Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
ava
I glare at him. “Get off me.”
“Now, why the fuck would I want to do that?” Seamus asks, voice low and deadly and not about to give an inch. “I’ve got you exactly where I like you… on your back and under me.”
I struggle, heat molten in my veins, and I find myself rubbing against him because his erection has my attention. It shouldn’t. Not unless I cut it off, but that would be a waste of joy, and joy is something so hard to come by in this life.
“Also, I like you on your knees. And on your stomach. All the fucking positions,” he continues. “Now answer my question.”
My heart beats loud, my mind replaying Iosif being in this house, his words. The look he gave me.
He wasn’t lying. Not about the threats, and a threat to him is a threat to Tatiana. It might not be direct, but she’s in his mansion, and the fact that he came here…
Fuck, I thought Seamus believed me when I said I didn’t plant any kind of hardcore bomb. I don’t even know how to begin to make one that’ll do more than maybe harm someone leaning over it. That’s why I made a connection to the car, why I hoped I could blow that up.
I’d never done it before. The small flash bombs, yes, because Paddy liked to make them.
Though it was only a handful of years ago, I suddenly feel like the memories belong to a different person.
One who was na?ve because I helped make a few.
And never asked where they’d end up. When he came back beaten and bloodied with some of his friends, telling me Stan was dead, I… I demanded to know who did it.
I wanted revenge on whoever killed my cousin. Whoever it was who stole my future.
I squeeze my eyes shut, the heavy weight of Seamus comforting in a weird way that I don’t want.
“What?” he asks, licking my throat. “Can’t think of a good response?”
“Fuck you.” I open my eyes.
He nibbles across my lips. And offers the slow burn smile that flips my stomach and instantly makes me wet.
“Maybe later, sweet thing, if you’re good.”
Anger flares and I don’t bother to tamp it down, and all it does is feed the flames that burn between us, because I can feel the vibration of his anger, and together it threatens an inferno.
“I didn’t plant the—”
“Watch your next words, Ava. I know you made the flash bombs and the gas tank one. I’m asking why.” He brushes my cheek with his lips. “I’m asking what part you played with the Lev group, with this Hank. And the Semtex bomb.”
The flames stutter out. “Who? No, I didn’t…” I stop and suck in a breath. “I’ve heard the name Hank, but I don’t know him.”
“Well, at least you know what Semtex is.”
“Of course I do,” I snap. “But he never played with that.”
“Paddy?”
I don’t even nod for his green eyes to turn to ice, and his hands tighten their grip on my wrists. Now my heart starts to beat harder for a different reason.
Or maybe it’s the same.
I’m not scared even though I know I should be.
I’m turned on in a primal way, one where sex is life and death and blood and lust. And I meet that gaze full-on. “Yes.”
“But he taught you how to play Irish fighter, huh? What else?”
“Nothing,” I say, my voice tight. “It’s just… after my dad and Elena, I… The bratva was meant to be mine.”
It’s familiar, safe. And I stay on this path.
“Of course. You’re the milk of human kindness.”
“And you’re a fucking saint, aren’t you, Seamus?”
His smile is cold and feral yet holds the kind of bite I crave. “You’re the one pretending to cry over your cousin when you were manipulating him into handing you the keys to the bratva.”
I struggle to break his hold but he’s too strong. “Stanislav didn’t want to run a bratva. He didn’t want to be part of it. Neither did my uncle. Stan was a rich kid who loved money and pseudo danger, but he understood family. You do what you’re told.”
“All but you, is that right?”
“No.” I narrow my eyes. “But this bratva’s mine and I’ll put up with you to get it.” I take a breath. “We had a deal. He’d run it, and I’d help out. Then I’d eventually take over and he could go back to traveling, living it up.”
“So you were seduced by Paddy, then, after dear Stan departed this mortal coil?”
Seamus is the most despicable man I’ve met. I think I preferred believing he killed Stan. This is worse.
