3. Rage
Chapter 3
Rage
My daily tasks take fucking forever. In five hours, I’ve settled one territory dispute, kicked the shit out of some lowlife who tried to stiff us for S-tier product, and completed a hefty perimeter check of the Baranova compound and its surrounding territory at Ezra’s direct request. Thanatos meets me at the gates on my way back around to the front of the main house, looking grim as hell and like he needs at least one week’s worth of sleep. I wasn’t there when he dropped off Celia this morning, and now I’m glad for it.
For once, he actually looks his age.
Instead of greeting me, he gets right to business. “We’re upping security all over the city,” Thanatos says, scratching the stubble on his chin. “Two more women have gone missing, and another body showed up on the beach.”
“Burn scars?”
He hands me a tablet with all of the crime scene photos organized into different folders for each victim. I open the most recent case file and scan every single picture for signs that our killer is none other than good ol’ Dad stirring up trouble. But although the murderer is clearly fucked in the head, we don’t have proof that it’s our father. Just a gut feeling that neither Thanatos or I can shake.
That, and the fact that the victims are treated like shit .
The latest victim has burns on her calves and forearms, a few nastier ones on the backs of her hands and around her ankles. Some are deep and in a pattern resembling chain links, but a few marks are too indiscernible to make out around the mutilated flesh. Whoever is doing this to people has one hell of a grudge to work through, and if I know anything about my father, it’s that he’s been harboring massive amounts of hate and resentment our entire lives.
I ignore the way my skin itches at seeing the burn scars on the victim’s body and continue scanning the photos. “Was she assaulted?” She’s still wearing a little black cocktail dress and heels, which points to her having been on a date the night she died. A quick shake of my eldest brother’s head confirms my suspicions. Aside from the violence, she wasn’t touched otherwise, meaning that although the assailant might get off on torturing women, the crimes may not be sexual in nature.
“She was alive for most of it,” Thanatos continues, sighing heavily, “but she sustained the worst of the injuries post-mortem, if that’s any consolation.”
“Since when did you become a detective?”
Thanatos has always been more of the muscle than the brains to the bratva’s operations—hell, all of us are—so either he’s gotten a promotion, or he’s taking a personal interest on account of Dad’s unknown whereabouts.
He pinches his lips together. “You of all people should know that in order to survive, we have to adapt. I can’t take out a target if I don’t know how to find him first. Whoever is doing this is on the bratva’s radar, so I’ve been tasked with finding him.”
“And have you found him?”
Thanatos clenches his jaw and stares off into the distance. “No.”
I change the subject to something much more important. “What about the break-in at Celia’s? Any idea if they’re connected?”
My brother nods toward the tablet in my hand. “Open the file from last week.”
I open the indicated file and swipe through the images to recheck each one. I don’t have to scroll far before my blood runs cold. This victim is lying on her front in the damp sand at the beach, her honey-blonde hair fanning out around her shoulders and an expensive evening gown hugging her curves. The warm sunrise highlights her caramel skin—and every burn tearing across it.
My heart fucking stops the longer I stare. This woman could be Celia’s sister with how similar their features are to each other’s.
“The guy has a type?” I tap the screen until I find the other victims’ files, noting how they’re all women of roughly the same age and build; pretty girls with winning smiles, perfect teeth, and immaculate manicures. Although they likely come from wealthy families, none of them are immediately familiar to me. Whoever the murderer is, he’s either strategically picking women we don’t protect as part of the bratva’s network, or he’s really good at avoiding us until now. “How did he find Celia?”
Thanatos shrugs. “She’s a pretty girl. Anyone with half a brain would notice her.”
I lift an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you liked pretty girls, much less mine.”
A vein in his neck throbs. “I don’t like her.”
“But you think she’s pretty.”
“Objectively-speaking, yes.” His dark eyes narrow as he swallows, and for once, he doesn’t seem like someone parading around with a major stick up his ass. He looks like a man struggling through an attraction to someone he hates.
“Mhm.” I hand him back the tablet, unable to keep a smirk off my face. “You can come visit her anytime, you know. You have access to our apartment.”
“I’m not interested in petsitting.”
I quickly try another tactic. Regardless of if the murderer is our father, Celia will need updated protection if she’s his type. Cage or no cage, she’ll be in danger until he’s captured. “What if I want to increase our security at the club?”
Thanatos closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m busy enough as it is. Too busy. I did you a favor by bringing her to you— twice now . ” He holds up two fingers, likely referencing their shared limo ride to Midnight in addition to his most recent abduction. “I’m not doing any more.”
“I’ll pay you, so it’s not a favor. It’s a job.”
