Maybe, it’s my imagination, but I swear I feel every thud of my heart in the stitches crisscrossing my thigh where the doctors pieced my leg back together. The weight of the metal and Velcro cast holding the busted bones and metal rods in place keeps me upright. A feat for which I’m grateful as Amaliya’s fucking future husband examines me as if I’m an ant under a magnifying glass in the sun.
I know who he is. Zinovy Bayev, Beast of the Bratva, is an abomination in designer wear. Months ago, I watched him dig around a man’s abdominal cavity bare-handed while the man screamed in agony. The whole time, the Beast simply whispered the tortures eternity had in store for him as punishment for selling women and children. No sign of emotion or remorse. Not even the slightest trace of humanity.
This is the man Anatoly has selected for his beloved daughter? Bayev will no doubt extinguish everything bright and bratty about Amaliya. Strip her of all the things that make her shine brighter than the sun over open water. Fuck, she’d be better suited to one of his bowing and scraping contemporaries than to this man. No. She’s better suited to me.
Ice blue eyes stare at me, as the man in question takes stock of the cuts and bruises I know are evident over every inch of my visible skin. Years of conditioning help me hold myself still under his frank perusal. His eyes give no clue to his thoughts. It’s just robotic assessments computing in the span between each slow blink.
“She is my only child. Giving her to you would destroy any political gains her marriage could secure.” Anatoly calmly discusses Amaliya’s future as though she’s mere chattel, but I know better. The man may be a hardass, and he may infuriate me when he plays the mobster role, but he loves LeeLee. I know it. I’ve seen it.
“Ghost Born MC may not have political clout, but neither does this guy.” I flick a thumb in Bayev’s direction but leave my eyes on the pakhan. Bayev may be a weapon, but Anatoly is the finger on the trigger.
“You assume much,” the pakhan says. Bayev remains as silent as he has since I entered the room. Alert and coiled like the vicious serpent he is. Just waiting for Anatoly’s command.
“Whatever it takes to convince you I’m a better bet for Amaliya’s future. If you give her to me, you’ll strengthen ties with the club. And, as you know, there are some connections Bender and I maintain to other…organizations that can be of benefit.” It’s as direct as I can be without violating the security clearances that keep those connections working with us.
“You know, I don’t think you’ve ever explained why they call you FAME,” Balakin ponders apropos of nothing, as though we’re merely here shooting the shit and not negotiating for ownership of an actual human being. His own daughter and the woman I…I love. Fuck, the realization hits me harder than it ever has.
I love Amaliya Balakin. I don’t just want her to be mine because I’m attracted to her. Or because keeping her safe and taming her bratty little ass makes me feel like a god. It’s love. Real, serious, forever love. The kind I didn’t think I could have.
“Your nickname, Shaw. Why do they call you that?” Balakin presses.
“Fuck All My Enemies,” I grit out. Club names are only used when we’re engaged in club business, but there’s not much I won’t divulge if it convinces the pakhan to give me what I want. Who I want.
“And I suppose you want me to believe a man with the name Fuck All My Enemies will give me his allegiance in exchange for my daughter?” He nods at Bayev, and I sense, more than hear, the other man retreat back to the corner of the room where he’d been observing.
“My first allegiance will always be to Amaliya. Then to my club. If you’re willing to accept that, then yes, I’ll pledge my loyalty to you behind them.”
It’s no hardship. I’d give him my loyalty and more for his acceptance of the relationship I plan to have with LeeLee. I’m going to make her mine. I’m not foolish enough to expect there won’t be some groveling necessary to convince her. Amaliya Balakin is the pakhan’s princess, but she’s still going to be my Little Girl.
CHAPTER 10
LEELEE
We enter through the kitchen, taking care to give Father’s office a wide berth. Temptation pricks at me, spurring me to circle the breakfast nook nearest the hallway where his office is in hopes of overhearing some gossip. If curiosity really did kill the cat, I’d be dead a thousand times over for the number of times I’ve let my nosiness drag me into places I have no business being.
“If I let you take Zinovy’s bride, he will have none. What should I say to him when he asks me why I let a man, who is not one of us, take the woman I promised him?” I hear my father’s booming voice, the one he uses when he’s showboating, through the open door to his study.
By leaving the door open, when he knows Mother and I are due home, he has to intend for me to hear the conversation with whoever he’s meeting. Strangers would be unlikely to pick up on the nuances in his speaking, but I’ve had a lifetime of eavesdropping and getting caught. For all his traditional ‘men run things’ attitude, my father has always found subtle ways to make sure I grew up to be a strong woman in a man’s world.
“I’d wager Bayev can find his own bride if he wants one badly enough,” Shaw grumbles.
My jaw drops. Shaw is here! He’s here, and he’s arguing with my father over me? I mean, they don’t sound as if they’re about to come to blows, but the pakhan’s not used to being questioned about his decisions. Tingles chase butterflies through my stomach as I wonder if Shaw’s here to bring me home. Er, to the compound. And if so, why?
Look, I’m not one to cut my nose off to spite my face. If Shaw’s here for me in any capacity, I’ll accept whatever lifeline he offers. That it would mean he’s found a way out of the marriage my father’s arranged for me, without bloodshed or burned bridges. Added benefit. One I’d be a fool to spit on.
That doesn’t mean I won’t take every possible chance to extract revenge for each wasted minute between us. Shaw thinks he’s seen me bratty? He has no clue. I mean, assuming he’s actually here for me and not just hassling my father about the archaic arranged marriage thing. Doubt sours the edge of my excitement, and I tiptoe as close to the den as I can.
“Zinovy. You are valuableAvtorityetwith honor and loyalty. I offered you the boon of Amaliya’s hand. Right of refusal belongs to you.” Smugness oozes from my father. I wonder if Shaw hears it and reads between the lines.
“The pakhan is gracious in offering me his only child, the lovely Amaliya. However…” Zinovy pauses, and I hold my breath, waiting for what comes from his terrifying mouth next.
Zinovy Bayev is theBabaykoRussian mothers warn their misbehaving children of. A menace so fearsome, even the silkywords he speaks drip with savagery only the pakhan holds on a leash.
“Continue, Zinovy. You may be candid,” my father encourages him, and I realize I am hearing the pakhan, not the man who sired me. There’s strategic posturing in his prodding, and I can’t help but wonder what machinations he is envisioning.
“I prefer my women a little more…” Again with the weighty pause. “Broken.”
Well, that’s freaking dark. I’m not the only one thinking it, either.
