Bowing out of our fight like a coward, I nod. I don’t realize how raging Asher’s heart is until he relinquishes me from his hold. I thought the frantic quiver of my pulse was solely because he was holding me. I had no clue most of its thumps were from mimicking his heart rate.
As I slowly approach the blonde, I try to think of something to say. I don’t want our exchange to turn violent, but I somewhat agree with Asher. By letting her speak rudely to me, I’m encouraging others to do the same. Considering I could be doing this for another sixty years, that’s the last thing I want.
I’m planning to lead with the good oldIf you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at alllike my mom always said, but the blonde snuffs out my words as quickly as she does my empathy.
“Is it true? Are you serving us instead of Mr. High and Mighty over there because you’re a frigid virgin?”
She nudges her head to Asher during the “high and mighty” part of her sentence. He’s watching our exchange with slit eyes, and even though I can’t see his pulse thrumming in his neck, that doesn’t mean I can’t feel it.
When I fail to answer the blonde’s highly insensitive question, her nasal squeal shreds my eardrums. “Oh my goodness, it’s true! You’re a virgin. I shouldn’t be surprised.” She softens her words, ensuring I’m the only one who can hear them. “If you can’t get the manwhore of Russia to look past your lack of skills, you’ve got issues. Usually, men line up for miles to make a virgin bleed, but you’ve got no one willing to take you for a ride.” She scans my body, hidden under the frumpy outfit I’m wearing. “Must be those big, ugly training wheels you have strapped to your hips. Maybe we should slap a learner sticker on your ass and see if we can wrangle up some bottom-dwellers to teach you how to ride.”
I could brush off her callousness as jealousy. I could walk away and pretend I didn’t hear her hushed words, but with Asher’s eagle eyes boring into me, I’m feeling reckless. He gave me permission to stand up for myself, so that’s precisely what I’m going to do.
The blonde leaps to her feet with a shriek when scraps ofpirozhkisland in her lap. She’s lucky they didn’t just come out of the deep fryer, or they would have been scalding hot. The oil dripping from them, though, it will ruin her pricy dress, and I’m sure I can take care of her ugly scowl.
“Oh goodness. I’m so sorry. Let me get you a napkin.” I snag a sauce-stained towelette off the gentleman’s lap next to me before dragging it down the blonde’s dress. I don’t aim for the oil her expensive gown is absorbing. I hit the spots the grease missed. “Sugar. I think I made it worse.” I make a face like I’m trying to be helpful. In reality, I’m scheming. “I know! We should try soda. I read somewhere that soda is great for stains.”
“It’s sodawater, you idiot!” she scolds when I reach for a can of Baikal. It’s Russia’s equivalent of Coca-Cola.
“Are you sure? I swear any soda will work. Let’s test it out.”
I shake the can four times before cracking it open. Sticky, sugary liquid squirts over her and three of her closest friends. I also get some in my eyes and hair, but I’m enjoying dispensing justice too much to worry about a little mess.
Once every drop of soda in the can has been drained, I toss it on the ground, snatch up the remaining dishes, then make a grand exit. “And by the way, training wheels are only needed when learning how to ride a bike, so if I have them, it is because the man riding me doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Chapter 14
Asher
The blonde Zariah just put in her place jumps to her feet. “Asher! Do something! Your whore just ruined my dress! This is a vintage Valentino! It’s irreplaceable!”
Not as replaceable as she’ll be if her nasally voice doesn’t stop shredding my eardrums. Zariah gave her what she deserved, if not a little abstaining. If I had punished her, her dress would be handling more than a grease stain. Trust me when I say blood doesn’t wash out nearly as easily as oil.
When I stand from my chair, Ilya’s eyes track me. The tick in my jaw has her panicked, let alone my silence. I don’t like being told what to do, and Ilya knows this as well as anyone. She’s a low-grade whore who needs to learn her place. Just because she’s convinced Bahrain her full lips and surgically enhanced tits deserve a place at my table doesn’t mean it is true.
Even if Zariah and I didn’t have a past, the women who work for me are under my protection. Anything done or said to them is done and said to me. That protection doesn’t extend to the bitches my men keep their cocks warm with.
I jerk my chin up at Bahrain, advising he either shuts his bitch’s mouth, or I will. Bahrain is my number five. He’s a little rough around the edges and usually has more than one relationship going at a time, but he’s good at logistics, meaning we’ve returned my compound to what it was before I left rather quickly. It’s lucky he’s good at his job, or tonight he would have found himself buried in the same shallow ditch Lenin dumped Ruslan in last month.
The crack Bahrain’s hand makes when it connects with Ilya’s cheek satisfies some of my irritation, but wanting to ensure I’ve gotten my point across, I lock my eyes with Bahrain’s nearly black gaze. “See it doesn’t happen again. If it does, you’ll pay her penalty next time.”
Nodding, he grips Ilya’s arm and marches her out of the room. He’s not rushing to fix the split his backhanded strike caused her cheek; he’s racing out to save his own tail. Even though my punishments don’t extend to women and children, I have no troubles subjecting their male counterparts to my wrath when they piss me off. Bahrain barely survived our last “discussion” about his whores learning their place. I doubt he’s ready for a second round.
Once Bahrain and his bitch are out of eyesight, I drop my narrowed gaze to my number 2, Matvei. “Make sure he has her off campus by sun up. She may give good head, but I’ve had enough of her shit.”
Matvei scrapes his hand along the scruff on his chin. “You’re not the only one.”
He had a tough six months keeping things in line while I was gone. The dark circles his eyes held upon my return are just now fading. We always knew he’d face an uphill battle, but his trek was nothing compared to what Nikolai was going through. The Yurys don’t have takeover bids and enemies attempting to dethrone us. Andros Smirnov may be the wealthiest man in Russia, but even he knows the Yurys own it. We’re the core that keeps the country running, the men who’ll do everything in our power to keep Russia the great country it is. No one is brave enough to go against us, not even when its leader takes a six-month reprieve from the mission.
I smack Matvei on the shoulder in silent support when I spot Lenin at the end of the dining room. He has a look on his face, one I wish I didn’t know how to read. My father is beckoning me.
“What is it?”
I follow Lenin down the hallway while he updates me. “Your father’s doctors aren’t happy. His pneumonia has settled, but it did little to alleviate the workload on his tired lungs. They want to put him on a respirator.”
“So do that.”
Lenin waits for me to send a quick message on my cell before refocusing his attention on the matter he interrupted my dinner for. “Your father is refusing. He can’t smoke with a respirator.”
