27. Emma
EMMA
I stand frozen for several seconds after Krystal finishes speaking.
Nothing about this meeting has unfolded the way I imagined during the past year.
She doesn’t look frightened or desperate.
She doesn’t whisper for help or search the room for a chance to escape.
Her posture is relaxed, confident even, like she’s exactly where she wants to be.
I try anyway.
I step forward and tell her quietly that we can take her with us right now. The men outside the gallery are armed, the exits are controlled, and Volkov’s guards are outnumbered. We can get her out of here safely.
For a brief moment, I think I see hesitation in her eyes. Something flickers there, a shadow of the girl I knew in college. But it disappears almost instantly.
Krystal simply smiles. It’s the same soft smile I remember from late-night study sessions and weekend brunches, and it breaks something inside me.
“I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” she says gently.
Before I can argue again, before I can beg or plead or demand she reconsider, Krystal turns and walks calmly back toward the men waiting for her. She leaves the gallery without looking back, her heels clicking against the polished floor with steady, unhurried confidence.
I stand there stunned long after the door closes behind her.
The drive back to the estate is quiet. I stare out the window most of the way, replaying the conversation again and again in my mind.
Nothing about Krystal’s behavior makes sense to the version of her that I remember.
The woman I knew would never have chosen this life.
She would never have smiled like that while standing beside men who bought and sold people like commodities.
By the time we reach the estate, I feel emotionally drained and confused.
Instead of joining the men in the study, I go straight to the bedroom suite we’ve been sharing and lock myself in the bathroom.
The hot water from the shower runs for several minutes before I even step under it, steam filling the room until I can barely see the mirror.
I’m trying to wash away the frustration and helplessness building inside me, trying to scrub off the feeling that I’ve failed her completely.
The water scalds my skin, but I don’t adjust the temperature. I just stand there with my forehead pressed against the tile, letting the heat punish me.
I don’t hear the door open over the sound of the water.
Artur pushes into the steam-filled room without knocking or even asking permission.
He doesn’t start an argument or try to lecture me about what happened at the gallery.
He simply strips off his clothes and joins me under the spray, his presence warm and steady behind me.
His hands settle on my shoulders, thumbs pressing into the knots of tension there. “You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved,” he says quietly.
I close my eyes. “I know.” But I don’t want to know. I don’t want to accept it.
Artur turns me around to face him, the hot water streaming between us. His dark eyes search mine, reading every emotion I’m trying to hide. Then he leans down and kisses me, slow and deep, like he’s trying to pull me out of my own head.
The tension between us slowly melts into something more intimate. His hands slide down my back, gripping my ass and pulling me flush against him. I can feel how hard he is, his cock pressing against my stomach, and the physical reminder of his desire cuts through the numbness I’ve been drowning in.
“You’re not alone in this,” he murmurs against my mouth.
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him harder, needing the distraction, needing to feel something other than failure.
His tongue slides against mine, demanding and possessive, and I open for him completely.
One of his hands tangles in my wet hair while the other kneads my ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks.
“I need you,” I whisper against his lips.
“I know.” His voice is rough with desire. “I’ve got you.”
He walks me backward until my shoulders hit the tile wall, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat of the water and his body.
His mouth moves to my throat, teeth scraping over my pulse point before he sucks hard enough to bruise.
I gasp, my head falling back against the wall as pleasure shoots straight to my core.
His hand slides between my thighs, fingers finding me already wet and ready. “Fuck, Emma. You’re soaked.”
“Please,” I breathe, my hips rocking against his hand.
He doesn’t make me wait. Two thick fingers push inside me, curling to hit that spot that makes my vision blur.
I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders as he works me with steady, deliberate strokes.
His thumb finds my clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves until I’m trembling against him.
“That’s it,” he growls against my throat.
The pressure builds fast, coiling tight in my belly. I’m already so close, wound up from the emotional turmoil of the day and desperate for the release he can give me. His fingers pump faster, harder, the wet sounds of what he’s doing to me obscene even over the rush of the shower.
“Artur, I’m—”
“I know. Come for me first, then I’ll fuck you properly.”
His words push me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me, my body clenching around his fingers as waves of pleasure roll through me. He works me through it, drawing out every aftershock until I’m boneless and gasping.
Before I’ve fully recovered, he lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he positions himself at my entrance. His cock is thick and hard, pressing against my slick folds, and I’m already aching to be filled again.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I force my eyes open, meeting his dark gaze as he pushes inside me in one slow, deep thrust. The stretch is intense, almost too much, and I gasp at the fullness. He’s so deep like this, hitting places that make my toes curl.
“Fuck,” he groans, his forehead dropping to mine. “You feel perfect.”
He gives me a moment to adjust before he starts to move, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. The angle has him grinding against my clit with every thrust, sending sparks of pleasure through my already oversensitive body.
I cling to him, my nails raking down his back as he fucks me against the wall.
The water streams over us, making our skin slick and hot, and the steam makes it hard to breathe.
But I don’t care. All I care about is the feeling of him inside me, the way he’s taking me apart with every powerful thrust.