“Ezra’s working me hard enough as it is.” He takes a steadying breath, and by the way his shoulders drop, it seems like he really fucking needs it. “I’m actually surprised that Ezra doesn’t have you running laps all over the city after what happened with Katya. We need new blood in our ranks if we’re going to keep things running smoothly.”
I know about Katya Dolohov’s recent transgressions with our pakhan —transgressions that she died for. Good fucking riddance, if you ask me. The bitch was bound to die messy, and from what I hear, she got off easy.
“Regardless,” I continue, “I want more security for the club. People are going to talk about the missing women once it goes public. Scared clients are bad for business.”
Thanatos’s mouth curves downward. “Talk to Ezra, then, not to me.”
Grinning, I clap my brother on the shoulder. “You’re his right hand man. Make it happen for me.”
The sun begins to set in the distance, casting long shadows all around us. Thanatos’s gaze flickers to each of them as he mentally surveys the perimeter like a bad habit.
“We’re on the estate, brother.” I squeeze his shoulder. “Relax. This place is safer than anywhere else in the city.”
Security on the main house quadrupled once our pakhan Andrei brought his wife Valentina home after their botched wedding. Rumor has it that he pulled our men from the city’s perimeter and housed them here, and honestly, I don’t blame him for it.
Nothing is more important than keeping your woman safe.
I picture Celia kneeling in our new cage, peering up at me with those big, round, doe-eyes. Her full breasts popping out of her bra and the swell of her stomach on full display, her soft hands reaching for my shaft as I feed it to her through the bars?—
Drawing a breath, I hold it inside my chest and let the pressure ease the burn of my blood rushing between my thighs. As gorgeous and tempting every fantasy I’ve conjured of Celia in the cage is, its purpose isn’t inherently sexual. I need to keep her off the streets and out of the public eye until we catch the bastard who dared threaten her safety. If I let her wander freely through the city, she’ll gain attention on account of who she is and how well she carries herself. Both stranger and acquaintance can’t help but watch her every time she walks by—she’s fucking mesmerizing.
And our killer knows it.
Thanatos frowns again, the lines around his mouth deepening. I’m not sure that he’s happy to be back in the city, but it can’t have been sunshine and rainbows outside of it, either. We haven’t kept in contact during the years he was away—keeping track of him was difficult when he was constantly on the move, and it’s not like he kept up with a burner phone or wrote home the old fashioned way. He’s the oldest of my brothers— older than me, even—and has always looked out for us, going so far as to defect from the bratva once our father cut and run to escape trial. Thanatos’s selfless nature hasn’t changed in all the years that have passed since we were kids.
He’s always trying to keep us safe, even from ourselves.
“She isn’t good for you,” he says finally, breaching the topic of conversation we’ve been skirting around. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Let her go, Rage.”
I shake my head. “I can’t do that.” I made a promise to my woman, and I’m going to keep it no matter what.
He knows where I’m going with this. “Break your promise, then. I’d rather you compromise your code of ethics than be tied to someone who doesn’t deserve you. She’s not pregnant. You can still end this before it’s too late.”
My fists clench. “She will be. I’m not abandoning the mother of my children.”
Thanatos sighs. “You could pick anyone, Rage.”
I know. “It has to be Celia.”
Although my attraction to Celia started the moment I laid eyes on her at the Baranova wedding, our connection goes beyond that now. She’s wrapped my brothers around her finger—no easy feat—and despite her claims otherwise, she’s just as drawn to us as we are to her. I see it. I feel it. We are meant to be together, all four of us, now into eternity.
“Keep her safe,” I tell Thanatos, meeting his eyes. “If not for her, then for me.”
If there’s one way to get through to him, it’s by reminding him that it’s not just Celia he will be protecting—but all of us, too. If she goes down, we all do.
A beat of silence passes before he nods, albeit reluctantly. “Fine. But only until you let her go, Rage.”
That won’t happen, but it’s pointless to argue. He’s just as convinced as I am about Celia, only on opposing sides of the argument.
We walk together in silence to the main house to give our separate reports for the day. Once we’re standing before our pakhan and his two top vors , one of which being Celia’s brother Mikhail Monrovia, I bring up another order of business.
Bringing Thanatos home where he belongs.
It takes some convincing, but we work together to negotiate a way for my brother to reorganize his current commitments to join our security detail at the club. Andrei isn’t thrilled about letting his wife’s new favorite bodyguard go, but he understands the importance of keeping both family and business assets safe, so he relinquishes his queen’s hold over my brother as her personal bodyguard to give him back to us.
