Vicious Protector by Maggie Cole

11

Adrian

Whoever said an eye for an eye,a tooth for a tooth, didn't understand reality. Once an injustice occurs, there's nothing that can even the score. Any repercussion possible won't undo the harm or destruction. The blink of satisfaction you feel while avenging whoever wronged you only lasts a split second. Eventually, it's over. There's no more pain to inflict upon your enemy. The emptiness and hole in your heart are still there when it's over. Wes Petrov's last few days with us are no different.

For fifteen years, Obrecht and I patiently waited for this day. It's no different than Maksim, Dmitri, Boris, or Sergey. The crimes Wes and his father bestowed upon our family are beyond hideous. Each one molded us into who we are today and took people we loved and destroyed them. My aunt, their mother. Our sister, their cousin. My wife, their friend.

Deep scars are dangerous. They have time to fester. Plans surrounding your moment of reckoning develop. Every idea has time to simmer then get sharpened to perfection.

Fresh wounds have more emotion to them. There isn't enough time for strategy. Take an old scab and add a new one, and you've got the most intense situations possible.

It's the catalyst for what is happening now. Wes and his three thugs hang upside down in the garage. My eyes zero in on him and the man who put his grimy hands on my printsessa. However, the choice of who to spend my time on is chosen for me. It's not often the six of us Ivanovs are at the garage together, but we don't usually have Petrovs here.

All of us have the same and also different reasons for wanting Wes dead. His latest stunt, sending the poisonous snake to Aspen, almost killed her. It gives Maksim first dibs. I spend those hours evoking fear, more than pain, into the thug who held Skylar down against her will. Since that's what she felt, it's only appropriate he experiences it. I'll inflict his pain after I get my shot at Wes.

Hours pass. I don't know what time or day it is. The garage is the one place I'm allowed to act while I'm spinning out. If I had to guess, I'd say all of us go into some zone. I don't know how we would do the things we're capable of and move about everyday life if we didn't. The biggest struggle for me is pulling out of the trance. Others have the same issues.

Maksim finally steps back and allows Sergey to have his turn. Obrecht, Boris, Dmitri, and I take part. When Sergey is through, there's hardly any life left in Wes. I see a peace briefly enter Sergey's eyes, but it's short-lived. The devil within him comes back.

By some miracle, Wes is still conscious. My brother and I do exactly what we promised him we'd do. Then I return to my original victim and make sure he'll never lay eyes on my printsessa again.

The calm I saw in Sergey's eyes, I never get. Half of my vengeance for Natalia is over. Zamir is the only one still alive. The thug who represented a threat for my printsessa is no more than a pile of ashes sinking in Lake Michigan.

Why don't I feel any satisfaction?

Everyone except Obrecht has left the garage when Sergey and I return from disposing of the remains. Sergey goes to shower, and I sit across from Obrecht. He's rolling a joint on the desk. Neither of us smokes a lot, but Obrecht always does after every kill. He says it allows him to stop spinning. I get mixed reactions, so I only smoke it after if I don't need a clear head. Today isn't a time for me to get lax. I have another situation to figure out.

I drink a sip of water. "Dasha's showed her cards too many times. It's her typical game. She isn't in Chicago for me. So why is she here and trying to get me back?"

Obrecht licks the rolling paper, seals up the joint, and lights it. He takes a deep inhale, holds it in his lungs, then slowly releases it. "She needs money?"

"She's working, so she can't be rolling in it."

Obrecht grunts. "We know how much she loves to work."

Once Dasha and I got married, she decided she didn't need to keep her job. Since I worked, she thought it was best to stay home. I wasn't happy she quit her job without talking to me, especially after we had just signed a lease for a new luxury apartment. Shortly after Dasha told me what she did, Natalia disappeared. We never talked about Dasha's job again.

Obrecht is right.

"Agreed. She wouldn't be working if she had any other choice," I add.

"She didn't reveal anything in your conversation about what she's after?" Obrecht takes another hit.

I replay our conversation in the garage. "No. She kept trying to convince me she missed me. She kept claiming we made a mistake and we needed to fix it."

He scoffs. "After five years?"

"Right?" I nod, surprised when I still feel the sting. I don't love Dasha anymore, but it still hurts when I think about how she threw me away over and over.

I kept taking her back.

At least I won't this time.

