Chapter 10 Taylor
TAYLOR
My heart slows, but my mind can’t take it in as we rise into the air, up, up. Leaving Russia, Yevgeny’s dead body, and the Volk mafia, behind.
Everything is familiar, and yet very different. My ballet colleagues are mostly in the same cramped seats as usual, and there are guards, but they’re suited and serious, breathing hard. Not being gross like Yevgeny’s men.
Kon strides into the middle of the plane.
“Listen up.” Kon’s deep, commanding voice cuts through the hubbub, and everyone turns to look at him. He speaks in Russian, and one of the other girls replies.
His back is to me, and a bolt of something very much like jealousy goes down my spine as I see how he holds the attention of his own men, who are mixed in amongst the rest of us and who look unflinchingly at their leader, and all the dancers.
“English, then,” Kon says. “I apologise for the unconventional way you ended up here. We’ll be swapping planes in a short time to better stay hidden from Volk, then flying to London.
“Where you go after that is your choice. If you have somewhere or someone to go to, we’ll provide transport.
If you haven’t, then you’re welcome to settle in Harlesden for as long as you need.
London,” he clarifies. He reels off a list of a combination of Russian and English names.
“You’ll take the details of help required by…
” He sweeps his hand to indicate the dancers on the right-hand side of the plane.
“Ivan and Danill, you’ll look after this side.
” He pauses, huffs like a dad having his patience tested, then swears in Russian.
“Danill, get something for that wound. If there are particular questions, come to me.”
I’m behind him, so I’m not sure who I should go to. I remain where I am.
The plane comes to life with chatter. The other girls show the full range of emotions. Some are sceptical, others laughing and clinging to each other. Michelle comes over and kisses me in that French way of hers, but she’s quickly distracted, and I think I’m a bit numb. Can’t believe it.
The plane swap is chaotic, but we get everyone from the Volk plane to Kon’s private plane. And that catches all of our attention. It’s plush. Cream leather, thick carpet, huge seats.
The second time we take off, there’s a change.
The smartly dressed cabin crew are remarkably unfazed by the haste and the unexpected passengers, and press us into seats, but the mood lifts.
I see Kon nod when one of the crew asks him something, and then there’s champagne being handed out as soon as we’re in the air, along with canapes as though this is a party.
There’s laughter and intense conversations, and everyone wants to talk to Kon.
It all happens so fast.
We make an odd group. The women I’ve danced with for years, all in their comfy clothes but their straightened hair in tight buns or ponytails, on this luxurious private jet, with Kon’s tattooed men.
I feel very much on the outside.
Then, across the length of the plane, I catch sight of Kon. His hair is askew, like he’s been running his hands through it, and his expression is serious as he lowers his phone from his ear.
One of his men approaches, and speaks and I don’t catch the question. Kon nods and replies in Russian, and as the man smiles and thanks him, Kon heaves a sigh, resting his forearms on his knees. Then, as though he feels my regard, he looks up and our eyes meet.
He too, is alone.
“Taylor.” His lips make the word, but I don’t hear it over the buzz of everyone else on the plane.
He crooks his finger, just as he did last night, and he mouths the command, “Come here.”
And all my body can remember is how that first word felt vibrating against my neck in a demand or a plea as he stroked into me with his cock and rubbed my clit, expression all dark hope and savage focus. “Come.”
I go to him as though dancing steps I’ve been practising for years. I weave and slip between the girls I’ve lived and worked with, and Kon’s men who are looking on with amusement and getting involved with the celebrations.
Then finally I’m at Kon’s side. His gaze flits to the seat next to him, an unspoken command, and I sink into it.
I can’t believe we’re sitting here, next to each other, when he’s been inside me. We had that heart-pounding night, and there’s an energy between us. Awareness.
I’ve seen this man naked, seen his tattooed body and the scars that curve around the sharp black lines. I’ve felt him come. I’ve been in his power, and he used it gently on me.
It still blows my mind that a man like him even exists.
“Your sisters will be at the airport to meet you,” he says abruptly.
“You said they sent you, so I guess you’ve seen them. How are they?” I attempt to sound unworried, but it’s been a long time. Anything could have happened to them just as it did to me. “Are they…” I grasp for the right question. “Well?”
“Yes.” Kon’s eyes are as liquid blue as the sky outside the window of the plane. My pussy throbs unexpectedly at the memory of the way his pupils expanded when he was inside me, the dark rims all that remained. “When I last saw them, they were both well and happy.”