His pace increases, his hips snapping against mine with bruising force. The sound of our bodies coming together echoes off the tile, mixing with my moans and his rough breathing. I can feel another orgasm building, the pressure coiling tight again, and I’m so close I can barely think.
“Artur, please—”
“Not yet,” he says, his voice strained. “Wait for me.”
His hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit and rubbing tight circles that make me see stars.
I’m right on the edge, trembling and desperate, when I hear quiet laughter spilling from my lips.
The sound surprises me, breaking through the intensity of the moment, and Artur smiles against my throat.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
That’s when I hear the shower door open, and I realize we’re not alone anymore.
“Starting without us?” Rurik’s voice is rough with amusement and something darker.
I turn my head to look at him, water streaming down my face. Eduard is right behind him, both of them already naked, their eyes locked on where Artur’s hand is working between my legs.
“She needed a distraction,” Artur says without stopping what he’s doing.
Eduard steps into the shower first, crowding in beside us. His hand cups my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple until it hardens under his touch. “Then let’s give her one.”
What begins as comfort gradually turns into shared intimacy between all four of us.
Rurik moves behind me, his chest pressed to my back, his hands sliding around to grip my breasts while Artur thrusts into me.
Eduard’s mouth finds mine, swallowing my moans as the three of them work together to take me apart.
It’s overwhelming. The heat of the water, the steam making it hard to breathe, the feeling of being surrounded by them.
Artur’s cock drives deep with every thrust, hitting that spot inside me that makes my vision blur.
Rurik’s fingers pinch and roll my nipples, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
Eduard’s tongue tangles with mine, demanding and possessive.
“That’s it,” Rurik murmurs in my ear. “Let go. We’ve got you.”
And I do. I let go of the guilt and the confusion and the helplessness, surrendering to the sensations they’re pulling from my body. My orgasm builds fast and hard, coiling tight in my belly until I’m shaking with it.
Artur adjusts his angle, grinding against my clit with every thrust. “Come for us, Emma.”
I shatter. My body clenches around him, waves of pleasure crashing through me so intense I can barely breathe. Artur groans, his grip on my ass bruising as he fucks me through it, chasing his own release.
When he finally comes, he buries himself deep and holds there, his cock pulsing inside me. I feel every twitch, every hot spurt, and it sends another aftershock rippling through me.
Eduard pulls me from Artur’s arms before I’ve fully recovered, turning me around and bending me forward. I brace my hands against the tile as he positions himself behind me, his cock sliding through my folds before pushing inside.
He’s thicker than Artur, stretching me in a way that makes me gasp. His hands grip my hips as he starts to move, slow and deep, making me feel every inch of him.
Rurik steps in front of me, his hand fisting in my wet hair and tilting my head back. His cock is right there, hard and demanding, and I open my mouth without being asked.
“Good girl,” he says roughly, guiding himself between my lips.
I’m filled at both ends, Eduard pounding into me from behind while Rurik fucks my mouth with controlled thrusts. The position is degrading and perfect, making me feel used and worshipped at the same time.
Eduard’s fingers dig into my hips hard enough to leave marks. “You’re ours, Emma. No matter what happens, you’re fucking ours.”
The possessiveness in his voice sends heat flooding through me. I moan around Rurik’s cock, and he groans at the vibration.
“That’s right,” Rurik says, his grip tightening in my hair. “You belong to us. Not the Bratva. Not the FBI. Us.”
Eduard’s pace increases, his cock driving into me harder, faster, until I’m rocking forward with every thrust. The angle has him hitting deep, so deep it’s almost too much, but I don’t want him to stop.
I want this. I need this reminder that, despite everything surrounding us, I’m no longer facing the situation alone.
My next orgasm builds quickly, the pressure coiling tight again. Eduard reaches around to rub my clit, his fingers rough and insistent, and that’s all it takes. I come hard, my body clenching around him as pleasure tears through me.
Eduard curses and follows me over, his cock jerking inside me as he fills me with his release. Rurik isn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as he comes in my mouth, and I swallow everything he gives me.
By the time they’re finished with me, I’m boneless and sated, the emotional turmoil from earlier washed away by the intensity of what we just shared.
Artur wraps me in a towel and carries me to the bed, all three of them following close behind.
Later that evening, we gather in Rurik’s study after dinner. The conversation as we work turns serious again as we discuss what the meeting revealed.
I listen to all of it, my chest tight with frustration. But I refuse to give up on the idea that my friend can still be saved.
“No matter what Volkov has done,” I say firmly, “Krystal is still the same person underneath it all. I know she is. And I’m going to prove it.”
The determination in my voice makes it clear that I intend to do exactly that, whether they support me or not.
Rurik studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “We’ll figure it out. But we do it smart, not reckless.”
I’m about to respond when Rurik’s phone vibrates with an incoming call from one of his captains. His expression darkens as he listens to the report, his jaw tightening with every passing second.
“When?” he asks sharply.
Whatever the answer is, it makes his eyes go cold and dangerous.
He ends the call and looks at the three of us. “We have a problem. Several Bratva leaders have learned that Emma Moore is an FBI agent.”
My stomach drops.
“According to them,” Rurik continues, his voice hard as steel, “she’s now a resource that belongs to all the Bratva, not just us. They’re demanding she be turned over.”