Chapter 31
Lev
Withdrawing slowly, I grip her hips to keep her upright.
She slumps against the glass, her forehead resting on the pane.
I don’t cover her. I want her to stay exactly like this, marked and messy.
The guard is still watching as I cup her pussy and thrust my fingers inside her.
She lets out a low whimper as I scoop my cum out of her and then smear it obscenely down the window.
“Lev, don’t,” she whispers.
“Don’t what? Show them your cunt is full of my cum.”
“Don’t be lewd.”
“Too late. They know now that you are mine. They can see your tits and jerk off to them with their eyes closed, wishing their cock was between them. I don’t give a fuck.
They can look, they can stare, they can tug their dicks with you in their minds, but they fucking touch you, they lose more than a hand. ”
I pull her away from the glass. She stumbles, her legs weak, but I don’t let her fall.
I pin her against my chest, my arms tight around her.
I want her to feel the heavy beat of my heart, the one she’s managed to capture without even trying.
I look down at the marks on her chest. My name is a red promise against her pale skin.
It’s the only law that matters in this room.
“I’m going to ruin anyone who ever made you feel like less than a queen,” I mutter, my voice thick with a promise of violence.
She looks up at me, her eyes wide and searching.
There’s no fear left, only a raw, jagged hunger.
I don’t care about the politics or the war brewing outside these walls.
I don’t care about Baron’s disapproval. I grab the back of her head and kiss her, a brutal, possessive clash of teeth and tongue.
I’ll kill the whole world before I let go of her.
I lead her back to the bed, my mind already plotting the deaths of the men who dared to hurt her.
She’s mine, and tonight, the world will learn what happens when I protect what I’ve claimed.
“You’re going to stay in this bed until I tell you otherwise.”
“And where will you be?”
“Slaying your demons, moya sladkaya. Be ready to spread your legs when I get back. I want to taste you to make sure no other man has been near you.”
“Lev,” she protests weakly. “Don’t you trust me?”
“I trust you. I don’t trust any other fucker around you.”
“Then lock the door if that keeps you happy.”
Inhaling deeply, it feels like I’ve been struck by lightning. That’s it. That is the moment that tips me over the edge of obsession and into a deep, terrifying love for this woman who would sacrifice her own freedom to make me happy.
I don’t say it. I can’t. The words are a weakness I’m not ready to voice, even if my soul is already screaming them. I just stare at her, my thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip. She looks back at me with a terrifyingly clear understanding. She knows she’s won.
“I’ll lock it,” I rasp, my voice sounding like it’s been dragged over gravel. “But not to keep you in. To keep the filth out.”
I pull the duvet over her, tucking it around her shoulders as if she’s something fragile, even though I know she’s made of steel and spite. I button up my pants and shirt, with my skin on fire, itching for the feel of a hilt in my palm.
Voran’s information came through after Krestov’s call. Mercer is waiting. The Bratva world is waiting for me to act like the monster they know I am, and I’m more than happy to oblige. I lean down and press one final, hard kiss to her forehead, the mark of my ownership burning between us.
“Don’t move, Varvara.”
“How long will you be?”
“As long as it takes. If you’re asleep when I get back, I will wake you with my tongue on your cunt.”
She sucks in a breath, her eyes flashing with arousal at the thought.
I walk out, the click of the lock echoing in the silent hallway. My blood is a cold, rushing river of intent. Tonight, I’m not just a Voronov enforcer. I’m the hand of vengeance for the woman who owns me.
Mercer has no idea what is heading his way, and by the time I’m done with him, the swallow on his hand will be the least of his worries. I’ll peel it off myself.
Taking the stairs quickly, I head to my office to pull on the shoulder holster that carries my Glock before I put my jacket on. I adjust the cuffs and slide my blade into the back of my pants.
Voran sent the information on who was pulling Mercer’s strings. I don’t ask how.
A Croydon-based, small-time family with big teeth and a simple appetite for cash. They’re leaning on Mercer hard enough to make him dance.
Fuck all to do with us. For a change.
Mercer can talk himself hoarse about commendations and promotions for bringing down the London Bratva. He hasn’t got a chance in hell.
I step into the hot night air, the heavy weight of the Glock a comfort against my ribs.
Pyotr stands by the front door, his expression unreadable.
I don’t give him instructions. He knows his job is to keep her safe while I’m out doing mine.
I climb into the Ferrari, and the engine rumbles into the silence of Mayfair.
Voran’s data is in my head. Mercer is at a lock-up in Croydon, probably meeting the same pricks who think they can squeeze a DI to do their dirty work. They’ve picked the wrong night to play at being gangsters.
The drive takes twenty minutes of aggressive lane-splitting.
My focus is a laser. Every mile I cover is a step closer to making Mercer pay for every second of Varvara’s fear.
I’ll take his hands first. He won’t ever touch another woman again.
He won’t even be able to beg for mercy when I’m finished.
