16. Fia
FIA
Pregnancy fatigue keeps me glued to bed for the rest of the morning. I tear away the covers at two in the afternoon when my full bladder is impossible to ignore.
I grimace at my reflection in the mirror while washing my hands in the sink, looking paler than a vampire who is experiencing blood withdrawals.
While Emil is out committing crimes, I decide to investigate the documents Chloe forwarded to me. Last time I looked into the numbers, I was attacked at the dockyard, which seems to be a regular occurrence for me.
I nibble my lip, highlighting several inconsistencies in the reports. Most of these numbers make sense, knowing Emil runs a Bratva. But my gut tells me that I’m still missing answers, like these reports are part of something bigger.
I ring Chloe, pressing the phone to my ear. “Hey, I need you to do me a favor.”
“You can start by telling me what the fuck happened at the docks, since you’re being ambiguous in your messages to me.”
“I’m safe,” I reassure her.
“And…?”
I grimace, on the fence about telling her the truth, since it will probably end in her telling me to get the fuck away from Emil again.
“I was attacked by Emil’s enemies, but I’m fine, I promise. We can discuss more in person, but I need you to raid my filing cabinet at work.”
“You’re unbelievable."
“I know, but something bigger is at stake here.”
“You disappeared for an entire year, Fia,” says Chloe. “Even if I break into your office and find the key to the cabinet, there’s no guarantee. Can’t Emil fill in the blanks? He is your husband after all.”
“What if there’s more to the story?”
“Like what?”
“Like, things Emil doesn’t know. One of his men is leaking information to his enemy. It begs the question, what else is going on behind his back?”
“All due respect, what does this have to do with you?” asks Chloe down the receiving end of the phone.
“I’m not sure, but if I can look at some recent documents, I might be able to piece together some memories.”
Chloe sighs, the phone turning static. “I’m sorry, Fia, but as your friend, I have to give my honest advice and let you know this is a bad idea. What if your obsession for answers is what led you here in the first place?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve always been obsessed with facts. Perhaps your determination for uncovering the truth led you to marrying the wrong man, in an attempt to get closer to answers.”
I bite my lip anxiously, knowing that is something I would indeed do.
Is this why Emil is being vague, constantly dodging questions every time I pester him for answers? Could he be protecting me from myself?
“Fia? Are you still there?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, sighing through the phone. “You’re right. I’ll do anything for the truth.”
“Maybe Emil isn’t the villain.”
“Hm,” I say, still unconvinced. “Time will tell. Sorry for pestering you.”
“I like to be pestered,” says Chloe. “The pestering tells me that you’re okay…”
“Yeah,” I whisper, chewing on my lip a little more, digesting that last sentence. “I’ll speak to you soon. Love you, bye.”
I end the call and jump up, letting my intuition lead the way. And since it’s telling me to raid the closet, I roll up my sleeves and get started, searching for reports that I could have potentially hidden from myself.
My obsessive personality refuses to drop something until I understand the facts. I set a goal and work tirelessly until I achieve it, which is why I was popular with clients in the office. I was known for getting the job done.
I could have torn the reports up. Being pregnant would have caused me to slow down, prioritizing other lives as well as my own. I would happily sacrifice my own for justice, but innocent lives come first.
Perhaps I really am my worst enemy and tore up reports…
I search every pocket, yanking every jacket off the hanger, tossing them all aside in a huff when I find nothing inside. Raiding my closet is achieving nothing. I’m no closer to finding answers, and now I have a pile of jackets to sort through and reorganize.
The door flies open, revealing a very pissed off Emil.
Unfortunately, anger is a very good look on him, hardening his face in all the right places, painting him in a very unforgivable light. Good, hard sex is what my body is craving right now to melt all of my frustration.
“Who dragged you through a hedge backward?”
“Alexander Kuzmin,” he spits, noting the huge pile of jackets on the floor. Instead of questioning my decision to rearrange our closet, he tosses something else on top of the pile.
“Thanks for your contribution.”
“They’re your clothes from when you were hit by the car.”
“And I’m supposed to say thanks?”
