Kiss A Villain (No Mercy #1)

1. Yarik

CHAPTER ONE

YARIK

I t wouldn’t be my first time seeing a dead body.

When I was eight years old, I watched my father slit a man’s throat. He made me carry an old, rickety chair into the room. Told me to sit nice and still even when the stranger started screaming, started thrashing, trying desperately to work himself free. The handcuffs caging his wrists were an obstacle. So was the fact that we were miles away from another living soul.

There’d been no one to hear his screams.

No one to save him.

“Watch me, syn ,” Father had ordered while he fisted the man’s greasy hair, holding him still. The knife clasped in his other hand glinted under the flickering overhead light. “Don’t look away, you hear me?”

I’d wanted to turn tail and run. And if not run, then at least cover my ears to quiet the sound of rubber soles squeaking against linoleum as the stranger struggled against the inevitable. But Petr Volkov wasn’t the kind of man you disobeyed—not even when you were his only son— so I’d tucked my clammy hands beneath my trembling thighs and watched .

Watched blood bead beneath the tip of the blade.

Watched the man’s eyes squeeze shut as he begged for mercy.

Watched the way Father showed him none, the knife flicking neatly across the man’s throat to silence him forever.

That was two years ago.

So, no, it wasn’t my first time seeing a dead body, but it would be my first time seeing one that looked so peaceful. I wasn’t sure why the thought of that—of someone dead on account of something other than violence—was so alluring, but here I was.

Carefully, I crept through the tall reeds, my footsteps muffled by the distant hum of traffic on the other side of the River Thames. Moonlight spilled across my thin arms as I used a large stick to slash my way through to the riverbank. My cousin Vera had said that the body was here, but Vera was also something of a liar. Last year, she’d convinced me that the Fae were real. Another time, when I was five, she tricked me into thinking that I wasn’t a true Volkov, that I’d been snatched from my real family at birth.

“God, you’re glupyy ,” she’d sneered after I had burst into tears. “Stupid and soft .”

Father called me stupid, too, sometimes. Except that I wasn’t stupid and I definitely wasn’t soft , whatever that meant. It was just that my brain worked differently. At least that was what Mama always said before she’d died.

Either way, Father was away on another one of his trips back to Russia which meant that until he came back, I was in charge. If there was a dead body on our land, then I’d have to be the one to do something about it .

Ignoring the way my pulse scrambled with nerves, I pushed past the remaining undergrowth and stepped out into the open.

A cool autumn breeze swept around my exposed calves, pebbling my skin with goose bumps. Up ahead, the path disappeared into an endless streak of midnight black. We lived in a big terrace house in London’s West End, but whenever Father went out of town, he preferred that me and my little sister, Nina, stay on the family estate instead. Out here, it was easy to feel like the last person on Earth, the darkness so thick that you could choke on it.

A shiver of foreboding slithered down my spine.

Fumbling in my pocket, I pulled out the torch that I’d brought with me and turned it on, angling the harsh yellow light directly ahead of my feet. Dirt. Pebbles. Not much else. Holding in an anxious breath, I swung the light toward my left, then my right, then squared my shoulders and marched onward.

Maybe this was another one of Vera’s tricks.

Maybe she was out here, too, just biding her time until she could pop out of the bushes and bust me for being glupyy .

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid —

I squeezed the torch in an angry fist, hating the thought that maybe she’d gotten the better of me yet again. She’d probably made it all up, too—sat in her bedroom with her fuzzy slippers and a mug of steaming chocolate that she’d ordered Chef to make her even though he’d gotten off the clock hours ago. Vera didn’t ask anyone for anything.

I hated her .

What I hated even more was the fact that my hands were trembling.

I could admit that I was scared, which normally wouldn’t be a problem because I was constantly surrounded by Father’s soldiers, except that I’d managed to sneak out past the guards, which meant that no one aside from Vera—and maybe my sister Nina—knew where I was. That was a first. For as long as I could remember, Father had assigned two of his best men to be my own personal shadow.

It was so dark out that I couldn’t even see my shadow.

I swallowed, tightly.

Okay. So what if I was completely alone? And so what if there was a dead body around here somewhere? I’d . . . Well, I’d just have to?—

I fell.

No, I tripped .

The stick went flying from my grasp, the cavernous dark suddenly illuminated by a cone of yellow as the torch landed with a dull thud in the grass. Scrambling to my knees, I snatched it up and twisted around to shine a light on whatever had taken me down.

Dark, red-rimmed eyes peered back at me.

Oh.

Oh, bloody hell.

The body wasn’t dead .

I careened backward with a startled yelp, tripping over my feet and falling onto my arse in the dirt. On my descent, the torchlight revealed shattered fragments: a sopping-wet arm reaching for me, torn fabric and a sliver of skin, and then, lastly, the face of a boy not much older than me.

