Page 5

I toyed with him, flicking jabs, letting him get close enough to think he had a chance, then slipping out of reach. His face was red, streaked with sweat, eyes bright with fury and—worse—desperation.

Finally, he landed one against my ribs. It stung. I stopped smiling.

“Enough.”

I drove my fist into his chest, sending him sprawling into the ropes. He staggered back, tried to rise. I hit him again, harder, and he crumpled to his knees.

“Stay down,” I warned. My chest heaved with heat, rage pulsing in my veins. “You hear me? Stay down.”

But he pushed back up, eyes wet, lip trembling. “I love her,” he gasped, broken but fierce. “You don’t know what that means because you’ve never loved anybody your whole life. You just fuck around with anyone on two legs, then kick them out of your bed, but I fucking love her. And I’ll fight you, fight anyone who comes between us.”

That tore at something in me. He was my blood, my brother. More than that. I’d raised him after our parents both died from a car bomb we still hadn’t solved, and the Zhukovskys were the prime suspects. I was only sixteen at the time, yet I’d taken on the responsibility of a nine-year-old. And here he was, looking at me like I was the enemy.

I caught him midswing, twisted, and used his own momentum to drive him down. His back hit the mat with a heavy thud that rattled the canvas, air leaving his lungs in a gasp. I sprawled over him, grinding one knee into his ribs, my weight pinning his hips. His arms bucked, fists trying to find purchase, but I slammed his wrists down, locking them against the floor with my forearms like iron bars.

Zasha writhed beneath me, teeth bared, sweat slicking his skin, his chest heaving against mine. He twisted his shoulders, trying to bridge up, kicking his legs, desperate to throw me off.

“Stay the fuck down!” I roared. My weight bore him deeper into the mat. With every ounce of strength I had, I pushed him into submission. He kept fighting, stubborn as hell, but the more he struggled, the tighter my hold became.

“Tap out!” I shouted in his face. “You’re my brother, damn it. I love you, and I’m doing this for you. Tap out!”

He shook his head, teeth gritted, tears streaking his face.

I shifted my weight, rolling with his struggle, and drove my forearm across his jaw until his head twisted. With my free hand, I yanked his wrist and wrenched it behind his back. In the scramble, I flattened him onto his stomach, my chest pressed hard between his shoulder blades, digging my knees into his sides to pin him in place.

Zasha howled, thrashing, his cheek scraping against the rough canvas. I cranked his arm higher, forcing his shoulder to twist at an angle nobody was meant to take.

“Tap out!” I bellowed into his ear, sweat dripping down my face and falling onto his skin. “You hear me? Tap, damn you!”

He groaned through clenched teeth, every muscle trembling under me, but he didn’t give. His free hand clawed at the mat, nails raking across it as though he could tear his way out by sheer will.

“You stubborn son of a bitch!” My roar cracked. “You think I won’t do it?”

With one brutal surge, I pushed his wrist higher, felt the sickening pop as the joint gave way. His cry split the air, pain exploding through him, his body jolting and shuddering under mine. My gut hollowed at the sound, but I didn’t loosen my grip until he was limp beneath me, his sobs breaking free.

I finally released him, my hands shaking from more than exertion. I leaned close, voice raw. “If it means keeping you alive, I’ll break your fucking legs before I ever let you crawl back to that Zhukovsky whore. Do you understand me?”

Zasha whimpered, clutching his ruined arm to his chest, tears streaking his sweat-stained face. It was the sound of my brother, not a soldier, not an Orlov, but the boy I’d raised after our parents died. And it gutted me.

“Get him to medical,” I barked at Mikhail, who stood pale-faced at the ropes. He rushed forward and, with two others, helped to lift Zasha out of the ring. My brother’s cries echoed as they carried him away, and I stood alone in the circle, chest heaving, the taste of bile in my mouth.

It was for his own good. One broken arm was better than a bullet through his skull, courtesy of Stanislav Zhukovsky. But no matter how I twisted it, the sound of his scream branded itself into my bones.

By the time I got back to the house that night, the sting of the fight earlier still burned in my knuckles and sat heavy in my chest. I told myself I’d done right by Zasha, that breaking his arm was better than burying him. But the liquor I’d poured down at the club hadn’t dulled the pain, not even with two gorgeous blondes pressed against me on the dance floor and a pretty boy with dark mahogany skin whispering what he wanted to do to me with his mouth.

Now the four of us stumbled into my mansion, laughter and perfume clinging to our skin. One of the girls already had her top halfway over her head; the other tugged at my belt. The boy—Tony—slid his hand low on my stomach, fingers grazing the edge of my waistband with a teasing promise.

I kissed him hard, biting his lip until he groaned against my mouth, then pushed him back, steering all three of them toward the stairs. Their laughter and perfume trailed behind me, and the clatter of heels and thud of bare feet against wood filled the hallway as we made our way up. One of the girls stumbled and caught herself on the rail, giggling, while the other hooked her arm around Tony’s neck, kissing him hungrily as they climbed.

By the time we reached the top, they were half-undressed—skirts twisted up around their waists, straps sliding down pale shoulders, Tony’s shirt tugged open with buttons undone. I herded them toward my bedroom, where the door yawned open.

“Inside,” I ordered, my voice rough with lust.

One of them wouldn’t have sufficed tonight. I needed to fuck hard and get the image of the earlier fight with my brother out of my mind. What alcohol hadn’t been able to do, I hoped sex could.

I followed them inside. The girls fell onto the bed, tangled in each other. Tony palmed my erection through my pants. I reached behind him and grabbed him by the ass, hauling him against me.

“Get undressed,” I whispered, “and keep them entertained until I return.”