90

Pavel I get up from the red leather couch in the living room of the penthouse.
“Too much of a chick flick?” Story asks. She’s curled up in Oleg’s lap on the other end of the sofa.
She picked the movie playing on the television-The Spy Who Dumped Me. Nikolai’s in the chair beside us.
“Nah. It’s fine.” Although it’s true, now that we have three women in the house, our television diet has changed significantly.
“It’s stupid,” Nikolai says, then holds his hands up when Oleg glares. “I just mean why would you torture someone that way? It doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re just sad you can’t wear a leotard while you question captives,” his twin, Dima counters.
He’s at his makeshift desk-a table in the middle of the living room-because he likes to work where all the action is. Or because he can’t stop working. The guy would probably combust if he wasn’t sitting in front of a computer for at least twelve hours a day.
I haven’t seen Ravil, Lucy and the baby since dinner, and Maxim’s fucking Sasha’s brains out, based on the rhythmic sound of furniture banging against a wall in their room.
“I’ll probably be back,” I say. “I’m going to make a phone call.”
“I think the correct term is video-dom,” Nikolai wisecracks. “Show me your breasts, little slave,” he mimics.
One of these assholes overheard me once when I was talking to Kayla, and now I’m fair game.
“I’m calling my mother,” I growl and point at Nikolai. “I fucking dare you to make a joke with that.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Wasn’t going to touch it.”
“You’d better not.”
Dima lifts his head and opens his mouth, but when I glower his way, he closes it again. “Yeah, me neither.”
“I’ll probably be back.” I walk out the front door of the suite and down the elevator hall to my bedroom, which doesn’t connect to the main penthouse. It suits me to have a little privacy, since I’m not the most social of the bunch.
I’ve been itchy and restless this week. The life I adored, revered for the past few years, suddenly seems basic. There’s been no one to beat down or torture. Working out and watching television on the couch with my suitemates used to be enough on the off-hours. Now it’s mundane.
Kayla’s all I can think of, but this week, it’s not just about the things I want to do to her. How to torture her. Planning ways to make her scream. Shopping for implements and toys. This week, I’m remembering the things we talked about.
Kayla, I’m not saying no. That’s how I shifted from dom to boyfriend in a heartbeat. Because I’m incapable of saying no to that girl, especially when those big blue eyes fill with tears.
And yes, I would be video-domming her tonight if she wasn’t working a promotion with her housemates.
When I’m in my bedroom, I pull my phone out and call my mom back.
“Pavel! Are you home from your trip? How is the girl?” she asks in Russian.
“She’s good. She lives in Los Angeles. I was visiting her.”
“But how do you know her? What is she doing there? What’s her name?”
“Her name is Kayla. I met her at an event in Los Angeles. She’s an actress. I’ve been going to visit her on the weekends.”
“You’re serious about her.” My mother sounds surprised.
Not half as surprised as I am. I make a non-committal sound.
I’m serious about tying her up and licking her pussy until she screams…
I clear my throat. “How are you, Mama?”
“Oh, you know…” “Have you left the apartment? Seen anyone?”
“No.”
“You should get out,” I say, but I know she won’t. She’s afraid. My father never let her out of his sight while he was alive. She wouldn’t even know how to go out and build a life. She needs support.
Briefly, my thoughts go to Nadia, Adrian’s sister. She was brought to this country under horrible circumstances-as a sex slave. Adrian tracked her here and burned down the building where she was being held. Then he worked on taking his revenge for what happened to her.
Unfortunately, the bastard Leon Poval, the Ukrainian slaver, is still at large.
But the point is, Adrian got her help. She video conferences a counselor back in Russia. She feels safe here in the Kremlin where everyone speaks Russian. She’s starting to get out. Hell, Adrian even brought her out to one of Story’s band’s shows last weekend after she met Story and her brother and the rest of the band rehearsing in the building.
“Mama, I’m moving you to the United States.”
“Nyet.” She doesn’t hesitate. I’m not surprised by her refusal.
“Da. Everyone in this building speaks Russian. You can make friends. We’ll find you something to do-babysit children, or assist Svetlana, the midwife, maybe. Something to keep you busy. I think it would be good for you.”
“I don’t know…” It’s better than another outright refusal.
“Please, Mama. I’d like to have you closer to me, so I can look after you.”
“I don’t need looking after.”
“Well, I miss your honey cake. You could make it for me. And we will get together for dinner.”
She makes a non-committal sound, which I take as a good sign.
“Think about it. I’ll arrange things on my end.”
“Well…” “It will be good for you. I’ll fly out and get you. If you hate it, I’ll fly you back. Yes?”
“Maybe.”
“Good,” I say. “I’ll get you a passport and start the paperwork. I love you, Mama.”
“I love you, Pavel.” My mother sounds sad, but that’s nothing new. What’s new is this idea that I might be able to do something about it.
“Goodbye, Mama. I’ll call soon.”
