18. Celia
Chapter 18
Celia
The safe house does have a shower, but Rage denies both of us the pleasure.
“We are not going shopping like this!” I gape at him while he redresses, moving swiftly through the motions like we’re on a deadline. “You have got to be kidding me!”
He grabs my arm and pulls me into his chest, kissing the next protest from my lips. “We’re not going shopping. I have business to attend to. It can’t wait, and I’m not leaving you here without me.”
I’m wearing panties, but a thin strip of cotton is no match for the flood between my thighs. “I can’t go out there like this! I’m in a skirt , Rage! People will be able to—” my face flushes—“smell me!” I tug my skirt lower, but it’s no use. It’s a mini skirt, so named because of how little coverage it provides. “I wasn’t planning on having sex when I put this on!”
“You should always plan for sex with that on.” Rage’s smile turns wolfish. “In fact, we’ll keep it on next time.”
My face flushes crimson. I want to tell him that there won’t be a next time, but—didn’t I promise something like, oh, I don’t know, having his baby? I press my hand to my stomach, butterflies fluttering rapidly within. I can’t be held responsible for decisions made under duress. Surely, Rage will understand if I tell him that I didn’t mean it?—
He catches what I’m doing and a sunny smile breaks across his face.
Shit. Maybe not.
The door suddenly opens, and I shriek in surprise and cover my chest with my sweater. My bra is still lost to the floor somewhere.
Ducking through the doorway, the limo guy from the last club event at Midnight enters the room. What was his name? Thanos? His gaze flicks between Rage and me, disinterest quickly turning into something sour. Lip curling, he shoulders the duffel bag slung across his back before dropping it to the ground. “Did you just have sex? Here? ”
“Thanatos,” Rage greets, ignoring the question while he buckles his belt. “This is good. We need to talk. Have a seat. No, actually, grab your things. We’ve got a job.”
“ You have a job. I just got back.” There are dark circles under his eyes that weren’t there the last time we met, his hair unkempt and dirty. He drags his bag across the floor to the bed, frowns at the messy sheets, then drags it over to the desk. Unzipping it, he pulls out a handful of weapons of all sizes. Knives. Pistols. A semi-auto rifle and multiple ammo cartridges. Once he’s rummaged around for all the loose bits, he kicks the bag back toward the bed. “I’m not due in for another six hours.”
Six hours. What a shit schedule.
Rage bends, plucking my bra from beneath a small accent table, and tosses it toward me. “Get dressed, Celia.”
“I need to shower!”
“No, you don’t.” Even Rage looks freshly-fucked, a sheen of sweat still sticking to his skin. He wears the sexed-up look well, dripping with confidence that makes my pussy flutter. God, I shouldn’t want to have sex with him again so soon.
But me, on the other hand—I bet I look like a drowned rat that barely made it out of the river alive.
The other guy’s gaze flicks toward me once he’s seated in a flimsy metal chair that looks like it’ll snap under his weight. His eyes narrow as he looks me up and down, clearly disliking everything about me.
The feeling’s mutual, asshole. The buzz from life-altering sex is officially killed.
“Yeah, she does. She smells like a whore.”
I choke on saliva.
“But not here. I’m staying here, Rage,” he sighs, running a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Get the fuck out with your—” he laughs , throaty and deep, cutting himself off before he can finish his thought. “God, I need some sleep.”
“Celia. Bra. Sweater. Boots.” Rage fixes me with a stern look before walking over to his half-brother. He grabs the gun Thanatos is trying to clean, impeding his progress. “That whore ,” he rumbles, “is mine. She has a fucking name. Use it.”
Thanatos glares at Rage, then at me. “You need a goddamned shower, princess. There, happy?”
A frustrated cry catches in my throat. “I’m not a princess!”
“You’re not anything!” he snaps back, standing so fast that his chair crashes to the floor. “You’re not a part of this fucking family or this bratva. What the hell is she doing here, Rage? If she’s just a hole for you to fill?—”
I gasp aloud.
“—do it in your fucking club! Not in my bed!”
