Chapter 22 Misha
MISHA
When the chaos is settled and the authorities have gone, I make my way back through the maze of tunnels beneath Podsolnukh where I left Vera.
The key turns in the lock, and I push open the door to find her pressed against the far wall, her face drawn tight with fear.
My chest aches for her because I know that feeling of fear all too well.
"It's over," I tell her, stepping inside. I walk toward her and crouch in front of her, studying her face.
She doesn't move immediately. Her eyes search my expression, looking for reassurance I'm not sure I can give.
Blood stains my shirt sleeve—not mine—and I can see her taking note of every detail.
I won't tell her the horrors I witnessed or the fallout that's likely to happen in our near future, but I can keep her safe.
"You can't go home tonight," I say. "Not after what happened up there."
"What do you mean, I can't go home?" She clumsily pushes some hair out of her eyes, and I reach up to help her curl it around her ear.
"Think about it, Vera. These people know where you live.
They know about your family." I pull my hand back, watching her process this.
"You want to drag this mess to your father's doorstep?
To Elvin while he's sick?" I'm not telling her Sonya may already be there, using her family as leverage to draw her out. It's the last thing she needs to hear.
The color drains from her cheeks. She understands now—how deep this runs, how far the danger reaches. After a long moment, she nods and takes my hand. I pull her up, and we leave through the service exit, avoiding the main concourse where police cars still crowd the parking lot.
I take her to my house, and she shakes the entire drive. A few times, I catch her covering her mouth as if she may throw up, and I wouldn’t blame her. Today was just normal business for me, but for someone like Vera it was traumatic.
At home, I pour myself three fingers of vodka and offer her some, but she refuses.
She finally accepts a cup of tea, wrapping her hands around the mug when I bring it to her.
We sit in my living room—her on the couch, me in the chair across from her.
There's nothing I wouldn’t do to try to comfort her, but I don't want to add more pain while she processes things.
"I need to know everything," I tell her.
"All of it. No more half-truths." Vera has been over this a few times, but something isn't stacking up for me.
She is placing the bets, but she's not making those horses win.
Pavel was involved, probably doping horses to get them disqualified, but the ring is bigger than that.
She meets my gaze steadily. "What do you want to know?"
"Start with Sonya. How long have you been running bets for her?"
"Six months." Her voice is quiet but firm. "She approached me at the stables. Said she had friends who needed small favors—placing bets, collecting winnings. Clean money for honest work."
"And you believed her?"
"I needed the money." There's no shame in her voice, only fact. "Elvin's treatments cost more than I make in a year. When someone offers you a way to help your family, you don't ask too many questions."
Again, I know all of this, but there's more I need, and I'm not sure if Vera knows it. "What did she tell you about the people you were working for?"
"Nothing. She said it was better if I didn't know.
She told me to take the envelopes, place the bets exactly as written, collect the winnings, hand them over.
" Vera sets down her tea and looks directly at me.
"I swear to you, I had no idea this was about fixing races.
I thought I was just… helping people who couldn't get to the track themselves. "
"The amounts never seemed suspicious? Some of those bets were enormous."
"Of course they did." Her green eyes flash with irritation. "But Sonya said her clients were wealthy businessmen who preferred to stay anonymous… I see it now, Misha, but I swear I didn't know back then. And then I was in too deep. It was too late."
I study her face, looking for any sign of deception. There is none. She's telling the truth. She was used by people who saw her desperation and exploited it.
"And do you know anyone else who is working for her?" I ask carefully, hoping not to anger her.
She shakes her head firmly. "Just a few jockeys I hand over cash to if the bets win. And only if she didn't supply the account and routing numbers." Her hands are shaking now, and I hate that I'm a part of what makes her tremble.
"These treatments for your brother," I say carefully. "How much do you need?"
"The full course? Two hundred thousand rubles. Maybe more if…" She stops herself, shaking her head. Her face droops, expression growing dim. I know she's thinking about Elvin's eventual demise should his treatments fail. I never want her to think that again.
"What if you didn't have to?"
She looks at me sharply. "What do you mean?"
"I mean what if the money wasn't a problem anymore?" I lean forward, my elbows on my knees. "What if I paid for his treatments? All of them."
The silence that follows is complete. Vera stares at me, her lips parted, as if she can't quite process what I've said. She shakes her head as her eyes tear up. "You can't be serious," she whispers.
"I'm completely serious."
"But why would you… I mean, Misha… You don't know him."
"I know enough." I know she's brave and loyal and willing to risk everything for the people she loves. I know she deserves better than being used as a weapon in someone else's war. "The money means nothing to me, Vera. But it means everything to you."
Tears gather in her eyes, making them look like green glass. "I don't understand. What do you want in return?"
"Nothing."
"There's always something."
"Not this time."
She stands abruptly, pacing to the window where she swipes the tears from her cheeks. When she turns back to me, her face is transformed, hope and disbelief warring in her expression.
"You're really saying you'll pay for Elvin's treatments? All of them?"
"Yes."
"And you want nothing from me?"