There’s a reserve in his manner that catches at me.
“But…” I supply.
“They live in London,” he continues, even as his expression says, “You got me.”
I suck in a breath. That’s dangerous. “But they’re cared for?”
He pauses. “Loved.”
“That’s good.” I’m not jealous or confused. At all.
There’s a silence, and I catch snippets of other conversations. Eager excitement about arriving in London.
I, on the other hand, am inexplicably torn in a new direction. When we get to London. I’ll see my sisters. And this man who I’ve shared so much with in just twenty-four hours will disappear. I’m not important in his life like he is in mine.
I guess this feeling of being close to him is like a fan and a celebrity. It’s only a crush, because it’s been so long since anyone has been kind to me.
“And love? You said…” It’s almost a self-destructive urge to know about my sisters’ happiness.
“The eldest—”
“Hayley,” I supply.
“Is with a man named Maxim Zaitsev.”
My eyebrows raise. Oh no. No no no.
“Russian.” Kon nods slowly. “He’s the kingpin of Greenwich.”
All the blood drains from my face, then rapidly tries to exit my chest, too.
“It’s okay.” Kon reaches out, almost touching my hand before drawing back. “He’s not so bad. I work with him.”
My expression must speak of my concern. “He’s Bratva.”
“Yes, but…” Kon huffs as though trying to find the right description. “He’s part of the Maths Club.”
“Good, well that clears it all up.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “He’s a nerd who kills people.”
Kon laughs, the sound bubbling out of him like the champagne fizz everyone else is drinking. His teeth are even and white and his one gold tooth at the back makes my heart thud.
Danger.
His laugh. His smile. Whatever caused him to lose that tooth.
“That’s not entirely inaccurate. The Maths Club is really just a group of London Mafia bosses who love their wives and would do anything for them.”
It takes me a moment to connect the dots, and then my mirth evaporates.
“You’re married.” Worse still, he loves his wife, and I…
Oh god, I made him, and where it looked like I didn’t have a choice, actually he didn’t.
No. I think I might vomit
“No, no.” He reaches out and touches my knee with his warm, heavy palm. “There are unattached men in the London Maths Club. I’m one.”
I can breathe again, as though I’ve surfaced from deep underwater. I suck in a shaky breath.
“But Greenwich? My sister’s…”
“Fiancé. They’re going to be married. And it’s called the Maths Club because everyone played along when the Kingpin of Canary Wharf was so in love with his wife that he had to pretend to be a CEO rather than a mafia boss to get her to fall in love with him.”
“Oh. That’s pretty weird. And cute.”
The corner of Kon’s mouth hooks up. “Hence, I said they’re all ‘wife guys’, as the saying goes.”
He holds my gaze, expression a touch confused, as though he doesn’t know what to say, but can’t look away.
“Your other sister—”
“Payton. She’s younger. Hayley’s a year older than me.”
“Yes. She’s married.”
“What?” That’s even more unexpected. “Payton is sweet and a bit silly, and—”
“She married the father of the ex-boyfriend that she used to get money to pay for a private investigator who ultimately found you, after he kidnapped her to his tropical island.”
My jaw drops. “You’re kidding me.”
Kon gives me a ghost of a smile. “I’m a mafia boss. I do not joke.”
Part of me wants to ask more about what’s happened to my sisters, but with luck I’ll hear about that from them very soon. Whereas I might not have another opportunity to talk with Kon.
The man who saved me.
“Hi, Pakhan? Sir, so sorry.” A dancer who I didn’t speak with much appears at Kon’s elbow.
She asks about contacting her family when she doesn’t know their phone numbers or where they are now, and Kon taps something into his phone muttering that Blackfen is doing well today, then assures her he’ll have information before we land.
“But you’re part of the Volk Bratva, too?” I ask when we’re alone again, and I shouldn’t, because he helped me. It’s his business who he’s involved with.
“I was.” He gives a sad, rueful smile, and finally meets my eyes. “They sold me a lie, as I suspect they did you? How did you end up in their clutches?”
“How did you?” I reply, because I’d rather hear about him than tell my own tale of naivety.
He shifts, leaning back into his seat but turned towards me. “I was in Moscow, my parents were drug addicts. I was fourteen and ambitious, and I willingly walked into their trap,” he replies without judgement. “How old were you?”
“Sixteen,” I reply in a small voice.
“They get you when you’re young and vulnerable. No parental influence to help.” His eyes flash with anger. “You were just a child, and they twist all the life out of you.”