Chapter 38 #2
I snarl at Anton. “You fucking coward! I’ll gut you with my bare hands! Strangle you with your own innards. You hear me? I’ll feed you your own heart while you’re still alive!”
Valentina’s whole body is tight, spine locked with her own fury.
Anton raises a hand. “Tell me, Mama dear… Any regrets?” he asks cruelly. “Regrets that you chose your oldest son over me? That you refused to train me while you polished his blade? Regrets that you—”
“No, Anton.”
Her voice cuts through the frost like steel. She glances at me, regarding me with pride before turning her whole body toward him.
“I have not one damn regret,” she says sharply.
“Because I saw the darkness in you before your little balls even dropped.” His spine locks up, and he bares his teeth, but my invincible mother goes on.
“A fucking monster, always attacking your brother—the same brother who defended you time and again from bullies. You chose to become an unrepentant, irredeemable, despicable asshole just like your father. And I have always seen you for what you are.”
She spits. “Truslivaya svinya, ne dostoinaya lizat zemlyu, po kotoroy proshyol tvoy brat.” A cowardly pig, unworthy to lick the ground that your brother walked on.
The front rows gasp. A few laugh nervously; others go still, leaning forward.
Anton’s jaw ticks, rage flashing in his eyes until he grins, slow and savage. “Careful, Mamma. Your tongue’s writing checks your body can’t cash.” He braces his knuckles on the arm of his throne. “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure Roman collects for me.”
The crowd roars its approval, stomping, jeering. Her enemies are also here.
Valentina loses it. Fuck, I can’t fault her for the attack.
My brother doesn’t see the blow until her fist has struck his cheek as she screams. The crowd gasps as he stumbles, faltering, rubbing his jaw in shock while she burns those flaming amethyst eyes against his.
Her potty mouth unleashes a string of curses and insults in broken Russian.
He slowly turns to her, nothing but malice and punishment in his eyes.
I also don’t fault her for trying to run.
She doesn’t get far with his guards blocking her path.
My mother steps closer to me, a gesture of strength.
I take it. Every mark on my back roars when Anton slaps her face—hard enough for her head to snap back.
“Seems my bride needs to be taught a little lesson,” he croons to the crowd with eager lust gleaming in their eyes.
He laughs as he seizes her throat, kicks her legs out from under her, and drives her to his knees.
He takes himself out, fisting his damn length.
“Not only will she suck my cock so I may wash her filthy mouth out, she will do the same for my father.”
I see red. Her hands ball into fists. She spits at him. And my father grins, bobbing his brows. I lunge. Several guards set upon me, holding me back.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, brother,” Anton mocks, grips her hair, and shoves his inferior prick right down her throat. “Don’t be foolish. You take one more step, and she’ll be taking the cocks of all my guards. Stand there and be a good boy until the show commences.”
He fucks her hard, using her mouth like a cunt. Her nails dig into his thighs as she tries to hold him back, to give herself a slit of air. He doesn’t care. This is punishment for both of us until he shoots his load all over her face, neck, and chest, soaking the thin dress.
Nikolai remains where he is. Because Anton drags her to that chair. The crowd looks on, salivating. The moment Anton forces her head down to take my father’s cock, I fantasize about castrating Nikolai, then throwing him into a shallow grave, letting him bleed out while I bury him alive.
At least Nikolai is quick. Anton has her on his lap on my fucking throne a minute later, commencing the show.
My mother faces me, staring me down. Despite her years, I know not a goddamn day has gone by without her using her skills.
Pride swells hot in my chest—God, she’s still my mother, still a warrior—but it curdles into horror just as fast. Anton won’t settle for a few punches.
Not this time. He’ll wring every drop of pain from this until one of us can’t stand.
And he’s going to make me choose how far I’ll go.
My mother squares her shoulders, her blonde hair bound back in a severe knot. She’s dressed for battle—a close-fitted jacket of reinforced leather, high boots strapped to her calves, and fingerless gloves.
I’m only in my coat, heavy wool over bare skin, no weapon but the brute force of my body. That’s always been enough. Until now.
“Don’t hold back,” she says, eyes like flint. “If you do, I’ll break you.”
We circle. Her stance is sharp, honed, the same stance she drilled into me as a boy.
And when she strikes—God, she still moves like lightning.
Her fist cracks against my jaw, a clean, professional hit that rattles my teeth.
I stagger, taste blood, and she’s already spinning low, driving her boot into my ribs—pain flares.
The crowd cheers, phones lighting up, more bets placed.
I come at her hard, a rush of weight and fury. She dodges the first blow, countering with her elbow into my cheekbone. The world flashes white. I grunt, absorb it, drive forward again. My hands close on her arms, and she twists free, nimble, brutal. Another jab to my gut steals my breath.