“Yes, call soon,” she echoes distantly as I end the call.
I end the call and slap the back of the phone into my open palm a few times, considering. I need to talk to Ravil about my idea.
I exit my room and walk back into the suite, heading down the hall to the left toward Ravil’s wing.
Hearing Benjamin fussing behind their door, I figure it’s safe to knock.
“Come in.” Lucy, the venerable defense attorney and Ravil’s new wife, sits in her glider in their room attempting to nurse the baby.
I look away because even though Lucy’s not modest, I figure Ravil would kill me if he thought I was looking at his wife’s breasts. “Is Ravil around?” I ask.
The baby latches onto her breast and starts sucking noisily. Lucy’s face goes soft with love for her baby. “In his office.” She speaks softly, but Benjamin still pops off her nipple to crane his neck and look at me.
I hold my hand up. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“It’s fine. He’s been either fussing or nursing all day. Another growth spurt, I think.”
I’m not a baby person. Total understatement. I don’t know if I’ve held that baby more than twice since he was born, and I live with him. But I’m suddenly struck by the vision of Kayla nursing our baby, and a strange form of yearning comes over me.
Blyad’. I’ve got it bad.
I head into Ravil’s office and knock on the door. He’s sitting behind his desk, looking at something on his laptop. His gaze is predictably cool. I learned everything I know about mastering a situation from him.
I enter, shoving my hands in my pockets and leaning in the doorframe. “May I interrupt?”
“Yes. Come in.”
I don’t come in. I stay where I am. Maybe because I’m not fully committed to what I’m asking. I don’t even know if it’s the right thing to do. Or if my reasons for doing it are pure.
“I was thinking about moving my mother to America. To live here.” I drop that bomb and watch it land.
Ravil raises his brows. He knows my history. Why Igor sent me to America. “All right.”
“She doesn’t speak English. I don’t know if I could get her to learn it, either. But we have a nice community here.”
Ravil’s lips twitch. “I’m sorry, did you just say the words nice community?”
My lips quirk in return. “Not that I’ve ever participated in it. But you know, I thought my mom might find some friends here.”
“Sure.”
“You’d let her live in the Kremlin?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” I push away from the door frame but hesitate before I leave. “I’m just curious-have you ever let anyone go?”
It’s a vague question, but Ravil knows exactly what I mean. “The only way out of the brotherhood is in a box,” he tells me. Of course, I know that. It’s bratva code.
Except he’s broken the code himself. He took a wife, which is forbidden, and he allowed Maxim to remain in the cell after he married.
“What about… sending a brother to a new location? Like how Igor sent you here to the United States?”
Ravil lifts a brow. “Igor sent me here for a good reason-to set up a smuggling route. I would have to have a good reason to diminish the numbers of the Chicago Bratva. Especially those in my inner circle.”
Well, fuck.
I don’t give up, though. Ravil can be a hardass, but underneath is an unmatched benevolence. “I can’t decide if you’re giving me a hard time to watch me sweat or you’re shutting me down completely,” I tell him.
Ravil has a champion poker face-nothing shows at all in his expression. But then he says, “No one is going to hand you the life you want, Pavel. You have to take it.”
My pulse picks up at the challenge. Am I going to take it? The life I want? Kayla, as mine forever?
“Let’s say I wished to relocate-not back to Moscow. To stay in your cell, but operate in a different city. Would you let me set up an operation there? Paying my dues and answering to you, of course?”
“I’m not going to discuss hypothetical situations. When you make your choice, we’ll discuss your fate with the organization.”
I stare at him for a long moment, trying to decipher the meaning of his words. In the end, I decide he’s giving me permission. Because I can’t believe he’d put a bullet in my head without a clear warning, and this was murky as fuck. He means we’ll negotiate terms.
He means yes. I give a mental fist pump.
“Thank you.”
He nods.
“Spasibo,” I repeat my thanks in Russian because I feel so much fucking gratitude I almost smile -a very rare occurrence for me.
Kayla I venture into the kitchen with a towel wrapped under my armpits to grab a can of soda. I have an audition this afternoon before my weekend with Pavel.
“You look great,” I tell my roommate Kimberly, who is dressed in a pair of short-shorts with fishnets underneath and a child-sized red T-shirt with the name of a new energy drink across her tits.
“You should be going with us,” she complains. Normally I would be dressed in the same shirt, going out with my three roommates. We’re a promotions team. Or we were. But most promotions fall on Friday afternoons or evenings, which means I’ve missed seven out of the last nine events. “I don’t know how you’re going to pay the rent when you’ve barely worked in a month,” she says.
I get it. They feel let down. Maybe they miss me. It’s not like they can’t do the jobs without me.
Jagger, the company owner, just finds another woman to fill in for me.
“Well, I have enough to get by.” I don’t want to tell her that Pavel’s been giving me money. I don’t want them inferring that he’s paying me for sex. They already think our relationship is bizarre.
