61. Vasiliy
Something is wrong.
The sinking feeling has been swimming around in my stomach ever since I woke to an empty pillow beside me and a haphazard note scribbled on the back of a torn sheet.
Have to run an errand. I’ll meet you at the tarmac.
Love, O
I have no idea how she snuck out of the room without waking me.
I haven’t slept well since I left Chicago, so I must’ve been out for the count when she slipped away.
Now that I’m standing in the shadow of the boarding plane, wind whipping into my face, the feeling has solidified.
A deep-seated concern shines through my mind, illuminating all my worst fears.
What if she changed her mind about me?
Has she realized that I’m just a fuck-up after all?
Is she in trouble somewhere?
A steady hand settles on my shoulder, nearly making me jump. Alex hovers by my side.
“I wouldn’t worry, son. She knows the cost. She’ll be here.”
I grunt, already missing the squealing chaos of my sister.
We agreed to leave Anya with Cass and Mikhail for the duration of the ordeal.
It was an easy decision, given Anya’s affinity for their daughter and the security at their disposal.
Still, I feel stripped and vulnerable without either of my girls by my side.
By the time all of the Solokov and Morozov soldiers have boarded the Chicago-bound jets, concern has shifted into cool, clammy despair. I’m about two seconds from commandeering a vehicle and setting off to look for her myself when a black SUV comes barreling down the tarmac.
Rubber burns as the car brakes hard, leaving thick, black tracks on the road.
Then the door swings open.
“Hi, baby!” Octavia calls out as she climbs from the back seat, a gun pressed against the spine of a shivering man in bright religious robes. She shoves her captive towards our small group at the foot of the plane’s steps. “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was a nightmare.”
My jaw. Fucking. Drops.
What the hell?
An irritating cackle keels through the air behind me.
I already regret bringing Mikhail’s Second along, even if it was part of Octavia’s deal.
As the odd duo approaches us, Ivan only laughs harder, burying his hands in his dirty-blond hair.
Alex stands on my left, expression mirroring my own as his mouth opens and closes like a guppy out of water.
The captive’s traditional kamilavka hangs crooked on his head as he shuffles forward, urged on by the barrel of my girl’s gun. Jesus, he looks terrified. We’re supposed to be wheels-up in ten minutes, not committing federal crimes on the tarmac.
I pull a hand over my face. “Zlaya.”
Her green eyes sparkle beneath the storm clouds. How can someone be this beautiful? Nah-uh. Stay focused, Vasiliy.
“Yeah?”
“Why did you kidnap a Russian Orthodox priest?” I ask, as nonjudgmentally as I can manage, given the circumstances. I’ve done some crazy shit. We both know I don’t have a leg to stand on here.
“Well, we didn’t really talk about religion. I didn’t want to assume—”
“No,” I interrupt. “Wrong inflection. Why did you KIDNAP a Russian Orthodox priest?”
Ivan cackles even harder beside us, having to wave his hands and turn around to get himself under control. “Sorry…I—” Another wheeze. “I need a minute.”
“Oh. Cause he’s gonna marry us,” she says, all matter-of-fact, rising up to her tiptoes to press a kiss to my cheek. Then she walks right past me, priest in tow, and stomps up the steps to the final plane.
Alex sighs so heavily, you’d think years were falling off his life. “All sons. Thank God for that,” he mutters to the sky, stalking up the steps after them.
She’s insane.
This woman is insane.
A stupid smile burns across my lips, blazing with joy.
I’m the last one up the steps, lost in the daze of confusion. Marry us.
She wants to marry me?
Me?
A flight attendant maneuvers behind me to shut the door, and then we’re moving. There’s not even time to sit before the jet jolts.
“This isn’t how it’s done,” our hostage finally cries out, glancing out the plane windows. “Your union will be cursed if you move forward like this!”
The wheels of the plane race against the tarmac as the nose lifts into the air, throwing Octavia’s hovering body off balance. One of my arms loops around her waist to hold her steady.
“That’s not very nice,” she says, glaring at the priest.
“You pulled me out of bed with a gun to my head!” he snaps, eyes widening.
I don’t particularly like his tone.
“You’ll be respectful to her.” I raise my brows at the old man in a blatant threat.
The plane shifts, riding out a wave of turbulence. Towering buildings shrink in the window before getting swallowed up by clouds.
“I’m the one at gunpoint!” the priest says, throwing up his arms. “She kidnapped me!”
“I thought you guys were already married,” Ivan comments unhelpfully from the seat up front, a glass of whiskey already sitting in his palm.
The poor flight attendant looks incredibly overwhelmed by the scene, but continues taking the group’s drink orders. I’m sure Solokov pays her a large sum for her discretion.