We trade minor blows, continually circling one another, equal predators. Her finesse against my brute strength. My cunning against her expertise.
But the crowd is getting restless.
I grab her wrist mid-strike, yank her off balance, and slam my shoulder into her chest. The breath rushes out of her.
She stumbles but snarls, driving her knee toward my side.
It glances off, but I seize the opening.
My arm snakes around her throat, locking her in the chokehold she once taught me, the one she warned me never to use lightly.
Her nails rake at my arm. She kicks, twists, but my grip is iron. “Don’t—hold—back,” she gasps, words shredded by lack of air.
And I don’t.
Valentina replaces my mother’s face. All faces.
I squeeze until Mamma’s body goes slack.
She crumples to the ground when I let her go. Still. Too still. My chest heaves like a war drum. My throat burns. The world tilts. “Mamma?” The word tears out of me before I can stop it. My heart claws against my ribs. Did I just—? GOD FUCKING DAMN ANTON TO THE DEEPEST HELL!
Anton approaches, crouching and checking her pulse with two fingers. “No pulse,” he says coldly. “Well done, Roman. You did what was required.”
“You fucking killed her, Anton.” My voice breaks, Russian spilling hot and vicious from my tongue. I lunge at him, wanting nothing more than to break his throat, tear him down to bone. “Coward! You hide behind us all, behind her, behind me—”
The guards are on me before I reach him, iron grips on my arms. I roar, spit, and curse. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Valentina, face buried in her hands, defeated, mourning.
Anton watches me, smiling faintly. My strength ebbs against the guards’ hold, the fight bleeding out of me, my hands shaking, the marks on my back howling. Another guard picks up my mother, throwing her body over his shoulder. I am a weapon turned on my own blood, a son forged into a monster.
And for the first time in years, I feel hollow. I feel nothing when they strip me and chain me to a long steel bench this time, my upper body positioned over half its length, the other with my feet on the ground.
A spreader is fixed to my legs and chained to a stake in the ground as Anton leers, “This client had very specific demands. How exhilarating the performance will be.”
Another night of whippings? I’ll welcome the pain. What else can he fucking take from me?
And then…she steps into the arena.
Mother of God. Bloody Christ. And Devil take me!
My heartbeat pounds in my ear. Chest tightening, gut twisting, I watch as the one woman I’d vowed never to see again advances toward me. A man follows just behind her, carrying a black bag. My fists harden in the shackles. This is not going to be pretty.
Fiery red hair, icy blue eyes, and every curve in her form-fitting black dress impossible to ignore, she is a contract bounty hunter, one who uses her feminine wiles like a black widow to lure weak men into her web.
And yet I was never interested, never tempted, evading her every time.
She seduced me. And failed. It drove her mad.
When I learned she was spying, invading my supply routes, and threatening my allies, I exposed her to some powerful rivals. I believed she had been rotting in a dark hole somewhere all this time.
Now she’s back, sharpened and more vicious, ready to make me pay. I have my Queen, Valentina. No other woman could fill my mind—or my dick—with blood. This isn’t just pain she’s bringing. This is personal. Her presence presses down on me like a vice.
“So good to see you again, Roman,” Selene coos, her red-painted fingernails sketching my back.
My shoulders tense. “Wish I could say the same, Selene,” I taunt, appreciating her incensed reaction to the familiar mocking term. Nothing but salt in her.
“I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”
She stops behind me, her hands digging into the globes of my ass. “So strong. Such a beautiful specimen of masculinity. Wouldn’t you say, Alaric?” she asks the man.
He smiles, full teeth, brown eyes gleaming, confirming his twisted desires. “You were right, Selene. I’ve never seen his equal.”
I clench my eyes shut as her lithe fingers curve around my dick. Fuckfuckfuck! But I take a deep breath, controlling myself, willing myself not to respond. Wrong hand. Wrong woman. Wrong everything.
The horror rips through my blood because I know it’s inevitable. But I’ll hold out as long as possible.
She tightens her grip, rubbing harder, faster. “You will get hard for me, Roman,” Selene adds.
Every muscle in my back clenches.
The eager tension in the crowd thickens.
And then, she kneels, shifting until her wet mouth wraps around me.
Valentina’s ear-splitting scream pierces the night.
Enraged, I roar, writhing and struggling, muscles bulging.
I thrash in the chains. But no matter how much I do, the stake behind me does not give.
No escape. My tongue bleeds from my teeth, cutting it.
The organ responds, forced from the strong, wet suction of heat.
My throat constricts, and I hold back bile.
Shame, powerlessness, betrayal all tear through me, shredding the lining of my heart.
Valentina cannot see this. She just fucking can’t.