“She is my woman ,” Rage seethes, clenching his fists. “I’ll fill her up as much as I fucking please, wherever I please. You’ll be happy about it when you’re jerking off to our cum on your sheets.”
Thanatos’s jaw clenches, a muscle in his neck pulsing. “I will not jerk off to some prima donna bitch.”
I shove my arms through my sweater and tug it over my head. Screw the bra.
“ Excuse me , I’m right here!” I storm over to both men and plant my hands on my hips. “An actual human being, not a cum dumpster, or a prima donna princess, or whatever stupid title you’re gonna throw at me next.” I glare at Thanatos. “I didn’t know you were living here, so I’m sorry. I’d hate if someone else had sex in my bed, too—” I wince at the memory of that exact thing happening to me—“but I genuinely had no idea. You don’t have to be a dick about it. And you, ” I hiss, jabbing Rage’s chest with my fingertip, “stop being so vulgar and maybe someone will actually like me! It’s like none of you grew up with a sister or a mother or anyone other than yourselves. Our image matters! How people perceive us matters. We can’t go around swinging our fists every time someone insults us.” I roll my eyes.
“That’s all you princesses know, isn’t it?” Thanatos crosses his arms over his chest. “Petty bullshit about makeup and parties and fancy red heels. Fake smiles and faker tits.” He glares at me. “There are real threats out there, ones that you can’t fuck into submission.” He turns his glare onto Rage. “I never expected to come back and find you pussy-whipped. You’ve even talked the others into it! All three of you are obsessing over this girl like she’s some God-given miracle, when all she is, is leftover trash her husband threw out.”
It’s like a punch to the gut.
Thanatos isn’t finished yet, his face burning red as he rages. “Your daddy couldn’t stand having such a weak daughter, could he? Had to kill himself just to get away from you. You weren’t even chosen as our interim Queen when Valentina left, because you were too scared to marry one of our own, running off to some white collared bastard?—”
“ Shut up, ” Rage roars, jamming the barrel of a Glock under Thanatos’s chin. “Shut up, shut up! You have no idea what any of us have been through, because you left! Five years, Thanatos! Who do you think kept Rebel from snorting himself into an early grave? And Ruin—he needs an outlet for all the fucked-up shit he’s been through, so who do you think gave him one? Because it sure as shit wasn’t our older brother. Off chasing ghosts—” He growls, cocking the gun back. “There’s nothing out there but shadows, Than, because we killed our demons. Don’t go looking for them here, too.”
My heart races. I don’t really like the guy at this point, but Thanatos is Rage’s brother. “You can’t kill him,” I stammer. “Rage, that’s your—he’s family. ”
“Family doesn’t walk away,” Rage retorts, glaring. “But maybe a half- brother does. God, you sound just like Dad. He pulled the same bullshit, and look how that ended up.” Rage shakes his head. “That grudge you’ve got, Than, it’s real fucking ugly. It’ll get someone killed.” He lowers the gun and shoves it into his waistband behind his back. Then he pulls his arm back and swings, connecting with Thanatos’s jaw with a sickening crack.
I stumble backward, expecting a fight, but Thanatos spits blood onto the carpet and grunts. He doesn’t move to return the punch. “Get out.”
Rage stands between me and Thanatos while I zip up my boots and grab my purse. I’ve lost my bra again, so I’ll have to leave without it. The cold is gonna be a bitch when the sun goes down. Thankfully, neither of them speaks to me as I grab Rage’s hand and pull him toward the door. Rage doesn’t look at me until we’re two blocks away, his own anger still simmering just beneath the skin. He takes a steady breath before grasping both of my hands in his.
“Are you okay?” he asks, searching my face, then my body, like he’s expecting to find bruises. “I didn’t know he would show up. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “What was that about?”
“Thanatos?” Rage pulls a face. “He’s got issues like the rest of us.”
“No, I mean—” I take a breath. “How does he know those things about me?” The divorce, sure, that’s common knowledge at this point. But my dad? That was years ago. The official story is that he committed suicide, but I suspect that it was an inside job. Someone within the bratva took him out.
It’s the way all criminals die, in the end. Backstabbed by one of their own.
