Untamed (Bratva Kings #2)

Chapter 16

RODION

The fire crackles in the corner of the cabin, casting the room in a warm, flickering glow. I sit on the edge of the bed, my fingers tracing the rough rope that held her hours ago. It lies in a coiled heap now, harmless, but the memory of how her body strained against it—how she begged—lingers in my mind, stirring something deep and raw inside me.

She stirs beside me, her breath catching as she shifts against the mattress. Her hair’s a wild tangle, sticking to her flushed cheeks, and when she shifts again, I see it—the faint red marks on her wrists and my handprint painting her ass.

Maybe I pushed too far. Maybe the line between fantasy and reality blurred too much.

She wakes with a small gasp, her green eyes fluttering open to meet mine. For a second, she looks disoriented, like she’s not sure where she is, but then a small smile curves her lips. “Water,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse.

Oh fuck. I worked her harder than I thought. Got a little carried away.

I reach for the glass on the nightstand, but before I hand it to her, I gently grab her wrist with my hand. My fingers move carefully, massaging the faint lines the rope left behind.

“Does it hurt?” I ask, my voice quieter than I expect.

She sits up slowly, taking the glass from me and sipping it before answering. “Not really,” she says, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. “Why do you look guilty?”

I nod toward her body, the marks on her skin and her still-disheveled state. “I just—seeing you like this. The welts, your hair…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I don’t know, Ember. Maybe I overdid it.”

Not that it would be the first time. I was in constant shit with Rafail when I was younger for pushing too hard, taking too many risks, not listening to?—

“God, no.” She blinks at me, then her smile turns into something brighter, more playful. “Overdid it? Rodion, you’ve got to be kidding me.” She leans closer, her voice soft but firm. “You didn’t overdo anything. It was perfect. All of it.” Her eyelids flutter closed as if she’s still half-asleep.

I listen as her words sink in, cutting through the unease settling in my chest, and I let out a breath. “Good,” I murmur, brushing her wild hair back from her face. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

She grins, but when her smile falters, I see a glimpse of something darker in her expression, enough to make me pause.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice sharper now.

She shakes her head, but I catch the flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” I say, shifting so I’m kneeling on the bed in front of her, forcing her to look at me. “You were afraid tonight, Ember. I didn’t expect that. Why were you afraid when I took you? I mean, I expected a little fear, but I thought you’d know right away…”

Her breath catches, her throat working around a word she doesn’t want to say. Finally, she nods.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “For a second, I thought… I thought it might be him. You know.”

The rage that surges in my chest is instant and white-hot, but I keep it contained, letting it simmer under my skin. “And now?” I ask.

She swallows hard, her eyes glinting with something like guilt. “Now I’m just afraid you’ll think you went too far.” But when she looks away, there’s sadness in her gaze.

I clench my jaw, forcing myself to stay still. “I hate that you thought it was him. I hate he’s in your head. This is what fucking sucks about people like him,” I say, my voice low and rough. “They make the victim think it was their fault. Like they should be afraid of justice instead of him.”

Her lips press together, and I see the tears gathering in her eyes, though she blinks them away before they can fall.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” I say after a moment. “But you’re going to tell me. You’re not carrying this alone anymore, Ember.” I give her a long look. “And I want you to admit there’s nothing ‘fake’ about the two of us anymore.”

She nods as her eyes light up, her fingers brushing mine, and the connection feels fragile yet solid enough to hold.

I stand, moving toward the fireplace. I stoke the fire to keep it warm.

“That’s some delicious caveman porn, watching you tend a fire.”

I give her a half smile and shake my head. “Is there anything you don’t fantasize about?”

“Uhm. Amish romance. Vanilla sex?”

My shoulders shake with laughter.

“I’m sorry I don’t cook, but I brought marshmallows. There’s sandwich stuff in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

She laughs, the sound like a spark of light in the heavy quiet. “Marshmallows for dinner?”

“You’re lucky I brought those,” I tease, grabbing the bag.

She pulls on one of my shirts, the oversized fabric swallowing her, and pads barefoot to the kitchenette.

Fuck, that’s a sight I’d give anything to see daily.

“I missed you today,” she says over her shoulder, not looking at me. I wonder if she can admit it to my face. The words hit me harder than they should. She didn’t say it like it was a casual comment. There’s weight in her tone, a confession she’s not ready to meet me head-on with.

Her head tilts slightly, and she glances over her shoulder at me. The cabin is so small, she doesn’t have to move much to bridge the gap between us. “Want to tell me about it?”

I shake my head, my jaw tightening. “I can’t.”

Her gaze lingers, searching my face for something I can’t give her.

I see the man’s face again, pale and bloodied, in the backroom of the club. He’d tried to skim off Bratva funds—our funds—thinking no one would notice. He wasn’t wrong to be afraid when I walked in. He just didn’t realize I was the least of his problems.