Once Thanatos and I are getting into a car to head back to the club, he turns to face me. “I’m not sleeping in your apartment.” His nose crinkles, like he’s picturing the rest of us jerking off to our woman—or on her, which sounds fucking fantastic to me.
I relent, however, seeing as how he agreed to stay with us in the first place. “You can have the other wing, then. It’s unfurnished if you don’t count the gym equipment, but it’s spacious. You’ll have multiple rooms to fuck around in.”
We make the rest of the drive in silence until the club comes into view. My body thrums with renewed energy at the prospect of seeing Celia again—and even better, touching her. Tasting her. Fucking her.
A sharp ache seizes inside my chest as I remember the last time I opened up to her and how poorly that ended. I press a fist to my sternum to quell the feeling. The truth is, when Celia handcuffed me to my car and left me to rot, she hurt me. Not physically—but the aftershocks of the betrayal still run deep, constantly reminding me that although she initially chose me, although she let me plant my hopes to start a family deep inside her womb, although we made promises to each other and made fucking love to keep them…
I wasn’t enough for her to stay.
Who I am might even be the reason she left.
Thanatos, the sharp motherfucker that he is, notices my discomfort and gives me a pitying look. “The people we love are the ones who hurt us the most.”
Sadly, that’s the lesson we keep learning over and over and over again, the spiral of agony continuing until we’re addicted not only to the pleasure, but also the pain.
Celia ignores me when I return to the apartment, choosing to stare at the ceiling rather than watch me cross the room into the kitchen. She’s lying on her back on the padded bench I provided, with her knees drawn up and her arms crossed over her stomach. I can’t see much of her on account of the blanket covering damn near her entire body, but the clothes she wore earlier today are still in a pile on the floor. At least she knows not to push her boundaries too much.
Ignoring me, however, will not go uncorrected. We haven’t set any rules for her behavior while she’s on a tight leash, but that changes tonight. She isn’t going to sit there looking pretty all damn day and night.
She’s going to learn how to greet—and serve—her future husband.
While I roll up my shirtsleeves and wash my hands in the kitchen sink, there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of dinner. “Rebel,” I call out, “get that.” I glance over my shoulder to gauge Celia’s interest in either my arrival or the mystery knock, but she doesn’t so much as look in either direction.
I suppose exchanging pleasantries would be too normal for people like us.
Rebel’s the one who breaks the relative silence in the room, padding to the door and swinging it open for Dmitri, the club’s head chef, to deliver our meals. He pushes the cart through the door but doesn’t step inside the apartment.
No one enters except for us.
Dmitri, having been on our payroll for over a decade, knows better than to ask questions. He merely glances between Celia’s cage, Rebel’s total nudity, and my casual monitoring of it all with a nod of his head before turning on his heel and retreating to the back elevator to return downstairs.
“Thank God,” Rebel moans, lifting a gleaming silver cloche to reveal a thick ribeye cooked to perfection. “I’m fucking starving. ” He grabs the plate and abandons the cart, stumbling to one of the bar stools and plopping down with enough force to rock the chair. Grabbing the steak with his bare hands, he tears into it with his teeth and swallows a bite whole. Blood drips down his fingers and wrists as he devours another bite and groans. “That’s the fucking spot.”
I’d normally tear my brother a new one for sitting on the furniture naked, but every lick of his lips piques Celia’s interest. She watches the occasional drip from Rebel’s steak land on his chest and trail down his abs.
If I listen closely enough, I can hear her stomach growl.
I hand Rebel a spoon for the mashed potatoes and leave him to scarf down his meal. There are three remaining steak dinners, a basket of fresh bread, and a chilled bottle of champagne sitting in an ice bucket waiting for me. I help myself to one of the dinner plates and stand across the island from Rebel so that I can keep an eye on Celia.
Will she beg for her meal?
The stench of alcohol cuts through the pleasant aroma of bread and charred meat, the offense wafting off of Rebel like he’s bathed in vodka all afternoon. “Have you been drinking?” I clench my jaw tightly. He was supposed to watch Celia while I was gone—not get shitfaced for the hell of it. Not to mention, he has clients tonight, and they won’t tip nearly as well if he reeks of booze and his performance suffers because of it. “Your shift starts in an hour. Go wash it off.”
With a sarcastic salute, he takes a huge, messy bite of uncut steak, slips off the stool, and starts walking back toward his room, still chewing loudly enough to grate on my nerves. When he walks past Celia, he pauses to look at her.
She ignores him, which shouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as it is.
At least she’s being a bitch to all of us.
Rebel scowls, taking another monstrous bite as soon as he’s swallowed the first.