“Not quite,” Alex answers Ivan. “I’ll have a vodka, neat. Make it a double. In fact, why don’t you just leave the bottle, sweetheart?”
The flight attendant’s eyes widen a fraction before her chin dips in a nod.
“We’re as good as married,” Octavia says. “The only thing that’s missing is the stupid piece of paper telling the government he belongs to me.”
My heart thumps happily against my ribs.
“I think marriage is supposed to be more of a mutual agreement, malysh,” Alex says gently, as if reasoning with a wild animal.
“Exactly!” the priest exclaims. “This is ludicrous.”
Alright, I’ve heard enough.
My gun slides from the holster on my leg and swings into the air.
“The next person who tries to dissuade her from marrying me is choking on their next breath.” I turn my head, lifting a brow at Octavia’s determined gaze.
“Moya zlaya,” I say softly, this time only to her.
“Are you not even going to give me the opportunity to propose?”
“No,” she responds, making a face. “It’s not up to you.”
My mouth sags open. I’m caught somewhere between adoration and shock.
“Okay, see, here’s the thing,” Alex jumps in. “It actually is up to him—”
“You people are psychotic,” the priest mutters.
I level him a dark glare, and his face pales. “That’s enough out of you.”
“It is not up to him,” Octavia says, voice lowering. “Vasiliy already belongs to me, and I’m not going back to Chicago without a failsafe for the second part of Popov’s demands.”
The…second part?
Alex’s expression changes from one of concern to sudden understanding. “You’re removing the claim.”
“What claim?” I snap. “What are you guys talking about?” I’m missing something massive here, and I hate it.
“Uh, miss.” Ivan waves down the flight attendant. “Do you guys have any popcorn back there?”
“Can we all just put down the guns?” Alex says, draining his vodka in two gulps and flinging his arms between the angry priest and us. “Surely you understand that a single shot will knock this box out of the air, and I, for one, wish to die on the ground.”
“What were the demands?” I ask, raising my voice. Everyone quiets.
Octavia spins in my arms to face me. “He wants me to marry one of his men. To end our line of power.”
No one moves.
I blink.
Then my gun rises, a direct line toward the priest’s skull. “Get on with it.”
“What?” he gasps, jumping farther down the aisle to increase the distance from my weapon to his head. Moronic.
“Let’s go! Say your lines.”
“Christ,” Alex groans, but Octavia presses her lips to my temple in a rewarding peck.
“If I marry you two like this, you’ll be damned,” the high and mighty fucker says, holding his head. “You don’t want to sully such sanctity—”
“We’re already damned,” Octavia says. “If I go to hell, I’m pulling him down with me.”
“This is a fever dream. It must be…” Alex mutters, sitting back.
Octavia looks up at me with crystalline eyes, as if it’s just us in the plane and everyone else has faded away.
“Consider this your punishment,” she whispers with a playful smile.
I should sin more often.
“What am I being punished for?”
“Leaving me.”
My stomach twists. Even the glint in her eye dims at the words. “I’d rather rip out my own spleen than leave you again.” I brush a kiss to her temple, and her pulse flutters beneath my lips.
“Oh, I know. I was serious about the tracker.”
A laugh bubbles up my throat. I glance over to the priest, patience waning.
“Fine,” he gives in. “I don’t care. You two ready?” He slinks over to us.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited.
“We’re ready,” Octavia whispers back, without taking her eyes off mine.
Alex scribbles something on a cocktail napkin before leaning over to hand it to the priest. “Their full names,” he clarifies, gesturing to the inky scrawls.
“Alright. Do you, Octavia Clarke Siderov, take—”
“I do,” she says immediately, cutting him off. A chuckle works its way up my chest, even as the man exhales in frustration.
“Okay…do you, Vasiliy Morozov, take—”
“He does, too,” she cuts in again.
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Skip ahead,” I growl, pulling Octavia into my arms.
“Fine. By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss…”
I don’t wait for him to finish before wrapping my hand around the back of her head and pulling her lips into mine.
Our kiss is nothing like the slow, languid touches from the night before.
My tongue slips past the seal of her plush lips with no resistance, and she brushes hers against mine with a claiming swipe.
Then my teeth close over her bottom lip, biting down until I taste the salty copper of blood.
Her neck vibrates around the moan that slips free.
Suddenly, a crash tears us apart in surprise.
Ivan smiles broadly from his seat at the front of the plane, hand dangling over the mess of shards that used to form the shape of his glass. “Huzzah!”
The flight attendant, apparently having reached her limit, peeks out from a nearby cabinet to glare at him.
“Sorry,” the blond man backtracks, lowering his head repentantly. “I’ll clean it up.”