remember?”

  “I saw you taken this morning, sestra,” she declares, sauntering forward. “Actually, I saw you earlier than that. It was from afar when the Brit assisted me in entering the palace, undetected.”

  “What are you talking about?” My eyebrows pin together.

  “Eh, a note that I left at the palace. But more about that later.” Her sneer raises into a full-on grin. “Earlier, what I did bring to your attention, before y
our bout of amnesia, is how I’m done with you, Anastasiya. How you love Sim—”

  Kosta falls to her knees. A bullet pierces between her eyes. The trajectory sends blood and skull fragments splattering across the linen at the foot of the bed. White-blonde tresses fan away from her scarred cheeks as the rest of her body catches momentum. The side of what was the rest of her face slams against the glossed wood floors.

  Irek places a gun into a carved box. “She was a plague, krasivaya.”

  I sob. “Why?” Apparently, portions of time are missing based on whatever Kosta was talking about before . . .

  “Kosta reached out to my associates, indicating that you needed me. I flew her in from Italy of all places.” He pauses, a condolence smile inserted at the edges of his mouth. “Kosta assumed seeking my assistance would serve as some sort of punishment for you. But I’m here to rectify my wrongs. Nobody will stop us. Not the Young Resnov . . . or any assets at his disposal because today doesn’t exist. Every satellite, every server that picked up my profile, even my own security network, is being reconfigured to a day in the near past. Then there’s the tricky part of actually accessing this false data since it’s all encrypted.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That I covered all my bases. You were never here. With regard to anyone using technology, searching for you, you’ve vanished.” He claps his hands together. “Now, I will help you become the gorgeous girl we all once knew.”

  I bite down on my tongue, too infuriated to say a single word.

  “Now, your training must resume.”

  My pupils expand as a nightmare comes to fruition behind Irek. A tendril of fear wraps around me, igniting into an inferno at the horror. Throat clamped, I strangle out one single word, “Oleg.”

  Chapter 13

  Simeon