“Say what you want?” grunts Emil, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I thought it might help you remember something.”
“What happened to you protecting me?”
Emil scratches his head, clearly agitated. “It’s a long shot, but maybe these clothes might help you remember something about the accident.”
I chew on my lip. “How will this help you?”
“Like I said, it’s a long shot.”
I study him for a beat before grabbing the clothes, which now look more like rags.
“I went to the hospital. They were handed into the police station, saved for an investigation that has now been closed.”
“An investigation regarding…?”
“It’s protocol for the cops to investigate every accident, but apparently it led nowhere, so they gave me back your clothes.”
I run the tattered fabric through my fingertips. “What the fuck happened to my jeans?”
“The paramedics had to cut your clothes. Apparently, they performed CPR at one point. Your heart stopped beating… and so did mine.”
My heart is missing a few beats now as I listen to Emil. The pain hardened across his face has to mean something. He was terrified of losing me. Still is terrified.
“Anyway,” he says, turning on his heel, “I’ll leave you to it.”
I collapse on the bed, overcome by a faint spell. The twins are taking a toll on my body, making the simplest tasks feel impossible, but they kicked earlier today. Their health matters more than my inability to climb a flight of stairs.
I thread the rags through my fingertips, mixed emotions running through me. I almost died, and yet I managed to escape pretty much unscathed.
I always thought miracles were a fantasy, but seeing the state of my clothes, hearing about the trauma of it all has me second guessing that belief.
It takes a miracle for all three of us to come out of this alive.
I stroke my lower belly, grateful for my little warriors, pushing through tough times.
I’m setting the clothes to one side, lifting from the bed when I see a piece of paper slip from the jean pocket.
I frown, grabbing the jeans, sure I’m hallucinating. But this time, I’m not going crazy.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, turning the screwed-up piece of paper in my hands, spreading it out on the mattress. The document has been torn in half. The question is, did that happen before or after the car accident?
Regardless, I now have answers. I was so busy reading documents that I forgot to check the road before stepping out…
Which means something interesting must have been on the report.
I sit on the bed, bringing the document closer. A shipping manifest departing from Vancouver has Luka’s name on it. I zero in on the figures, desperately searching for a date, but the bottom half has been ripped where the date would have been.
This doesn’t provide much. Emil has been at war with the Kuzmins for a while, so they may have ships docked at Vancouver, members of their Bratva stationed over there keeping an eye on rival activity.
I fold the document up, slotting it back into the pocket,
Heading downstairs, I find Emil looking particularly stoic, staring out through the window, watching birds bounce across the branches.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he says in a very unconvincing tone.
“Are you gonna tell me what Alexander said?”
“It’s nothing exciting,” Emil says, turning around.
He rakes a hand through his hair, frustration written across his brow.
“He knows things. The man has been hiding for an entire year and somehow knows you’re pregnant.
This person sending information to him is playing a dangerous game, and the game will end with me slitting his throat, pouring his blood into a wine glass and drinking every single fucking drop. ”
“Sounds a bit satanic,” I chuckle, somehow turned on by hearing that.
Emil’s determination to protect me never goes unnoticed, even though his motives are often questionable. But it’s the thought that counts, and nobody has ever put much thought into me as much as he has.
“If you want to fuck me, spitfire, all you need to do is say.”
“Excuse me?” I choke.
“Your cheeks,” he says, stepping in, ghosting a finger over my face. “They’re red. And your pheromones are strong enough to reach China. Not like I want others smelling you.” His dark eyes wander across my face, taking in every feature, every micro expression.
Shivers rush down my spine every time we’re this close. He puts me in a vulnerable position, my knees always wanting to buckle, like my initial reaction to this man is to bow down and worship.
He is indeed a god, one most people in this world would have no problem bowing down too. Emil has an indistinguishable quality about him. He’s one of a kind, those reflective eyes highlighting your own insecurities, making you feel less than.
But I enjoy the rush that comes with surrendering.
Holding eye contact, I bow down to a man who is definitely very bad for me and unbuckle his belt, taking him out of his pants.