Kimberly puts her hands on her hips. At five foot ten and in six-inch heels, she towers over me.
I’m barely over five feet, but as my agent likes to say, I make up for the size in talent and hard work.
That’s the pitch, anyway. “How long is this thing going to keep going?” she demands, and I bristle.
I’m usually the peace-maker around here. The one who makes sure everyone’s getting along, and there’s enough ice cream in the fridge when we all get our periods in the same week and are at each other’s throats.
“How long is my relationship going to keep going?”
She turns away, like she doesn’t want to show me the scorn on her face. “Right. Of course, you don’t know.” Her voice has softened. She pities me.
Now I’m really pissed.
“Kayla, we’re just worried about you,” she says in the new, soft tone, turning back to face me with big, sympathetic eyes.
“We?”
“Yeah, we,” Ashley says from behind me. She’s dressed in a matching outfit, only she’s cut the t-shirt up so it shows more skin. “We’re just concerned. I mean, I get you want to explore your fantasies, and this guy does that for you, but it seems like it’s consuming you.”
My chest and eyes get hot. I rewrap the towel around me to try to garner my thoughts.
Sheri, my third roommate, shows up in the kitchen wearing a similar kind, sympathetic expression. Jeez, it’s like a goddamn intervention.
“You, too?” I demand.
She shrugs. “I’m not judging-I mean, I’m the queen of bad relationships.”
Understatement. Sheri has a knack for finding guys who took off their wedding rings to get her in bed. Cheaters seem to look at her and know she’d be the perfect diversion.
“Who said this was a bad relationship?” My voice sounds shrill to my ears.
“You’re seeing a guy who gets off on hurting you. I get that it’s consensual, but it does raise some major red flags, don’t you think?” Kimberly doesn’t hold back.
“No. Why?”
“Well, is it just sex? I mean, what is it?” Ashley pulls out a chair and plops down at the kitchen table like we’re going to sit and talk about this.
Oh, hell no.
“It just seems like you’re investing a lot of your time into something that isn’t going anywhere,” Sheri agrees, also taking a seat.
“Right. I thought it was going to be over at the end of your free month at Black Light,” Kimberly says.
“Well, it wasn’t,” I say with false cheer. “It is going somewhere.” I shrug my shoulders, catching my towel when the action dislodges it, and sail from the kitchen to my room. I’m an actress, faking it is my game, not that they won’t see through it. You can’t live and work with three best friends without them knowing you inside and out.
Our relationship is deepening, but if he’s moving back to Moscow, I’m setting myself up for a heartbreak.
Sheri follows me into my bedroom and sits on the bed. I drop the towel and pull on a pair of panties because we aren’t shy around here.
“I’m sorry,” Sheri says. “That wasn’t supposed to feel like an ambush. Did it?”
“Kind of.” I stand in my closet, pulling out possible outfits for the audition.
“I’m just wondering… like, where do you want things to go with this guy?”
I throw a half-dozen choices of clothing on my bed and sigh, pretending to consider them, but really considering the question. “I want him,” I admit. “I want what Sasha has.”
Our former roommate, Sasha’s father ran the Russian mafia before he died last fall. In some medieval and backwards move, he arranged a marriage for Sasha to Maxim, one of his bratva men who lives in Chicago. We first met him when she ran away from her new husband and went out on the town with us.
I sort of got the bug for a dominant, powerful Russian man like him in my life. When she introduced me to Pavel later, I wanted him the moment I met him. The fact that he didn’t want me just made him all the more appealing.
“Well, Maxim is hot. But is that what Pavel wants? I mean, you guys don’t even live in the same city. Where is this thing going?”
She’s right. It can’t go much further. And yet it feels like it will.
“I just wonder how much of this is fantasy and how much is real,” Sheri says.
I want to flip my wet hair and say something glib and confident, but Sheri’s sifting through my shirts, helping me to pick the right one. She’s being a friend, and friends are honest with one another.
Which means I have to be honest with myself.
“Me too,” I admit. I take one of the blouses she holds out to me and put it on, turning in a circle for her to see the full effect. “But I’m starting to get to know him-beyond just the master-dom role. I don’t know-I really like this guy.”
Sheri surveys me then shakes her head, wordlessly handing me a different top.
“The problem is more that I don’t think he can move here, and I’m not leaving L. A. So it can’t go anywhere.”
“Right. That’s my concern for you, too. It seems like you’re already in deep with this guy. You’re giving up all your work shifts to see him, and there’s no potential for a future. Also, you’re sad every Monday when the weekend is over. We hate seeing you that way.”
I hate that she’s right.
“I mean if you love the kinky sex, go for it. But do you have to see him every weekend? It seems a little intense. What if you just saw him once a month or something?”
It makes perfect sense. I do miss working the promotions with my friends. I’m not exercising as much as I should because I skip all weekend, and I’ve lost focus on my career. Pavel has become my focus.
My extremely hot, very dominant focus.
One that I’m not willing to give up, even for one weekend.