Chapter 30
NIKA
The French countryside spreads out around me like weeds. I walk through the forest, pausing to brush my fingers over old growth trees, listening to birds and squirrels and breathing deep the crisp air.
I try not to think about my mother somewhere in Germany living her life without me.
Do I wish that meeting had gone differently?
Do I wish she had dropped to her knees and begged my forgiveness, or that she’d been living a miserable existence without me, always pining to see her lost daughter one day?
It feels wrong to want that sort of unhappiness, like she should suffer for the terrible choices she’d made when she was young.
And they were terrible choices. She ran away and left me behind because she was scared. She knew my father wouldn’t chase her if she wasn’t valuable anymore, and taking me away was out of the question. She knew, and she still disappeared anyway.
I should hate her for that, but it’s hard to hate much of anything on a day like this.
I find an old stone wall near the farmhouse and sit against it.
The crumbling foundation rolls along the hills for another half mile before it stops.
I wonder what the old owners of this land were trying to keep out, or more likely were trying to keep in.
Cattle, goats, sheep, that sort of thing.
Entire lives came and passed in this grass, and now here I am, breathing the same air.
I smile to myself and flip open the little black ledger.
My father’s handwriting is terrible. It’s complete shit.
He scribbled at best, scrawled in an unreadable cipher at worst. Half is in English, the other half in Russian, which I only partially understand.
I can’t speak it but Aunt Yelena made sure I could at least read some of it.
There were hours of old Russian storybooks, practically slaving over them as she made sure I struggled my way through them.
Making you stronger, little one, I promise.
Now a part of me is glad for those lessons.
It’s strange, learning about my father from these books.
He was always a mythical presence in my life.
Less a human, more a force. His whims changed everything, like some strange vengeful God hiding in the heavens, watching, judging, hating everything I did.
He’d send his emissaries and my world would shrink further and further, until by the end of it I was a speck in the dirt.
He was vain. Always worried about how he looked. Most of the journals are his thoughts on the businesses—never good enough—but some of it touches on his personal life. Helena’s name appears more than a few times. He never writes anything nice. She was probably right to get away.
There’s a crunch of twigs nearby. I look up as Gabe hikes toward me.
He’s in jeans, a light gray button-down, the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
His boots are brown and worn, his hair messy and windblown.
I’m struck at how handsome he is all over again as he strides to me.
There’s never any hesitation in him, which I love, the way he simply walks up to what he wants and takes it like there’s nothing wrong with how he feels.
He stoops down and kisses me, lingering for a beat, before sitting on the wall beside me.
“How’s the old man today?” he asks, gesturing at the book.
I shrug and toss it aside. “He was such a bastard. Even in private he was a piece of shit. I’m truly astounded.”
“Nobody misses him.”
“And my mother’s not much better. I’m fucked, right? Coming from those two?”
“Not in the slightest.” He hauls me up beside him and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You aren’t your parents. You have some of them in you, but you’re still you.”
“I don’t know. Feels like I’m starting the race in last.”
“And yet here you are, ending up with me.”
“Are you trying to say you’re some kind of prize?”
“I’m the grand fucking prize, baby.” He kisses me, nipping at my lip. “Seriously, you’re going to drive yourself insane reading that thing.”
I study the journal, frowning to myself. I brush my hand down his thigh absently, happy to touch him, to feel his warmth. “She gave it to me for a reason.”
“She was unloading her own guilt. I say burn the damn books.”
“What would that do for me?”
“Fire’s cleansing.”
“It also makes a mess. I don’t know. I should read them. There’s some interesting stuff in there.”
“Like what?”
“He kept notes on everyone. Here, listen to this—“ I grab the ledger again and flip to a page near the front.
I read it with a goofy, over-the-top Russian accent.
“Boris the Butcher, fat man, likes crosswords, smells like onions, good with knife, scar on left cheek from drunken fight, untrustworthy, minor cheat, reliable for killing, keep away from gambling and drink until after job is done, pay cheap. There are like fifty more entries like that one.”
“God, can you imagine being a guy called Boris the Butcher? What a name.”
“I’m serious. This stuff is valuable.”
“I believe you. I’m worried.” He takes the journal and places it on the other side of him. When I reach for it, he grabs my wrist and pulls my face up, meeting my mouth with his. “You need a break.”
