“We skip all the middlemen and cut the head of the snake.”
“Exactly.”
“A good plan. The only problem is I want them all dead. Everyone from the paperboy to his second in command. If they knew about his plan to hurt my wife. Their life is forfeit. Buried alive in a grave with the skin you peeled from their body dropped on top for the vultures to feast.”
“Agreed. But Baranov has powerful friends. Friends who protected him in his sex trade business. It’s the only way he could have moved women as imports and exports without us knowing. We weren’t involved in that side of the business, but we should have known. Only a rich and powerful family could have hidden it for so long.”
“You think it was the Italians?” Rurik paused, and she pictured him tapping his fingers on his desk and thinking. “Petur was German. And they could have made a play for the US market. We don’t have many German connections. It could have been Germans.”
“Them or the Turks. With less risk, longer shelf life, and a product you can use over and over, there are many who prefer to deal women over drugs. But whoever they are, they are waiting to see what we will do. No doubt hiding behind truces and agreements. But as soon as we have the evidence on Baranov, they will have to retreat into the shadows. Unable to protest too loudly. Not when we will have his confession.”
“Will we have his confession?”
“This I swear. He will spit his words out with his blood.”
“You have one week before you leave. Enjoy your bride.”
Jessa flinched at Rurik’s last missive, giving herself away. “I intend to, brother.”
He ended the call and watched her steady her composure. More watching. Those dark obsidian eyes were driving her crazy. “Did you enjoy listening to our conversation?” Her eyes flicked to his, returning his scrutiny. He steepled his hands on his desk, tapping his fingertips together. “Tell me, what did you learn?”
She pressed her lips together and stared at a spot over his shoulder. The silence extended until she couldn’t take it anymore. “I only heard what you wanted me to hear.”
He nodded. Placing his palms flat on the desk and standing up. “True.”
“Why? Why did you want me to hear that?”
He walked around the desk and took her hand to stand her up. Not giving her the chance or the choice to evade his touch again. The feel of his fingers against hers sent lightning through her body. She half expected a blue glowing light to shoot from his fingers with a wizard’s magic bolt. He pulled her closer, settling his arms behind her back with his hands folding into the dip of her lower back. “I will not hide who I am from you. I won’t sneak around pretending to be what I’m not. You didn’t marry a doctor or someone who saves lives. You married the opposite. I’d rather now, then later, find out what you will do with that knowledge.” He lifted a hand to raise her chin. “Because what you do with it, dear wife, will determine how many breaths you have left in this beautiful body.”
She wiggled to wrench out of his arms. But he only moved to hold her hand and guide her to the door. “Ah yes, I’d forgotten how eager you were for my bed. So let me show you to it.”
He led her to the curved staircase leading to the second floor. The warmth of his hand failed to melt the ice of hers. He didn’t want her to share his secrets and yet he kept feeding them to her. Setting her up for a fall she wouldn’t be able to avoid. Not when her uncles came for her. She didn’t know who the Ismailovs were. But it wouldn’t take long for the two families to discover each other. Then it would be their very own game of cops versus robbers. Her best bet was to get away as quickly as possible and try to convince her uncles to stay away. She couldn’t let them end up like Petur. There had to be a way to convince both groups to stand down.
Chapter 4
Sanyet kept his hand on the small of her back as he guided her upstairs to their suite of rooms on the second floor. Her spine had stiffened away from her touch, which only made him want to touch her more. She would crave his touch soon enough. There was no other way. His fingers itched to dip down to the swell of her buttocks and press those globes into his throbbing manhood. But she wasn’t ready for that. Yet. And despite what he’d implied, he would not take her by force. Where was the sport in that?
He’d been twelve years old and returning from school when he saw the officer force his way into their home. Akim and the other bratva members were out on a hunting trip. Sanyet’s stomach had sunk like the Titanic. Why would he arrest mah? Bah was the head of the Ismailovs. He’d turned to run into the woods and bring his father back. When clanging pots and breaking dishes stopped him mid-stride. Followed by a scream that clawed his insides as it begged for help. No one came. No. One. Not even a squirrel scampered in the usually bustling courtyard. Where was everyone? Anyone?