“Wait.”

His voice was hoarse, pleading .

Fear kept mine lodged like a blade stuck in my throat.

For a second, we remained like that, me on the verge of running, him splayed out on the packed dirt like a discarded doll. An afterthought. It almost hurt to look at him. There was a bloody knot on his temple and more of it seeping from the corner of his lips, which he licked at nervously as if he could tell that it’d caught my attention.

I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

Where had he come from?

Slowly, he let his outstretched arm lower to the ground. Light fractured across his knuckles as he dug his fingertips into the hard, unforgiving earth, clearly trying to push himself up into a sitting position. But he didn’t—he couldn’t ?—

Strength seeped right out of him, and he collapsed.

I crawled to his side on my knees.

Being Petr Volkov’s son, I knew just about everyone around here. But I’d never met him . I definitely would have remembered.

This close, I could see that dirt and blood caked the side of his face. I lifted my hand without thought, stroking my thumb across his cold cheek to wipe it clean. The boy hissed under my touch, too weak to do anything but jerk his face away.

I pulled back instantly.

“I didn’t mean—I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. Stupid. Stupid . Heat flushed in my cheeks as I lurched to my feet.

Whoever this boy was, he wasn’t dead.

That meant he wasn’t my problem.

Someone had to be looking for him, right? Maybe it was a good thing Father was away; he didn’t like anyone trespassing on his property. The last time it happened, he set the dogs loose. I hadn’t seen what happened next, but I always figured it couldn’t have been good. Even Vera had kept her mouth shut for the rest of the day.

“You can’t stay here,” I said. “It’s not safe.”

He didn’t respond.

I turned to look back at him, aiming the torch at the ground beside his limp frame so that the artificial light didn’t glare directly in his face. There was even more blood now. It dripped down over his browbone in a steady stream, and the way his damp hair lay across his forehead revealed more blood congealed around his ear.

He really didn’t look so good.

“I don’t know where you came from.” With an audible squelch, the soles of my trainers sank into a patch of mud. “I don’t know who you are .”

No reply.

Nothing but the unsteady rise and fall of his thin chest.

“I should leave you here.” Biting my lip, I swung a quick glance over my shoulder, just to check if we were still alone, before drawing to a stop beside him. “Father won’t care that you’re a kid, barely older than me. He thinks you’re trouble, he’ll put a bullet in your brain and bury you where no one will ever find you again.”

He’d brought me to that cabin.

Slit a man’s throat in that cabin and made me watch.

Later, he’d handed me a shovel and told me to dig.

“I don’t think you deserve to die like that,” I whispered, as though Father could actually hear me, all the way in Moscow. “But I think if I leave you here, you’ll die anyway.”

Everyone said that I was stupid, and I must be, because instead of doing the smart thing and walking away, I lowered to my haunches and warily eyed the almost dead boy in front of me. I was big for my age. Always had been. For once, my size worked to my benefit because it let me slide an arm under the boy’s narrow back. I wouldn’t be able to carry him all the way home, but I could at least take on most of his weight.

He whimpered as I dragged him onto his feet and hugged him close to my side. “You’ll probably regret this,” I said quietly. Then I put one foot in front of the other, already knowing that I was making a grave mistake.

“What the fuck, Yarik? You brought him here? ”

Vera was five years older than me. After her birthday a few months ago, I’d thought turning fifteen might change her a little, but as she stared at me with her jaw practically on the floor, it suddenly seemed pretty obvious that age had nothing to do with the core of a human being. She was still the same snake that she’d always been, and I’d still seen toddlers with more backbone.

“You can’t just—” Clearly flustered, her fingers curled around the lip of the door like she wanted to close it in my face. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“You’re the one who told me about him.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d do anything about it!” I half expected her to stomp her feet, but she just glared at me from under her dark brown fringe, the shade a sharp contrast to my own blond hair. “Besides, I thought he was dead.”

“Well, he’s not.” I was sweating through my clothes. The walk from the river had started to feel like a never-ending nightmare by the time we’d reached the halfway point near the gnarled oak tree with its ancient branches that almost kissed the ground. More than once, the boy’s legs had given out beneath him, and more than once, we’d had to stop and rest. Now, I was barely holding him upright, his weight feeling as if it might slip right through my fingers.

“Are you going to help me or not?” I demanded.

My cousin skimmed the both of us with a critical eye. “Not.”

“ Idi na hui ,” I growled, elbowing her aside.

“Learning some big words now, are we, dvoyurodnyy brat ?” She trailed after us, keeping up a running stream of commentary as I tried to stick to the corridors that were designated for the housekeeping staff. “If it were anyone else, I’d say that you’re about to get caught, but that’s not going to happen, is it? You’re so boring that your guards probably think you’re asleep in your room right now. I bet they don’t even know you left.”