Emil groans as I take his cock into my hands. Both are required. I’m not the kind of woman who falls in love with a man based on the size of his cock, but I definitely let myself get distracted in the bedroom by it.
Chances are, if I did marry Emil to get closer to the truth, I lost sight of my vision after spending most of my time on my knees.
My knees ache from how long I’ve been in this position, but pain equals pleasure, and we’re both getting a lot out of this.
I lick his shaft, holding eye contact the entire time. He towers over me like the trees outside, putting me into shade. His eyes cloud over with desire, turning an even darker shade of black as I take him into my throat, stifling a gag.
Teas stream down my face, my eyes watering as I take even more of him inside, surprising myself by how much of him I can fit in.
“No need to hold yourself back, spitfire,” he groans from above, keeping his beady eye on me. “I want to hear you choke on my cock.”
Only an asshole would say something like that, but I follow his order and let myself go, shoving more of him down my throat, gagging.
I coat him in a thick layer of saliva, taking him out of my mouth to see rock solid he is, begging for a fuck.
Of course, Emil doesn’t beg. He takes without asking, which is what I want right now.
Talking is cheap and resolves nothing. We’re both stressed, me freaked out about the amnesia, Emil at war with his enemies.
Sex makes everything feel better, so I lose my pants and hop up onto the counter, opening my legs.
“So fucking wet for me,” groans Emil, sinking his finger into my pussy. He plants a tender kiss to the area, his tongue striking my clit, causing a fire to ignite low in my belly. “You’re always begging for it.”
“I beg to differ,” I tease, gesturing to his hard cock. “You look like you’re in pain.”
“The pleasure makes everything worth it,” he says, teasing his cock over my entrance, gliding the tip across my pussy.
“See how good we look when we come together, spitfire,” he groans, encouraging me to watch.
“This is what happens when you learn to accept the truth. Your body rewards you for surrendering.”
“To the wrong man,” I highlight, catching Emil’s perfect face. “My body might know what feels right, but how can my mind?”
“It can’t,” says Emil, staring deep into my eyes. “Perhaps the amnesia was a blessing rather than a curse, a way for you to take a break from using your head and come into your body more.”
“Unfortunately, I disagree," I say, staring between my legs where Emil is still teasing my pussy with his cock, nudging the tip through my folds. “Facts are all I’ve ever had.”
“And look where it’s gotten you,” says Emil, arching his eyebrow. “You were almost killed.”
“By you.”
“Never by me, spitfire. You have given me the chance, but it’s the other way around.”
“I’m killing you?”
His silence is the loudest thing in this room, ringing through my ears. I’m left with no other option but to grab his cock and shove it inside myself, feeling his words, allowing my body to experience his honesty.
I grip the edge of the kitchen countertop, stabilizing myself as tsunami waves of emotion rush through me, knocking me out of this reality, only to push me back into it, making me feel twice as much. The fire in my belly expands, reaching the very tips of my fingers and the soles of my feet.
Energy surges through me, distorting my vision.
I open my eyes, desperate to look at the man fucking me, to reclaim some memories and feel like my old self, but I lose myself in the present.
The past no longer exists, all previous versions of me irrelevant.
How I felt before has no relevance to anything.
The world rocks as my orgasm edges closer. I dig my fingernails into my husband’s back, arching my own as the biggest tsunami wave yet prepares to crash over me.
“There’s my good girl,” affirms Emil, whispering in my ear.
“Let yourself come for me. Holding back is a form of punishment, and trust me, sweetheart, I know how much you love letting go. The more we hold on and deny ourselves the truth, the taster it feels to release and surrender everything,” he whispers, peppering kisses along my neck.
“My sweet little spitfire,” grumbles Emil, finishing deep inside of me. “You can fly away, but there’s only so many places you can hide in this world. I’ll always bring you home, even in death.”
Why does that sound like a wedding vow?
Pleasure bursts, spilling in every direction. I explode around his cock, widening my legs to take him as deep as possible, needing to feel everything.
This time, I’m not counting on my memories returning, hoping to come home to myself and remember. Perhaps my body never felt like home until I found Emil and he showed me how to be free, away from facts and certainty.