“Yeah? And how do you propose I do that?”
“I’ve got ideas.”
“You always have ideas, Gabe. They’re never good.”
“They’re never clean, you mean, but they’re always fantastic.”
“How did I get stuck with a husband with such a dirty mind and a voracious appetite?”
“Same way I got stuck with a virginal wife who’s really a filthy slut under all her pretend piety.”
I touch his cheek. “Are you trying to sweet talk me?”
“Not even remotely.” His kiss is deeper this time. There’s something about the way he touches me that always pulls me back from the edge. No matter how bleak my mind gets, Gabe’s there, offering a hand, a tongue, a few fingers, and a very nice dick.
I succumb to his advances like always.
He pulls me into his lap right there, hands moving along my body.
His palms cup my breasts, lifting up my shirt.
I squirm, tugging it back down, but he pulls my hair roughly and shoves my top up again.
“This wasn’t a negotiation,” he says against my mouth, tongue flicking inside. “It’s a hostile takeover.”
“We’re out… in the open… your men—“
“My men know better than to watch their leader fuck his wife.”
“Gabe!”
“Stop complaining, love.” He tightens his grip on my hair. “Unless you’re looking for a punishment.”
I laugh, unable to help myself, as he shimmies off the wall and pushes me back against it.
He sucks my nipples, licking my tits, nipping at my throat and neck, finding my mouth again.
His thigh pushes between my legs, grazing up my slit and I grind down against him, whimpering into his hungry kiss.
It feels good, the breeze on my bare skin, the sunlight on my chest. I unbuckle his belt and get a very satisfying groan from him when I reach down to stroke his dick over his boxer briefs.
“You know, for all you pretend like you’re shy and inexperienced, you do love cock,” he says, biting my lower lip.
“Love cock?” I grip him hard, biting him back. “That’s an understatement.”
He groans and a hand slips around my throat.
I gasp as he tightens his grip, pushing me back against the old stone.
It scratches my skin as he shoves his other hand into my panties, fingers curling to stroke my slit.
“Soaking,” he mutters, eyes dark and hooded as I desperately roll my palm around his tip, smearing slick precum around his skin.
“God, baby, you love it as much as I do.”
“No,” I say, arching into him, which really means yes.
“Dirty girl. Tell me you’re my slut.” His grip on my throat tightens. Two fingers ease inside of me. “Say the words and I’ll give you what you want.”
“What… do I want?”
He strokes his fingers in, palm brushing my clit. Eager, electric pangs of bliss hit my core with each movement.
“You want my big cock to fill you to the brim until you come so hard you can’t think straight. You want to choke, gag, moan, scream, and beg until I cover your pretty tits with my cum. You want to lose yourself, baby, and I want to take you until you’re mine.”
“When you put it that way—“
He bites my lip hard. I yelp at the pain.
“No more jokes.” His eyes are hard. His fingers grind in deep, rougher now. “Say it, Nika.”
“Gabe, fuck.”
“Say you’re my dirty girl. Say you’re my filthy slut.”
“I’m… fuck… I’m…”
“Say it.” He kisses me hard, fingers blasting deep, and I gasp out the words.
“I’m your dirty girl! Oh fuck Gabe, I’m your filthy slut!”
“Fuck,” he says, eyes glassy with desire.
“God damn you’re so pretty when you get wet all over my palm.
” He pulls his fingers out, making me whine for more, but he shoves them soaking into my mouth as he turns me around.
I suck them eagerly, let him yank down my jeans, watch as he does the same to himself, and arch happily against his swollen tip as he pushes it into my entrance.
The sensation of him stretching me wide never gets old. God, it’s so good, and now the pain’s gone. I’m used to him, which sends a thrill down my spine. He broke me in. He fucked me until I was shaped for his dick.
He plunges in deep, gripping my hair, tugging hard. Sun glimmers off my skin as his thumb rolls around my asshole.
“Oh, shit, Gabe—“
He sucks the thumb, then pushes it inside.
“Another hole for me to fuck,” he says, stroking into my pussy with his massive cock. I gasp, whining, the pressure of his thumb in my ass driving the pleasure in my core to a new level. It’s dirty, it’s new, and it feels so good. “Another piece of you all to myself.”