I didn’t pull the trigger, but I watched. Listened. Stood there while he begged, while I trussed him up and sent him off to my brothers to be punished. We wanted to make him sweat it out.

I played my part like I always do—stone-faced, silent.

Fucking complicit.

There’s no way to explain that to Ember.

“You don’t have to tell me everything, you know,” she says after a moment, turning back to the fire. Her voice is casual, but I catch the trace of disappointment beneath it.

I push off the couch, closing the distance between us in a few strides. “If I told you everything, you’d run.”

It’s the most truthful I’ve been with her.

She studies me for a long moment, the firelight dancing in her green eyes. “Are you sure about that?”

I lean in, brushing my thumb over her jaw, and I feel her shiver under my touch. “You think you can handle the things I’ve done?” I murmur, my voice dropping. “The blood, the bodies, the lies?”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t answer, and I don’t push her. Instead, I settle back against the couch, my hand resting lightly on her thigh.

“I missed you too,” I admit after a moment. The words feel unfamiliar, like they don’t belong to me, but I mean them.

Her expression softens, the tension in her shoulders melting as she leans into me. Her head finds its place on my shoulder, and for a while, we just sit in silence, watching the fire dance in front of us.

Her hand drifts to my chest, the brush of her fingers tracing the jagged line of a scar across my ribs. She doesn’t ask about it, doesn’t speak at all, but her touch lingers. It’s a quiet, deliberate thing—light as a feather but sharp enough to cut through me.

“You’ve got a lot of these,” she murmurs. There’s no pity or judgment in her tone. Just curiosity. A softness that both cuts and soothes me. “I want to trace them with my finger.”

My hand catches hers, pinning it against my chest. My heart pounds under her palm.

Her lips part, surprise flickering in those sharp green eyes. “So much. They each have a story. A story that made you who you are.”

“Yeah. Some earned. Some stolen.” I let out a breath. “All of them mine.”

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. She’s braver than she looks, this beautiful, fiery woman who’s dragged me into her orbit. “Do you ever tell those stories?” she asks, almost teasing.

Almost.

“No.” I shake my head. “But I’ll tell you this much—if anyone ever gave you a scar, I’d put them in the ground before the blood dried.”

Her breath leaves her in a shudder, her cheeks blooming with a heat that matches the firelight. She tries to pull her hand free, maybe to hide how her pulse betrays her, but I don’t let her.

“No one marks you,” I growl, leaning closer until my lips brush her ear. “Not while I’m breathing.”

She finally meets my gaze, a mix of defiance and something softer simmering in her expression. “What if I wanted to leave a mark on you?”

I smirk at her. “You already have, kitten .”

With a satisfied smile, she pads off to the kitchen. “I’m starving.”

“Help yourself.”

I hear her humming to herself, and it makes me smile.

A moment later she returns with a sandwich that looks like… a crime against humanity.

“What the hell is that?” I ask, eyeing the sandwich suspiciously.

“Peanut butter, pickles, and potato chips,” she says, smirking.

“That’s disgusting.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” she says, taking a bite and chewing dramatically.

I narrow my eyes, then snatch the sandwich from her hand, taking a bite. I glare at her as I chew, waiting for the inevitable horror to hit, but—damn it—it’s good. “Fine,” I mutter. “It’s… tolerable.”

“Admit it,” she says, grinning.

“Delicious,” I admit grudgingly, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

She grins wider, her expression finally relaxing, and we settle by the fire, toasting marshmallows and falling into an easy silence.

“So mobsters chill, too? Huh.”

“Call me a mobster again, little queen,” I warn her. “I fucking hate that.”

With a pout, she shakes her head at me. A crazy piece of hair flops in front of her eyes that she blows out impatiently. It’s the cutest damn thing. “You can call me little queen, but I can’t call you a pet name?”

A lazy grin spreads across my face. Goddamn, I love the way she makes me feel. “I didn’t say that.”

“Right,” she says, her arms crossed over her chest. “I can’t call you mobster , and I can’t call you Bratva boy , so what else is there?”

“You could try daddy. Sir? My lord… hey!” Those little throw pillows on the couch are harder than they look. I palm one and toss it to the side before I reach for her. She almost gets out of my grasp, but I catch her just in time and pin her to the couch. “We don’t hit people. We use gentle hands.”

The way she snorts with laughter is so fucking cute. “ We ? I think you have a double standard.”

I arrange her over my lap so she’s facing me, her green eyes sparkling like emeralds under the dim cabin light, her legs anchored on either side of me. I stifle a groan. I trace the underside of her jaw. “Behave yourself before I have to put you in the naughty spot.”

“Rodion,” she says, her voice halfway between a warning and a giggle. The sound of it makes my chest tighten in the best way. “A time-out?” she repeats, her voice laced with disbelief.

“Mm-hmm.” I brush my nose against hers, my smirk growing. “We’ll sit down together, and I’ll explain why your behavior wasn’t acceptable. We can talk about your feelings. It’s all about redirection these days, isn’t it?”