He crept behind the house to peer through the window. And, oh shit. He’d just started cursing. And he still looked over his shoulder when he did it, but this was an ‘oh shit’ moment. Fuck. Fury flooded his body, like water breaking through a dam. Filling him until he drowned in anger. He burst through the back porch, carried on waves of anger. Swept past his mother’s gardening tools and picked up a pair of gardening shears she used on errant bushes. The front of her flowered dress lay open, split down the center, and bruises bloomed on her beautiful face. But still, she fought. She may have been born to another tribe, but she was an Ismailov. She kicked and screamed, her hands clawing for any weapon she could find while the bastard fought to subdue her while pulling his pants down. The rat bastard had come to their home with only one purpose. To destroy Akim Ismailov by taking the one thing he treasured beyond all else.
The man was holding her shoulders down with his pants at half-mast when she froze. Her eyes widened as if the devil himself had appeared with his horns ablaze. She shook her head, crying, “No. No. Please God, no.”
Turos Putin continued with an inhuman snarl, ignoring her cries and pleas. Sanyet did the same. He wasn’t about to retreat, no matter what God she begged. He’d barely been a teen, but he would kill that damn bastard or die trying. Mah’s kicks whirled faster in a wild, frantic fury, trying to kick him off. The distracted Turos didn’t feel a thing. The long pruning shears splintered through his ribs, piercing his lungs. He whirled in agony, but it was too late. Sanyet used the momentum to toss him to the floor. Ripping the shears out with bone and blood and using them to stab him again. And again. His mind a black hole in a faraway galaxy. While his body drifted on a blood-river.
His mother had dressed and ridden for help. Returning with his father and brother. The men had cleaned up the body while his mother had tended to him. He watched from the edges of his black hole and caught words as they echoed through the cosmos. ‘Twenty-four stab wounds. Of course, he is Ismailov. He is bratva. We must host a party. Yes, a party with cake. Cake with twenty-four candles.’
Sanyet began the slow descent back to earth when his mother had taken him to the bathroom to clean up. The blood swirled down the sink in a bloody whirlpool as she’d removed his clothes. He’d wretched when the crimson sodden mess dropped to the floor like flesh. Puked like a baby, longer and harder than Jessalyn had done. His mother had held his face and wiped his brow, patting his back until he had nothing left to heave other than air and bile. Murmuring, “my poor, poor baby.” During the day, he found rivers of blood refracted in every scrap of red. Nightmares hunted him in his sleep. Turos took his revenge for years in Sanyet’s dreams. Until the lovely Ms. Loren had given his pubescent mind something else to occupy the darkened landscape.
Sometimes he wished he could be the old Sanyet. The Sanyet from before that day. The Sanyet who could still feel. Whose heart wasn’t trapped in that black vortex. His mind and body had returned. But they’d returned alone. She’d asked him if he believed in love. He couldn’t. Not when he knew. Knew. That if anyone came for his family, he’d be that guy again. He had killed, many times, to protect his family. And whenever he needed a murderous rage to complete an assignment, he only had to see his mother’s face and struggles.
The thought of taking a woman against her will was enough to sour his stomach. It was a weakness when there was no room for weaknesses. But he’d lived with it so long, like a hand with a wood splinter embedded in the flesh. After so long, it became a part of the body. No longer irritating, but always there. So he’d never taken a woman by force. And he’d never allowed one to be taken under his watch. The men under his command knew that to do so was to forfeit his protection and incur his wrath. And nobody wanted that.
She shivered when he opened the door to the suite. But she didn’t beg. She squared her shoulders like a prizefighter, readying herself for the ring. Was she preparing to fight him? Interesting. He’d been a short puny kid at twelve, but even one year later he’d reached six feet. Gaining another nine inches and adding layers of muscles upon muscles to his frame. No one wanted to fight Sanyet Ismailov, but she was lacing up her gloves.
He waved her into the suite and closed the door. It opened into the suite’s living room. And Jessalyn traipsed away from him as soon as he’d released the knob. Her eyes were wide and wary as she looked around the room. She stood behind the couch, bracing her hands on the edge as if that could protect her.
“Did you hear my brother mention my birds?”