Celia’s stomach suddenly growls, and I catch Rebel smirking at the sound. The steak melts in your mouth, so pulling a piece off to dangle it in front of her is easy. “Want some meat, baby?” His dick twitches close to her face, doubling in size in record time as he gets a half-chub.
I watch the display with curiosity. Rebel excels in choosing unorthodox methods just to fuck with people. He likes chaos, feeding off of it like a leech while the rest of us suffer.
Whatever he’s doing works, getting our girl’s attention more than ignoring her has. Celia sits up on the bench and swings her legs around, straddling the seat to face Rebel. She stares curiously at his dick for a moment before lifting her gaze to his face. “If that’s supposed to tempt me, you’re going to have to try harder.” Lifting her hand, she pretends to measure his dick with her forefinger and thumb. “Seems a little small.”
The smirk on Rebel’s face freezes. “You won’t think it’s small the next time you’re choking on it.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “What makes you think there will be a next time?”
“There’s always a next time.”
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her tits up beautifully. “Be a good boy and listen to your big brother. You smell like a cheap bar.”
Rebel, undeterred, bites back. “Wonder whose fault that is.”
“I didn’t hand you the bottle, Rebel.”
He tosses the strip of steak pinched between his fingers through the side of the cage, glaring as it lands on her cleavage. It plops , leaving a bloody smear.
Fucking children.
With a growl, I slam my palms down on the countertop. “ Rebel, get the fuck in the shower. Now. ”
For once, he listens, retreating into his bedroom and slamming his bathroom door shut. I wait until I hear the shower start before wetting a clean cloth under the faucet and bringing it to Celia. We stare at each other for a tense moment before I break the silence. “Press your chest against the bars.”
She plucks the piece of meat from her chest and tosses it across the room. Ignoring my order, she meets my eyes. “I’m not letting you touch my tits.”
The corner of my eye twitches. “Come here, Celia.”
She reaches for the cloth, but I pull it away before her fingertips slip through the bars. Exhaling hotly, she wipes the juices from her skin with the corner of a bedsheet. “There. Happy now?”
No, I’m pissed.
I swallow as much rage as I can and reach into my pocket for the key to her cage. “You will follow my orders when I give them. The first time, not the second.” I walk to the other side of the cage and unlock the door. Cracking it open, I gesture for her to come through. “Come here.” She hesitates, and I snap my fingers, pointing to the ground at my feet. “ Now. ”
Fire flashes in her eyes. “I’m not your fucking pet!”
“You will listen to me,” I hiss, grabbing the cage door and ripping it open, “because I am the only one taking care of you!” Throwing my hand toward Rebel’s bedroom doorway, I continue, “do you think he would have fed you, Celia?” Clicking my tongue, I jerk my chin toward the staircase leading up to Ruin’s loft. “What about him? Would he have provided blankets and a place to sleep, or would he have left you on the floor to shiver to death?”
She stares wide-eyed at me. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You aren’t seriously suggesting that what you’re doing is for my benefit?”
“Of course it is!” I lunge for her, wrapping my fist around her wrist and dragging her from the cage. She gasps, struggling to crawl without being dragged, and my heart twinges in my chest. I beat back the flicker of remorse by reminding myself why all of this is even necessary.
Everything I’m doing is for her own good. “You were in a goddamn shack , Celia. Rolling around in the dirt, ignoring the cockroaches breeding in the corner and the cracked back window. A child could have broken into that place.” I picture a full-blooded adult high on whatever street drug he could get his grimy hands on, breaking into the house and finding Celia inside. She was vulnerable every single second she spent in that place. “You were not safe there, no matter how much you’ve convinced yourself otherwise.” I bare my teeth as we come to a stop by the dinner cart and plant her ass on top of my shoes. Her body weight grounds me, the chilled skin in my hands reminding me that I need to be gentle.
She can break, and it’s my responsibility to ensure that doesn’t happen.
Reaching for the bottle of champagne on the cart, I pop open the top and revel in the way she flinches. Foam pours from the tip, dousing my hand and wrist and dripping all over Celia’s body. It fizzles against her skin as it settles, its crisp taste bubbling on my tongue when I take a swallow straight from the bottle.
She gazes up at me, the fire in her eyes burning brighter than the sun. “You’re fucking crazy.”
Crazy for you, Mama.
“Open your fucking mouth.”
Pressing her lips tightly together, she silently refuses.
Cradling her throat in my palm, I tilt her head back as far as it will go, palming the delicate curve between my thumb and forefinger. Pressing up and applying pressure, I cut off her windpipe. Most people don’t realize how easy it is to restrict someone’s air flow, but there are a thousand ways to take control—to grab the delicate life thread keeping a person conscious and rip it from their grasp. I hold on tightly, ignoring Celia’s attempts to pry my hand loose. Her nails scratch my skin, creating shallow cuts that send sparks down my spine.
