Chapter Four - Ryurik
I broke my coveted rule. Never to kiss a woman’s lips when I fucked her. Goddammit. That’s not what was supposed to happen. No. I was supposed to give her what she wanted, show her a good time, come, and leave it where it is.
But I couldn’t leave those sweet rosebud lips unkissed. I wanted to know what they felt like against mine. I wasn’t wrong about wanting that because they reminded me of the best type of worldly sin. I wanted to plunge into her as deep as I could go and never return, forgetting about killing Willy Dee. Earlier in the night didn’t exist, it was just the woman named Emily, and I lost in one another for one sultry Chicago night.
I gave her what I could of me because that’s all I was willing to offer, and I stopped short of Emily wrapping her tempting, full mouth around my cock, but I’d wanted her to do it. But again, that was too close for comfort for a man who lives life on a razor’s edge. I’m cut from the Bratva cloth—an underboss with a mission on my mind, and no woman is ever going to take me down. I’ve watched it happen to others in the brotherhood, and I’ve vowed to sidestep the perils of heartbreak.
No, I want everything clean, neat, and logical. Messy emotions aren’t for me, but when I look over at the rising sun through the hotel curtains and the white sheets draped around Emily’s body, she could be a muse for a painter.
Stopping myself, I draw back my hand from touching her hair, wanting to see her face one more time before I slip out into the early morning. It’s likely she’s never been to the Hampton Suites, but at least if she comes here again, she’ll have a nice memory to go along with it. I want her to stay and have breakfast, enjoy all the hotel benefits and what it has on offer. And the truth is as I watch her stir, I know she’s too pure and na?ve for a man like me.
If you only knew what I am, Emily, you wouldn’t be lying in this hotel bed with me.
That’s the beauty of one-night stands, never having to get too close, and never having to tell the women I fuck about the depths of my depravity. Somewhere inside of me, I want a house to tell my secrets to, but I can’t risk my position. Staring at her parted mouth as she sleeps peacefully, I chastise myself as to why I would have let myself kiss her like that. She’s not more special than any other woman I’ve slept with, so why her? I keep looking at her, trying to figure it out, coming up short, as I lay back, picking up my phone.
There’s only a bunch of club messages, and I listen to the voicemails, the vague memory of shooting Willy Dee coming back to me. The first message is from Sergei.
“Hey, Ryurik. Checking in; it’s been handled. Speak to you in the morning.” Sighing, I slip a hand behind my head in satisfaction. Good. That means the cleanup crew were successful in disposing of Willy Dee’s body and that’s the first step of what I need to hear. The second step is to check for myself. I’ve learned my lesson in the past where my team has been sloppy and it’s cost me, but I wasn’t a man to be so forgiving for such mistakes.
I made an example out of Igor, making him give himself up to the cops, and he’s still serving inside for another ten. You do this in the Bratva. You take the fall if you fuck up.
Given my arm of the Bratva business, it would make sense that I’m the enforcer type, but I’m not wanting to be that guy. I would prefer to conduct my shady business professionally and unethically under the table. But there’s a dark well inside me, and if the right person pulls the trigger, I won’t hesitate to think about the consequences of their death after the fact. Willy Dee was the man who did just that.
A trait I should probably work on, as it’s led me to being cooped up inside a jail cell for days longer than I should have been—particularly in my younger years of being in the brotherhood. As I’ve grown older, I’ve settled somewhat. I’ve had to scrap my way to the top of the food chain to match it with my brothers, but I never wanted to be an entrepreneur like Ruslan or Dimitri. No, I felt most at home in nightclubs and in street dealings, gambling and whatever other illegal activities I could get my hands on. It’s the only way I know how to carve out a place for myself in the brotherhood.
I’ve proven myself, making my own connections, importing my own product, and running it through clubs, and cleaning the money that way. Now, I’ve got three main clubs in Chicago, and I’m looking to expand into New York, working with Dimitri for contacts. The Bratva might not have believed in me at first, but over time I’ve proven myself, becoming the underboss. I’ve got my sights set on the top-dog spot, but I’m going to have to either bide my time or pull in a substantial amount of money to change that.
Power and control is the name of the game, and I’m here to win.
Emily stirs beside me, her eyes fluttering as she murmurs in her sleep, the sheets clinging to her supple curves tempting me to take her body for a morning test drive. Sticking my head under the covers I smirk at my cock at full mast, thinking I could masturbate beside her, and she wouldn’t know.
Fuck. Don’t do it. You could get lost in a woman like her.
And as I watch her roll over, her full ass forcing the blood to my cock even more, I start to tug, pulling hard and fast staring at her ass, my arm pumping under the sheet. I doesn’t take long because Emily is a wet dream, and she could have any man she wants. Hell, she enticed me to break my cardinal rule, and I don’t know how.
Only temporarily satisfied, I groan as I keep looking at her body under the sheet for stimulation. I wipe myself off with the box of tissues next to me, heading to the bathroom so I can’t see her face anymore. Splashing the cold water on my face, I stare back at myself.
Time to go.
I’ve never loved. Only fucked. I can’t. It’s too dangerous, and one too many men in the Bratva organization have lost their heads like stupid fools over women. I’m on an upward trajectory, and if I want to be a Bratva boss one day, I’ve got to keep them at bay. Someday I plan to get married and do the kid thing, but not in the immediate future. Even as I think about it, I detest the idea.
One of my cousins is headed for divorce right now, and he can’t let her go like that. Once you’re in the Bratva and you know the secrets of us, we can’t let you live. No. You have to die. And now he has to kill his wife. Such a fucking shame. Returning to the bedroom, I check the time and on sleeping beauty. It’s early and check-out’s not going to be for another four hours at least. Her long hair’s draped over the edge of the bed and I have to ignore it, finding my pants under the bed.
Grinning, I shake my head. Emily was a wild ride, and I’m going to be thinking about her and that glorious body for quite a while. Zipping my pants up, I reach for the left-over juice from room service gulping it down and adding my shirt. I’ve got plenty of shit to do, and I need to check the club’s takings from last night and a bunch of other unpleasant tidy-ups I don’t want to partake in.
And I was right. Emily’s been the perfect escape, but now I’ve got to go before I linger longer than I should. A surge of guilt runs through me as I open my leather wallet pulling out four hundred dollars.
“Sorry, Emily. I can’t stay, but you were good. Real good,” I mutter, slowly lifting the lightshade up and sliding the money under it before walking towards the door.
She doesn’t move a muscle, staying in place, her slow breathing makes me want to spend more time. What did she do to me?
I should leave like I am. I owe her more. So much more. I stepped over my own line, but as I walk out and blow her kiss, I know I can’t go backwards now.
Feeling guilty, I leave another woman in my wake.