2. Amaliya Balakin
CHAPTER 2
AMALIYA BALAKIN
“ Y ou should look at me when I speak to you.” Shaw’s rough voice does things to my insides. Melty, gooey, filthy things that would make the man blush if he knew. Which makes it that much more imperative he have no idea how deeply he affects me.
“Oh, you were speaking to me? It sounded like someone was shouting at me, using your voice.” Since the morning I woke up here, after Jaxon and Blakely found me drugged and tied up in the backseat of a stolen sedan, poking at Shaw seems to be the only time I feel like myself. Does that make me a spoiled princess? Maybe. Shaw must think so, judging by his gusty sigh.
“Amaliya, please look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he grits out, probably choking on that please just a bit.
“Sure, Daddio. You have my full attention.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and tilt my face to meet his stare. I hate my hair. It’s so dark brown it’s practically black, long enough to trip on, and stick straight.
My father forbade me to cut it, saying a woman’s hair is where she stores the strength she needs to topple kingdoms. I’ve always kept it braided or looped into a bun, so it’s out of the way, but lately, finding a rubber band in this house is like searching for a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Even when I manage to borrow hair ties from Blue or Blakely, the damn things disappear the minute my eyes are closed.
“Dammit, Amaliya, stop calling me that. I’m not your father.”
It drives Shaw nuts when I call him Daddy or Daddio. He pretends not to understand why I do it, but we both know I’m not envisioning him as a substitute for my father. Not even a little bit.
“I haven’t called the pakhan ‘Daddy’ a single time in my entire life. Most of the time I don’t even call him Father. Nice try, but go away. I’m busy.” I make a shooing motion with the hand not holding the tattoo machine.
I know the instant I set it down, Shaw will snatch it. He’s got it in his head I can’t be a tattoo artist like he is because my father’s convinced him I have some special destiny arranged for the future. Something grand and important that can only happen once the menfolk are done with their bloody turf wars and power grabs. They think I’m unaware of what goes on behind the curtain, but I’m neither stupid nor comatose, and I’d have to be both not to know.
Anatoly Balakin expects me to marry for power and allegiance. To breed for the benefit of the brotherhood he’s dedicated his life to. That’s the grand destiny he envisions for my future. Whether or not Shaw knows and buys into the plan, every day he keeps me here is another day he assists my father in keeping me alive long enough to marry me off. Make no mistake, my father cares about me. Inasmuch as men of his ilk are able to care about their children. But he’s an old school Russian mobster. Which means, just like in most crime families, my value is tied to what it brings to the organization.
And all that renders any of my dreams and plans for my future as null as the lives of the turncoats who thought they could make a power grab against my father by selling me into the trafficking ring Shaw’s club has been busy dismantling for months now.
When I first came here, I wanted to believe part of Shaw’s commitment to putting an end to everyone involved in the human trafficking organization that set up shop in his hometown had something to do with keeping me safe. He certainly dove in zealously to go after them. My foolish, na?ve heart put him on a pedestal. I told myself he must feel the same chemistry arcing between us, the need to orbit as close to one another as possible that only comes from meeting one’s soul mate.
Foolish heart, believing chemistry exists for men like Shaw. For men like my father, who lead criminal organizations and suck up power the way a vacuum inhales dust. Months have passed, and Shaw’s made it clear I’m nothing but a pain-in-his-ass obligation, and he’s counting the days ’til he can be well rid of me.
“Give me the machine, LeeLee. You know better. The pakhan will shit kittens if he finds out I allowed you to play with a tattoo rig.” He softens his voice and calls me by the childish nickname he only uses when he’s sweet talking me to get his way. With effort, I harden my heart and lock the lid on my aching obsession for this man, who sees me as an annoying child.
“No, Shaw. I’ll be keeping this. I used my very own money to buy it, so you can’t take it away from me.” I sweep a hand over the table, pulling the fake skin, pots of ink and stencils close. Ink splashes onto the wooden tabletop, but I ignore it. If Shaw cares so much about it, he’s free to wipe it up later.
Without relaxing my hold on the tattoo machine, I nudge everything into the plastic bin the stencil starter kit came in. I tuck the box under my arm and cross my arms with the machine blocked by my other bicep. Nearly everything I have in this compound has been given to me by the generosity of the Ghost Born MC, though I know my father’s rewarding them richly for their care. This stuff, though… This stuff I bought using money Frankie gave me to thank me for all the help I’ve been giving her with Baby Teeny.
It’s mine, and not even Shaw can make me give it up. He and my father think I’ll obediently slide into the future they expect for me. I think they’ve both got another thing coming. I’m Amaliya Balakin, and I’m no man’s chattel.