She stares at me, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Oh, this is rich. You, the poster child for violence as a first response, lecturing me about gentle parenting.”

“Do you need me to reframe your choices?” I tease, tilting my head. “Offer you some age-appropriate alternatives?”

She arches a brow. “By all means, show me the light. I must’ve been mistaken because, for some reason, I thought consequences you’d mete out would involve ropes, a dark room, and some Russian curse words.”

I tug a lock of her hair.

“You’ve been paying attention. But not swearing. Only praise, little queen. I’m a firm believer in positive reinforcement.”

Her laughter is bright and genuine. “So did you learn your methods from your parents?”

I blow out a half laugh, half groan. “Uh, no. My older brother was my guardian after my parents died, and he’s a loyal, devoted, but old-fashioned dick sometimes. Drill sergeant? Rules with an iron fist. Did I miss any clichés?” I grimace. “His motto was pain builds character .”

A grimace flits across her features. “Your parents died, and your brother became guardian?”

I nod. “Yeah. I was still a kid, so…”

Her eyes on me, she smiles as her hand covers mine. “And even though he was hard on you, you love him?”

Ha. Like it’s past tense.

Hope glints in her eyes as if she still wants to believe that siblings can love each other. That not everyone’s toxic and hurtful. It’ll be a sore point for her. But I’m not gonna lie.

“I love my family to my core. I’d do anything for them,” I tell her, my voice a little hoarse. I swallow hard, unexpectedly choked up. I miss home. I miss my sisters. I miss my brothers ribbing me, bossing me around, and telling me stories of their ways. I miss my grandfather hobbling around on his cane, doling out Russian adages and wisdom. “I’d do anything for them.”

“Anything?” Her brows knit together as if it’s a concept she can’t quite grasp.

“Anything,” I repeat. “Including taking a woman I want to keep locked away from the eyes of everyone into the public eye. Where other men could look at her.”

Not too far away, a wolf howls. I tug her in closer to me. This cabin’s sturdy and secure, but we are in the middle of nowhere.

I wish we could stay here.

“I think I’ve read too many romance novels,” she whispers, her eyes wide as she plants both hands flat on my chest.

“Yeah?”

Nodding, she continues. “For a minute, I thought that wolf might’ve been a rival shifter.”

“A rival what ?”

She’s so pretty when she snorts with laughter. I lace my hand behind the back of her head and tug her to me so I can kiss her. This time, the kiss is gentle, almost tentative, as I tease her with the brush of my lips to hers. But when I taste her, I can’t help myself. Our tongues touch the barest flicker. I bend her head back and touch my tongue to hers again, relishing the sound of her soft moan and the feel of her pliant body in my hands.

We pull away, panting. “Shifter,” she whispers. “A possessive alpha who transforms into a wolf when someone threatens his woman.”

“Ah.” I nod as if I have a fucking clue what she’s talking about. “Wouldn’t anyone transform into a wolf when someone threatens his woman?”

The sadness in her eyes takes me by surprise. “No, Rodion. But I love that you asked that. Love it.”

“You girls read the strangest things.”

With a shrug, she stifles a yawn. I wore her out.

It feels like a badge of honor.

“Let’s get you to bed. In the morning, we’ll go back to your place and pack a bag before we catch our flight.”

It will be a test for both of us. I haven’t told her yet that my whole family has decided to come to New York. Turns out Polina wants to spend time with her family, and Rafail wants to meet the woman I’m bringing along. That led to Semyon wanting to scope the Romanov family stomping grounds, followed by Zoya saying she didn’t want to stay home alone, and when Yana found out they were all going to New York, she booked a flight from Cape Town to tag along.

“I want to know more about you though,” she says as she stifles another yawn.

I tilt my head, smirking as I lean in closer. “You’re stalling. Don’t make me sit here and make you go to sleep. I’ve got all night.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would,” I murmur, my voice dropping enough so that she shivers against me. “You want to test me? I’ll even read you a bedtime story. Something uplifting, like Crime and Punishment. ”

“Oh god. The absolute worst way to punish a romance girlie. You’re relentless.”

“And you are overdue for some rest.” My tone softens as she struggles to keep her eyelids open. I lift her, cradling her in my arms while I get to my feet and head to the bed. Wordlessly, I tuck her against one shoulder as I pull the blanket down and lay her on the bed.

This, this right here…

Taking care of her when she’s tired, tucking the blanket around her, and watching the way she falls asleep… I didn’t know I needed this.

She’s asking questions. She deserves answers. Answers I’m not sure I know how to give while keeping her safe.

I wish I could wrap her in a bubble where no one could touch her. My gut says she had her innocence stolen once. I’ve watched her moon over her books, and while she might laugh it off as a pastime, I know better.

In her heart, she believes in the power of love. In her heart, she wants to be as loved and cherished as the women in her books.

And goddamn, I want to give it to her. All of it.