I gritted my teeth.

“What are you even going to do with him? Keep him like a pet?”

“He’s not a pet .”

“You’ll have to feed him, won’t you?”

Why wouldn’t she just shut up? “I’m not going to let him starve him, Vera.”

“He’ll need water, too.”

“I know,” I snapped.

“So, he needs to be fed and watered. Sounds like a pet to me. Or a plant.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“At least I’m not already dead.”

“He’s not?—”

“I’m not talking about him, Yarik. I’m talking about you . You’re totally going to die for this, so what’s the point of going through all the effort to save him?”

The sad truth was, she wasn’t lying. When Father caught wind of this, I’d be lucky if the only thing he did was string me up and whip my back raw. He’d done it before, too. More times than I could count. These days, I knew better than to voice the thoughts inside my head.

Around Petr Volkov, it was safer to say nothing at all.

“Hold on,” I muttered to the boy even though I was pretty sure he’d passed out long before we’d reached the house. I was more or less hauling him along, my left arm wrapped around his waist while I clutched his right hand in mine, his arm growing heavier and heavier where it rested across my shoulders. “Just a little bit more.”

“Where’d he come from, anyway?” Vera asked.

“I don’t know.” The better question was, “What were you doing down by the river?”

When Vera didn’t answer, I turned to find that she’d conveniently disappeared.

Figured .

My cousin would happily interrogate someone for hours but rarely sat in the hot seat herself.

I was panting by the time we made it to my room. It took some awkward shuffling to get the door open, but I managed well enough until we were safely tucked away behind the closed door—no lock, unfortunately. Father wouldn’t allow us any—and I had him laid out on my bed.

He looked like a fallen angel.

“Just . . . just stay there.” Clumsily, I fluffed the pillow behind his head like that was the worst of his problems. “I’ll be right back.”

Then I darted into the loo, where I pushed aside a small cabinet before dropping down onto my knees. If Father knew that I’d taken a hammer to his wall—or that I’d made a habit of sneaking into Uncle Igor’s medical room, to forage for a makeshift First Aid kit—he’d go berserk. Punishments, he always said, were meant to be endured like a man.

If he took a lash to my skin, I wasn’t allowed to cry.

If he made me bleed, I was meant to stoically withstand the pain.

I was his heir, the prince to his criminal empire, and he’d kill me himself before he ever let me be a disappointment to the Volkov name.

So maybe I was boring like Vera said, but being boring definitely had its perks. Mainly, being able to move around as I wanted without attracting attention from my bodyguards. Contrary to what everyone thought of me, I’d grown to appreciate living in the shadows. It was the only time I ever felt free.

With the contraband cradled in my arms, I hightailed it back to the bed. He hadn’t moved at all, hands limp on his stomach, legs still casually draped over the side of the mattress where I’d left them.

He seemed so . . . lifeless .

I wasn’t the one who’d left him out there to die, but I couldn’t help feeling strangely guilty as I looked down at him. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

I’m even sorrier that you’re stuck with me .

Didn’t matter that I’d never tended to anyone but myself before; I was all he had. Plus, if I’d figured out how to stitch up my own injuries, then I could certainly fix him .

Squaring my shoulders, I dumped my stash on the bedside table. There were a few things I was running low on, but I wasn’t willing to risk venturing into Uncle Igor’s wing of the mansion, not so soon after he’d been forced to stay behind while Father traveled without him. Sometimes, Father did that—played mental games with his younger brother so Uncle Igor rarely ever dropped his guard. He couldn’t, not when every aspect of his life sat clutched in the palm of a predator.

Luckily, I’d stuck to the shadows well enough over the years, quietly watching Uncle Igor as he patched up Father’s soldiers, so I had a decent understanding of what needed to be done. Cleansing wipes. Antibacterial cream. I grabbed both to start with, sat my arse down on the corner of the mattress, and got to work.

It was the first time I was able to really look at him.

He was of Asian descent with olive skin, an angular face, and hair black like a raven’s. With a pang of empathy, I went to push the matted strands off his forehead before yanking my hand back just as quickly. He hadn’t appreciated being touched. Chewing my bottom lip, I swept my gaze over the rest of him. I’d been right about his age; he couldn’t be any older than eleven or twelve. With his eyes closed like they were, he looked even younger. The strained furrow between his brows had faded, and so had the tension pinching his mouth. His still-damp clothes were dirty with dried blood and whatever else lurked at the bottom of the River Thames. On a second pass, I noticed bruises on the backs of his hands.

What happened to you?

While I cleaned him up, I couldn’t help but let my brain run wild. Maybe he’d slipped in by accident and had been caught in the current. Or maybe he’d been pushed—in my world, that was more likely—and he’d never stood a chance.