He recognizes me.
My failures. Those shortcomings, the sins of my heart and soul. I wrapped up caring about the bratva in a thin layer of caring about Stan.
It doesn’t matter that I did at a certain level, but we didn’t really know each other.
He liked fast crowds, and he enjoyed being a spectator to the kind of slick danger Paddy brought.
So, of course, he was at a bar when a fight broke out, and I know when I heard who killed him, my first thought was this Seamus person killed my chances.
It wasn’t about Stan.
And Seamus somehow sees this.
It makes me hate him more.
“Piotyr isn’t my type.”
“Wasn’t. Your Piotyr’s dead.”
I don’t even blink. “I don’t care.”
Silence spreads like a held breath as we look at each other. A bigger truth engulfing us, one I can’t read.
“Maybe he didn’t seduce you physically, but he got your trust.” Seamus breaks that silence.
I struggle some more but his hold doesn’t slip. “He didn’t want any part of the bratva. He wanted standing, one he said you took from him. And he wanted to crush you, too. For Stan. For those he lost. And a small smuggling operation like Volkov wouldn’t give him that.”
“The shite never saw the bigger picture. But here I think you’re wrong. I think he saw it, and you, as a stepping stone.”
“Too late now,” I snarl, “isn’t it?”
“That it is, sweet thing.” He pauses. Then he kisses me softly, sweetly—it’s like a single pure note. “So why didn’t they just wait for you to come of age? A cousin? An uncle?”
Shock ricochets. The kiss was a disarming move, nothing more. There’s less inside this man than there is in me. “I’m female. They were full Russian and I’m only half. Misogyny. Dad’s will didn’t surface until recently. With the death of my uncle—”
“Did you kill him?” he asks.
I move fast, slamming my head into his, and he reels back, laughing.
“Fuckwit!” I snarl.
“Jesus, I’m not sure now if you did or didn’t.”
“I didn’t.” I manage to get away from him and I’m on my feet, running to the other side of the bed, knowing he can still get me, but I need the space. I need to breathe. I need to watch my mouth. “But I worry about the threats. And who this Hank is. Why did he have a bomb planted?”
“The golden question.” He tilts his head. “Why do you worry about the threats? You’re here. Within the embrace of the Murphys.”
“Because did you forget that someone broke into my place?”
And because of Tatiana.
He watches me a moment. “Are you sure Paddy didn’t have accomplices?”
“If he did, I don’t know them. He wasn’t interested in the bratva; he wanted in on his own family’s bratva.”
Seamus laughs and shakes his head. “The slow game might not be his style, but if your bratva was the only thing around, he’d have taken it if that’s all there was. He’d have known the Volkov Bratva would be perfect to get his family’s attention. And being Russian blood, of a Russian bratva…”
He doesn’t finish.
There’s a knock on the door and he stalks over, opening it.
The one I thought was Seamus, Torin, stands there, dark-blue eyes taking us in, then he turns to his brother. “We’ve got a lead.”
And before I can move, before I can say a word, Seamus is out the door, locking it behind him.
“Hey, sweet thing, wake up.”
I come out of the warm embrace of a dreamless sleep and open my eyes to find a fallen angel of a man looking at me. Those dark-green eyes are soft, and I can almost imagine how he’d look in love. How he’d touch someone with a gentle hand, a smile—
Gasping, I rip myself away and scramble to the other side of the bed.
He laughs and straightens up. And I can’t move.
The hiss of a shower running and a small billow of steam from the bathroom wafts in, but that’s not why I can’t move.
Seamus stands there, wearing only boxer briefs, a sculpture of fine art come to life. He’s lean and muscled, and his cock fills out the front of the shorts in a way that makes it hard to lift my gaze.
Pun very much intended.
The clothes on the floor are stained with blood, and his knuckles are reddened as he sips his drink.