A shiver rolls down my spine, making my teeth chatter. I don’t like to think about my father, because he’s a reminder of everything that’s wrong with the world. My world. I left the bratva because a good man died for someone else’s sins. My brother and I lost our father, my mother lost her husband, and for what?
Money?
Shaking my head, I try to clear the oncoming headache before it starts. “The bratva, I—” I wince. “I know they were upset when Valentina left the city, but I stayed. I’m still here.”
Rage clenches and unclenches his jaw for a moment. “You married an outsider.” It’s a fact, not an accusation, but it still sounds like one. “You only got away with it because your dad was already dead. If I were Mikhail—” he grips my chin, pushing his thumb against my lips, “—I would have married you off to some rich, eligible vor the moment your ex dared put a ring on your finger. Because, Celia, you belong in the bratva. You belong with me. ”
“If he married me off, I wouldn’t be yours right now.”
Smiling, Rage slants his lips over mine, humming into our kiss. “Trust me, mama, nothing would stop me from taking this. ” He grabs my ass and spins us around, pressing me against the cool metal of his car. “You’re just as mine now as you would be with another man’s ring on your finger. Which there wouldn’t be, because I’d kill him before he could ever get to you. The only reason it took me this long,” he murmurs, slipping his hand beneath my skirt and palming my ass, “is because I didn’t realize how perfect you were for me yet. That came later.” He brushes his lips over mine with a sigh. “I’m only sorry it took me so long.”
A question wriggles in the back of my mind. I’ve asked it before, and now I have even more unanswered questions about all three brothers. Four , if I include Thanatos, which it seems like I have to now. They fight for attention, each question needing answered, but I stick to the most pressing for now. “Rage…”
He kisses me, slow and sweet, despite the hand curving between my thighs to feel the cum leaking around my panties. “Yes?”
“When did we first meet? Did I know you back when…” I think to what Thanatos said earlier. “…things were different for you and your brothers?” If what Thanatos said is true, they’ve had a tougher life than I’d realized. The image of Rage’s bare chest flashes through my mind, the mottled skin pink and raised, and I wonder what happened to him. I wonder what happened to all of them.
“You mean harder , not different , ” Rage muses, grabbing the thick flesh of my thigh. His palm skates up and down my skin, teasing me. “Maybe we knew each other back then. It’s difficult to know for sure. I kept my focus on our family once things went—” he scrunches up his face, like there’s a bad taste in his mouth—“south.” He nips my bottom lip. “But things are much better now.”
“So we met at Midnight ,” I try to clarify, grabbing Rage’s wrist to keep his hand from wandering. “Right?”
He groans, mouthing my jawline. “What does it matter? The past doesn’t change anything.”
“Why are you avoiding the question?”
Lifting his eyes to mine, he presses his lips into a thin line. “Because you won’t like the answer. Let it go, Celia.”
Now I’m remembering why I find this man so infuriating. I slide my fingers into his hair and pull, tearing his face away from mine and enjoying the painted grunt he makes. “Rage,” I warn, “tell me the truth . Was it at my dad’s funeral? Before? Did you know me when I was in high school? College?” I run through the possibilities in my head, but that has to be too far back. “You didn’t know you wanted me until I was already married.”
Rage’s hands slide up my sweater, one palming my naked breast while the other closes around my throat. My sweater catches on his arm, exposing me to anyone who walks by. The cold winter air makes me shiver, my nipple pebbling between Rage’s fingers. He squeezes both of his hands, the smile on his face the cruelest I’ve seen all day. “Keep digging, krosotka , and you’ll only get hurt.”
“Why?” I swallow against his palm. “Did we meet each other during my divorce? Did you know that I locked myself inside my house for months? That my husband was cheating on me?” It sort of fits, but I have a feeling that Rage would have broken my door down and forced his way inside my life sooner, had he known the extent of my depression. Still, I run with the idea. “That’s it, right? You didn’t come rescue me after my divorce. You’re afraid I’ll hold it against you.”