When I drop the bottle and hold my other hand over her mouth and nose, completely cutting off her oxygen supply, she digs painful grooves into my wrists and kicks her feet, uselessly banging her heels against the floor. Her eyes water, but not a single tear falls free.
I press an upside-down kiss to her forehead, then spread twin kisses across each of her cheekbones. “Stubborn girl.”
She can’t take much more without passing out, but I hold on, knowing that she’ll cave. They always do, preferring to gasp for the life I graciously give them than to succumb to the unknown shadows that wait beyond the grave.
Seconds tick by. I count every single one, my frustration growing as we get closer and closer to the fifteen-second mark when most people pass out. I let up a little of the pressure on her neck so that she can snag some air, but her chest doesn’t expand, and her lips don’t move behind my palm in an effort to breathe.
I remove my hand from her face, expecting her to take a breath once she’s free.
She glares up at me until the last second, her face flushed bright pink until the moment her eyes roll back and she faints, collapsing against my legs.
I cradle her head in my hands and lower myself to the floor, pulling her into my lap to check her pulse. It’s slow, as expected after falling unconscious, and I take deep breaths to calm down.
No one ever chooses to willingly suffocate until they pass out. No one except for…
Me.
And now, my future wife, too.
I run my fingers through Celia’s hair as I remember what it felt like to be at her mercy. The power she possessed. The determination. The thrill of being so important that she had to cut me out of her life or risk falling for me. I’m sure that she doesn’t see it that way, but I know the truth she keeps denying.
We’re meant to be together, and what happened here tonight proves it.
She’s too scared to let herself have a good thing.
Rebel appears from his bedroom a few moments later, an unwelcome visitor to this monumental miscalculation. His gaze pings to Celia instantly, his eyes widening at the new bruising around her neck. “What the fuck, Rage.” He rushes toward us and drops to his knees in front of her, holding his hands out like he wants to touch her but isn’t sure where to land. Water drips from his hair onto her skin while he gingerly prods the bruises with his fingertips. Hissing, he snaps the collar from around her neck and tosses it to the floor. A heart-shaped print is embedded into her skin. “ This is why she won’t trust us. You’re fucking everything up! Shit, man.”
“She was supposed to concede,” I growl, hugging her body to my chest. She remains limp, and although I know I haven’t caused any permanent damage, Rebel might be right.
This will be another grievance that she holds against me.
“There’s—” Rebel’s eyes lock onto Celia’s throat. “There’s a heart.” He traces the shape with his fingertip before leaning in and kissing it. His lips linger against her throat, likely without him intending it, and I wrestle with the knowledge that despite our fucked-up displays of affection, the three of us really do care for her.
Rebel rakes a hand through his messy wet hair and pulls his snakebite into his mouth. Groaning, he leans back on his haunches and shuts his eyes. “What are we doing, Rage? We can’t—we don’t—” He huffs and adjusts his sitting position until his legs are sprawled out in front of him, the tears in his dark jeans threatening to rip. “I don’t like being this person.” Rubbing his chest, he sighs.
I cage off my heart, knowing that if any of us softens, all of our plans will fall apart. “She deserves this.” I brush my fingertips against her arm. “She deserves us. If we let her run off and do whatever she damn well pleases, she’ll make a mistake. She’ll choose wrong, just like she did before.” I shake my head as I think of her idiot ex-husband, Ted , who doesn’t deserve the air Celia fucking breathes. “I’m not letting her make those mistakes again. We’re going to keep her safe and satisfied, like she deserves. We’ll be the family she’s always wanted.”
She will learn to be grateful when she understands why this—the cage, the rules, the punishments and pleasures—is necessary.
Rebel’s eyebrows pinch together. “She deserves this ?” He stares at the bruising around her neck, the mottled purples and reds bleeding into the shapes of my fingers. “I’m pissed at her too, but I’ll get over it. I think. Maybe.” Standing, he brushes off his jeans and looks down at the two of us, a frown etched across his face. “Don’t mistake your revenge as kindness, man. It’s not pretty. And it won’t—” He draws a breath—“it won’t make her love you.”
After my brother leaves to get ready for another night of counting cards for rich old men, I sit with my woman cradled in my arms for far longer than I should, indulging in her presence. I run my fingers through her silky hair, brush my lips across her temple, and whisper promises into her ear.
She may not ever choose to love me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop loving her.
I can’t.
I won’t.
If there’s one good thing I can do in this life, it’ll be for her.
Everything will be for her.