“Shower,” he says, “and get dressed.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
His lips press together as thunder rolls over his face and his cock grows. He slams down his drink, drags me up, and pulls me, stumbling, into the bathroom. Then he shoves me under the hot spray.
I yelp, the stolen t-shirt plastering itself to my body.
He climbs into the enclosure. Then he pulls the shirt off and pushes me against the warm tile as he kisses me deeply, making my head spin.
I kiss him back, angry but wanting more.
I tug on his hair and push against him, staggering back until he’s pressed to the other side.
Now I’m the one biting his lip, kissing my way to his neck and, just to spite any female who might look at him, sucking hard on his throat and then kissing lower, biting his nipples.
He grabs my wet hair and pulls me close so we’re both under the spray, and using his free hand, he delves into my wet panties, sliding over my clit as he pushes two fingers into me.
I ride his hand as he returns the bite and sucks on my neck. I want him naked and in me, but he drives deeper into me until I’m ready to come, then stops suddenly, sliding his fingers out.
He strips me of my underwear, hands me a washcloth, and then gets out of the shower with the wet clothes.
“You can finish what you started,” I snap.
He drops the clothes in a wet heap on the floor and then shoves his boxer briefs to his ankles before kicking them off. He keeps the door open, eyes on me as he slowly begins to jerk himself.
I take a step, and he shakes his head. He groans and almost bends over as he comes, thick ropes shooting over the sides of his hand. I lick my lips without even thinking, wishing I could taste. His lips curl into a slow, seductive grin as he grabs the panties from the floor and cleans himself off.
“Where’s the fun in that?” he says. “And just so we’re clear, you’re not allowed to touch yourself.
Now hurry that hot ass up. We’re going out for dinner.
I got you a dress and shoes. Lucie picked them up for me.
And if you try to defy me and get off, I’ll know, and I don’t think you’ll like the punishment.
” He turns, and leaving the bathroom door open, he walks out.
I stare after his ripped, tattooed back. There’s an emblem, like a crest, with foreign words on it around the base. Across his shoulders is one single word with other words in each section of the emblem.
“Murphy,” I whisper. “Family. Unity. Loyalty. Freedom.” They all come with Celtic-style art, but it makes me uneven inside, and I wonder what it’s like to love like that. To have people who have your back while you have theirs.
I know that’s why the tattoo’s on his back, to symbolize that thought.
“No,” I mutter. “He’s still the worst and you know it. And he’ll kill you for the bratva if you’re not careful. So you need to remember you have to kill him first if he tries.”
In a year.
Such a long damn time.
I’m so tempted to masturbate, but for some reason I don’t. The beat of excitement moves through me, the thrill of disobedience and what that punishment might entail, but I also need to be careful.
This is a game, and a dangerous one at that.
Besides… dinner? I’ve been locked in here for hours and I’m starving.
Another reason to hate him. I like keeping score of his crimes against me.
When I’m done, I dry my hair and do my eyes, and then I look at the ugly ring on my finger.
There are some who might find it beautiful, but not me. It’s like screaming you’re rich, that you’re owned, that you do nothing all day but look good for your man.
I liked the small ring, the pretty pink one. But, of course, that’s not for me. That’s for a woman in love, a woman who’s loved.
And there’s no place in my world for love.
Especially with Seamus.
When I walk out of the bathroom, my mouth waters at him in a suit with a slate-gray shirt and a charcoal tie. He’s putting rings on, and there’s something so utterly hot about it, I almost jump him.
Seamus turns. I’m naked and I hold up my hand. “Just for you.”
His gaze burns over me. “Later.” But his eyes linger on my exposed pussy and heat flares. “Get dressed. The reservation is in forty minutes.”
The shoes are silver sandals with an elegant ankle strap, and the dress is fitted and also a silvery color. It falls just below the knee and is absolutely stunning. I look around for underwear.
And he just smiles. “Get. Dressed.”
Hate, I remind myself. And I cling to it harder.
It’s all I think I can do to survive.