"I want you safe. I want your family safe. That's all."
She crosses the room in three quick steps. Before I can react, she's in my lap, her hands framing my face, her mouth on mine. The kiss is gratitude, full of a desire I recognize because I feel it too.
"Vera," I murmur against her lips.
"Misha, you… I …. You don't know what this means to me." Her hands are already working at the buttons of my shirt. I catch her wrists, stilling her movements.
"You don't owe me anything," I tell her. "You don't have to do this."
"This isn't about owing." Her eyes are bright, fierce. "This is about wanting. I want you, Misha. I want to be with you. Can't you see I love you?"
Her confession spools warmth through my belly and outward into my body.
I sit dazedly as I release her wrists and she immediately returns to my shirt, pushing the fabric aside to press her palms flat against my chest. Her touch burns, sears the hardened edges of my ragged soul I thought no one would ever see.
But she's seen me and judged me worthy of her affection, and all I can think is how desperately I feel the same, but to tell her that is to suck her into the vortex that is my life. It's not safe.
"Vera," I whisper again, and she presses her lips to mine in a scorching kiss.
"Do not push me away. My heart can't take that, Misha." The kiss that follows is hotter still, pulling every last ounce of resolve I have and destroying my will to keep her at arm's length.
Her kiss drags me under, her mouth hot and desperate against mine. She shifts, straddling my lap in the chair, her hands running over my chest, nails grazing the scars across my skin. I grip her hips and grind her down against my cock, already thick and straining against my trousers.
She gasps into my mouth. “I need you, Misha. Right here.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I mutter, but I keep grinding her against me, the friction making her whimper.
Her eyes burn into mine. “I know exactly what I’m asking for. Stop treating me like I’ll break.”
That shreds the last of my restraint. I yank open the button of her jeans, drag the zipper down, and shove the denim past her hips. She lifts to help me, kicking them free. Her panties are damp, clinging to her, and when I slide my fingers across the thin fabric she moans into my neck.
Her moan vibrates against my throat, her hips shifting to grind down harder on my lap. She fumbles with my belt, frustrated hands tugging until the metal gives. I shove my trousers open and free myself, the air thick with heat and her quick breaths.
She brushes against me through the thin fabric still between us and gasps, clutching my shoulders.
“Stop making me wait,” she demands, her voice raw.
I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. “You think you can order me?”
Her eyes flash, a challenge burning there. “I know I can. Because you want this as much as I do.”
I bare my teeth, sliding the lace aside. “You’re going to ride me until you can’t speak.”
“Then don’t hold back,” she throws back, and before I can answer, she sinks down on me.
The heat of her clenches around me, pulling a growl from my chest. I grip her hips to keep her still, savoring the way she takes me all the way in. Her nails bite into my shoulders, her forehead pressed to mine, our breaths colliding.
“God, Misha,” she gasps. “Every time, you ruin me.”
I thrust up hard, forcing a cry from her lips. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
She starts to ride me, slow at first, rocking her hips with maddening control. The chair creaks beneath us. Her hair falls into her face, sticking to her damp skin. I tuck it behind her ear, then fist it and yank her head back.
“Look at me while you take my cock,” I growl.
Her mouth falls open, a broken moan spilling out. “Harder. I need it harder.”
“You’ll get what I give you,” I snarl, slamming into her. She jerks against me, her cries tearing through the room.
She clings to me, her lips trembling against mine. “Then give me all of it. I can take it. I want all of you.”
I crush my mouth to hers and drive into her with brutal rhythm, every thrust pushing us closer to the edge.
Her body bucks against mine, her nails carving down my back as she slams herself down harder. I grip her ass and drive her faster, the chair rattling under us with every thrust.
“You love this,” I growl against her mouth. “You love me fucking you until you can’t breathe.”
“Yes,” she gasps, clinging to me. “Don’t stop, Misha. Harder. Please.”
I yank her hair back, forcing her to meet my eyes as I pound into her. “Say it again.”
“I love it,” she cries. “I love the way you fuck me. I love you.”
Her confession rips through me. I slam up into her with everything I have, each stroke coaxing a scream from her throat.
Her body tightens around me, her climax crashing over her in waves that wrack her frame.
She throws her head back, crying out as every muscle locks and releases, her nails raking my shoulders while she shudders and pulses around me.
She rides me harder, her thighs trembling as she takes every thrust, her cries echoing in my ear.
I grip her hips and drive up into her, the chair shaking with the force.
Heat coils low and fast until it breaks, and I grunt her name as I spill inside her, the release pouring through me in pulsing waves that leave my body spent.
She collapses against me, both of us shaking, breath torn from our lungs. Her lips brush my neck, her voice a broken whisper. “Misha,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Thank you…"
I bury my face in her hair, still inside her, and hold her as if the world outside no longer exists.
If I stop now to think about what Vadim or Nikolai will say, I'll lose the connection I have with her.
And right now, it's the only thing keeping me from hunting Sonya Radich down and slaughtering her myself.
There will be time for that later.