Rage stays silent, which prompts me to look harder. He never attended one of Ted and my house parties, so those years are off the list. I didn’t do much between the time my husband cheated and the divorce was finalized. I barely left the house, so that theory doesn’t work. The only thing that kept me busy in those months was my design work or my brother.
My breath catches on a sharp inhale.
Mikhail is part of the bratva—one of the captains, actually, in charge of projects involving real estate and finances. Rage, Rebel, and Ruin don’t work directly under him that I’m aware of, but somehow, our paths still crossed. We know each other because of my brother. Something he did? Somewhere I went? A party or a funeral or a?—
A wedding.
“You were at the chapel. The wedding.” The Baranova Butchery or Baranova Massacre , as it’s now known among inner circles. Ice floods my system, freezing me from the inside out. “But I didn’t see you among any of the guests. I haven’t forgotten a single face from that day.”
Or a single scream.
Rage’s eyes bore into mine. “I wasn’t exactly on the guest list.”
I blink up at his infuriating, handsome face.
He wasn’t on the guest list.
I struggle against him, pulling his hair, slamming my knee into his thighs, whimpering as he holds me down and grabs me with enough force to bruise.
“Celia,” he hisses, “calm down.”
“You were there!” I dig my nails into his scalp, hoping he bleeds. “You heard all of those screams! People were scared for their lives! How could you do nothing? Where were you?—”
Masks. There were at least a dozen men wearing armor, masks, and face shields rounding up the guests for interrogations, holding guns to people’s backs, shouting orders in both Russian and English. “You weren’t a guest,” I repeat, my body shaking as adrenaline courses through my veins. “You were on a job. ” I hurl the word at him, spitting flecks of saliva in his face. On a job just like Thanatos, another huge, muscled, angry man, waiting to take out his problems on the next unsuspecting victim. “You tortured innocent people.”
Rage’s expression goes eerily still. “None of them were innocent.”
I bark a laugh, my throat burning as it claws free. “Tell that to the children. The mothers. The wives. I spent hours protecting them from men like you—brutes who were scaring them to death!”
“Exactly!” he snarls, cutting off my airway with a twitch of his wrist. “You were the only one in there not losing her fucking mind once everything went to hell! Do you know how rare it is to find a woman tough as nails before she’s eighty? It’s fucking impossible. The old bats keep their cool because they’ve lived through shit, but you , Celia Monrovia, you fight. You protected every single child in that church for hours, not letting up for a single second. You fucking snarled right at me, like you wanted to kill me.” A shudder courses through Rage’s entire body, easing his grip over me.
I wheeze for air, coughing from the burn. “Maybe I should have.”
Rage laughs, his dark eyes sparking with joy. “It’s too late for that, mama, because you’re fucking mine. You gave your word and your body. Soon, you’ll lie beneath my brothers, too, all three of us pumping you so full of our cum, you’ll be pregnant every nine months.” He moves his hand from my breast to my stomach, scraping his nails along my ribs, making me hiss from the flash of heat, the sting of pain.
“I can still kill you.” I move my hands to his throat, and he doesn’t stop me. I squeeze as hard as I can, feeling his Adam’s apple bob beneath my palms. “Then none of you will have me.”
“I’ll always have you.” His voice scratches against my skin, burrowing in, latching on. “Because you’ll always have me. Right here .” His fingertips dig into my abdomen, making me gasp. “I own you, mama, in this life and the every life after. Killing me won’t change that.”
Fury melts the ice freezing me in place. I squeeze harder, enjoying the way his eyelashes flutter. He could break free. He’s stronger than me. We both know it. Why isn’t he stopping me? Why isn’t he shoving me hard against the car so that I black out? Why isn’t he fighting back?
He smiles, lifting a hand to brush his bruised knuckles against my cheek. “You’re beautiful, krosotka. Have I ever told you that?”
I press my thumbs harder, deeper, closing his arteries, his windpipe, anything I can. My heart leaps in my chest, making my arms shake. Dammit. I can do this. I can kill a man.
I can kill Rage.
But when his body finally goes limp and he drops to the ground, I fall with him, a sob tearing through my throat as all the hope I had for the future—the tender smiles, the bubbling laughter, the children running up and down the halls—fades into smoke.