The lock-up is a corrugated metal shithole at the end of a dead-end street.
I park the car and move through the shadows.
My boots don’t make a sound on the cracked pavement.
I check the chamber of my weapon. It’s ready.
I see his silver car parked outside the unit.
The light from a single bulb flickers over the metal.
Mercer is inside. He’s a dead man walking.
I reach the door and listen. Muffled voices filter through the steel.
This is my city, and I’m here to collect a debt that’s two years overdue.
“Took your sweet-arsed time,” Vadim’s voice cuts through the night as he steps into view. “Voran called. Suggested you might need back-up.”
“Fuck him, and you,” I say. “I’ve got this prick.”
“That’s the thanks I get for standing around in the dark with my dick in my hand waiting for you to show up?”
“Fuck your thanks. My dick was getting soaked and nearly broken in half by the woman I’m going to make a Voronov, so don’t think I give a shit about you.”
“Oh, really?” he says, eyebrow raised. “Who’d have thought the day would come?”
“Shut the fuck up, Vadim,” I snap, my focus returning to the steel door. “We’re here for work, not a gossip session. This is quick and dirty, like Prague.”
“Ouch. My suit still hasn’t recovered.”
I don’t bother replying. I kick the door. The metal gives way with a violent bang that echoes through the hollow structure. I’m inside before the dust even settles, my Glock leading the way.
The space is a graveyard of rusted machinery and discarded crates. In the centre, under a single, flickering bulb, stands the man of the hour. Mercer looks like he’s seen a ghost. Next to him, two Croydon thugs in Adidas tracksuits reach for their waistbands.
“Don’t even fucking think about it,” Vadim says behind me, his weapon already up, like he’d been waiting for someone to give him a reason.
I ignore the small-time pricks. My eyes are locked on Mercer. He’s shaking, his hand hovering near his hip. The swallow tattoo on his skin is a beacon. I want to carve it out right here.
“Detective Inspector Mercer,” I state, my voice a cold promise. “I hear you’ve been busy. Arson, blackmail, assault on my woman and countless others, no doubt.”
“Voronov,” he starts. I can see the excuses tumbling around in his head.
I walk toward him, the distance closing until the barrel of my gun is inches from his forehead.
“You touched her. Now you’re going to find out what that costs.
” I crack the barrel of the Glock across his temple.
He drops to his knees with a wet thud, his hands flying to his head.
The two tracksuit-clad idiots twitch and then run for the door.
Vadim doesn’t give them a chance to get two feet.
A bullet in each of their backs does the trick.
“Nice,” I comment, hauling Mercer to his feet with his lapel. “Cowards never prosper.”
“Not in Prague and not in London,” Vadim agrees. “Need help with him?”
I give him a wicked smile. “No, I’ve got this. But you can stay and listen to him scream.” I throw Mercer into a chair and grip his wrist. Pulling my blade out, I slice into his hand around the swallow tattoo. “Don’t think being a DI saves you,” I say quietly over his grunt of pain.
He jerks against the chair as blood sheets over his palm and drips onto the concrete.
“Please,” he gasps.
I press the tip deeper under the skin and start lifting. “No. You don’t get that word. You lost it when you thought a badge made you untouchable.”
His body bucks. I keep hold of his wrist and peel the inked patch back another inch. He makes a wet, ugly noise that does something dark and quiet to my blood. Not satisfaction. Not enough for that. Just the beginning.
“Lev,” Vadim says behind me, almost conversational. “You’re making a mess.”
“It’s a lock-up. I’m sure the décor can recover.”
Mercer sobs through his teeth. “I didn’t rape her.”
The room goes still for one second.
Then I dig the knife in until it pops out of the other side of his flesh.
“You want credit for restraint?” I ask softly.
“You want a medal because you only terrorised her, tore her clothes, put your hands on her and then sat across from her telling her it was a lost cause while she reported it to you?” I cut the rest of the tattoo free and toss the strip of skin onto his lap.
He convulses and throws up across the concrete floor.
I step back before it splashes my shoes.
“That was your last action. Now you die.” I press the gun to the middle of his forehead and pull the trigger.
The ping resounds through the lock-up, and Mercer falls to the side onto the ground.
“That was quick,” Vadim says. “I thought you might go a bit longer.”
“Nah, he is a piece of trash, and I’ve got a woman waiting for me. Besides, I have a feeling no cleanup crew is coming to rescue me. Baron’s punishment for bringing a pile of shit to his door.”
“Ouch,” Vadim says, edging back towards the door.
“What? You show up, kill a couple of losers and then bail when the going gets tough?”
“This is your punishment,” he says. “I don’t want to get in the middle of your penance.”
“Nice, big brother. I’ll fucking remember this.”
“I’m sure you will. Night, now.” He makes his escape, leaving me to dispose of Mercer in the best way possible.
Stuffed into a barrel and thrown into the English Channel.
Varvara has a long wait ahead of her.