However he’d ended up like this, I couldn’t keep him here forever. Sooner or later, we’d be found out.

The minutes passed by in silence as I bent over him, carefully cleaning and then closing the gash on his temple with tiny little stitches. It was a lot easier to work on someone else for a change, and when I finished, I sat back with a giddy rush of pride. Those stitches were perfect. Better than any I’d ever done. It wasn’t like Uncle Igor or Father were here to see them, and it wasn’t as if I’d show them even if they were, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to scream, See? I’m not stupid like you all think I am.

“I know it probably doesn’t feel like it right now,” I said to the boy, watching his face closely for any sign of acknowledgment before I turned to put my things away, “but you’re totally going to live. We’ll have to figure out how to get you out of here when you wake up, though, so don’t start thinking that you’re in the clear.”

He didn’t say anything, but that was okay.

I’d saved him.

His skin was hot.

I rushed to the bathroom and grabbed hand towels from the drawer beneath the sink, turning the cold tap on in a hurry before shoving the whole bundle under the lukewarm water.

Colder, I needed it to be colder .

Just to spite me, the water stayed lukewarm.

From the bedroom, I heard a small moan of discomfort. He’d started kicking at the sheets an hour ago. At first, I thought maybe he was having a nightmare, but even after kicking almost all of the blankets to the foot of the bed, he’d been unable to stay still. Now he was burning up, and why wouldn’t the water get any colder?

Unwilling to wait another second, I left the tap running as I sprinted back to my room, where I kneeled at his side, panic gripping my lungs. “I’m going to fix you. I promise, okay? Just . . .” With a damp hand, I grabbed the single sheet tangled around his calf and flung it to the floor. “We just need to cool you off, that’s all.”

That’s all .

As I pressed one of the lukewarm towels to his feverish skin, I squeezed my eyes shut and did the one thing that I hadn’t since we’d lost Mama—I prayed.

Please don’t let him die.

Please tell me that I didn’t kill him.

Please, please, please .

“I don’t know—I’m sorry?—”

The wet towels weren’t working. Cleaning his wounds hadn’t helped. My hands trembled so much that I dropped the pill bottle twice before I managed to crack the top open and shake one out into my sweaty palm.

I looked down at the pill. I looked up at the boy.

“I don’t know how to help you.” My voice quivered with the admission. I was terrified, and he was deathly hot, and I was in over my head. If I waited any longer, he might die. If I sought out help, they might kill him. It felt like my back was up against a wall and there was no way out. I was running out of time?—

The boy let out a cry.

The tortured sound rose the hair on my nape, and I stumbled toward him with the pill still clutched in my clammy fist. “Hold on,” I begged him, my gaze moving frantically over thrashing limbs. “Please, just hold on?—”

Shadows clung to every corner of Uncle Igor’s wing.

For once, I wished Vera was still tailing me, if only so her constant chatter would put an end to the ominous silence that permeated this side of the mansion. But she wasn’t here, and it was just me, so I forced one foot in front of the other, knowing with every step I took that if I liked having my head attached to my shoulders, I should turn my arse around and never look back.

No one really needed to know about the boy.

You can always hide his body after .

Thanks to Father’s many lessons, I was good at that—getting rid of the evidence—so what was I doing, stopping in front of Uncle Igor’s bedroom door when I knew that he preferred to be left alone? Forget that—why was I even lifting a fist to knock on the dark wood?

Run .

My ears pricked at the squeal of mattress springs followed immediately by the heavy tread of footsteps.

Run .

There was a small pause as if he was deliberately gathering his hard-fought patience, before the knob jiggled, turned.

Run .

The door swung open, and cold blue eyes peered down at me from a face carved by the hand of fire, the old, twisted scars alongside his temple and cheek appearing even more sinister in the dim lighting. Uncle Igor propped a hand on the doorframe, his big body looming over mine.

“What do you want?”

I opened my mouth to reply, and, to my horror, nothing came out.

Disgust flitted across his weathered face. “Let’s try that again.” He didn’t wait for me to speak. “What can I do for you?”

Every molecule in my body itched to flee. This was a bad idea. All of it. I should have left the boy by the river. Should have ignored Vera in the first place when she mentioned seeing a dead body. None of it was my business, and what was I even thinking, trying to save him?

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stu—

“Yaroslav.”

“I n-need . . .” Fear crowded my heart, and the whole corridor seemed to tilt sideways. It was too late now. I could run with my tail tucked between my legs or voice exactly what I’d come here to say—I’d suffer the same fate either way. More lashes. More scars. I scraped together the fragments of my courage, trembling fists locked together at the base of my spine, out of sight from prying eyes, and confessed:

“I-I think I k-killed him.”