Sergey steps out of the bathroom with wet hair. Obrecht hands him the joint and states, "The balance is off. Rossis will have more power now."

My mind immediately switches to the war we started between the two most powerful crime families, the Rossis and Petrovs. The goal is to have them kill each other off until nothing remains of either of them, but for total destruction, we have to monitor the war and take guys out on either side when the power shifts too much to one family.

Sergey takes a hit and leans forward. "I told Boris we need to bleed Zamir out. Slowly kill him, find out about every part of his operation, and take it over. If we run it, we can slowly destroy it all. If we only kill Zamir, it won't ever fully die."

"Boris go crazy on you?" Obrecht asks.

He shrugs. "He didn't like it."

"What did Maksim say?"

Sergey snorts. "Boris didn't tell him. You know what Maksim and Dmitri would both say. I thought Boris would have my back so we could approach them together, but he didn't."

"That's because you're talking crazy. We let this Rossi/Petrov war play out. One by one, each side gets smaller. Then we kill Zamir. Nothing will be left at that point," I insist. The last thing we need is Sergey trying to infiltrate Zamir's organization.

"It sounds too easy to me," Sergey claims.

"I hope it is." Obrecht rises. "Let's get out of here."

We step outside. Obrecht's driver pulls up. I get into the backseat. My brother hits the button, and the divider window closes.

"I thought I'd feel better," Obrecht quietly admits.

"No matter what we do, nothing will bring Natalia back or take away what those bastards did to her." I sniff hard and grind my molars. "Watching Wes choke on his dick gave me a small moment of satisfaction."

Obrecht's jaw clenches. He stays quiet, staring out the window. "Mom called."

I groan. "More guilt about not having grandbabies for her?"

"Yep."

A twinge of pain races up my chest. It's been fourteen years since Dasha and I lost our baby. The doctors said it was stress and to try again. Dasha never said it, but I know she blames me. Hell, I blame me.

Six months into her pregnancy, Dasha found out I was on a killing spree. Any man who I discovered raped my sister, I hunted and filleted. The twelfth man I killed created a trance I couldn't escape. I was spinning, obsessing over what I had done, who I had become, and what kind of father I could be now that I was this new man. Then I fixated on how many more men I needed to destroy.

I told Dasha every detail, but I don't recall any of it. She remembered every single thing I said. When she couldn't pull me out of it, she called Obrecht. He stayed for a week until I snapped out of it. By then, Dasha couldn't sleep. Within a few days, I noticed she was barely eating and practically had to force-feed her. Later that week, we woke up in the middle of the night with blood-soaked sheets. Nothing was ever the same between Dasha and me again. When she wanted a divorce the first time, I angrily threw our wedding vows in her face. "Until death do us part."

She held her chin higher in the air. In Russian, she coldly stated, "The Adrian Ivanov I married died."

She was right. I couldn't deny it. The day Natalia got kidnapped, I started withering away. The boundaries I had about what I would or wouldn't do as a man toppled over. It affected everything about me, right down to how I fuck. I felt the shift the night it occurred. Dasha sure as hell experienced it, too.

I had played by the rules. Too many of them seemed not to matter anymore. It included fucking my wife how I wanted to, instead of the prim and proper way she insisted upon.

"Tell me you love to be fucked like this, instead of how we used to," I growled, determined to find one thing better about me, which in turn was better for her.

Every obscenity of pleasure would come out of her mouth. Not once did she ever admit it though. She couldn't give me one thing.

She despised the new me.

If she wasn't addicted to our new type of sex, our divorce would have happened sooner. I loved her. I had since we were kids in school. Too many times, she kept coming back, leaving me, then returning with a new claim to accept and love every dark piece of my soul. My tattered heart clung to every empty promise she'd make me.

Obrecht's voice jolts me out of my journey down memory lane. "Eloise shows up with Wes. Dasha's back in town, coming on to you. Aspen got—"

"What does Dasha have to do with Wes?"

Obrecht taps his thigh. "Nothing, why?"

"You made it sound like you think her moving back to Chicago has to do with the Petrovs."

"I didn't—"

"Dasha's a lot of things, but she would never turn on us like that," I growl.

Obrecht holds his hands up. "If you let me finish my sentence, I was going to say our lives were a lot simpler before these women showed up. Mom doesn't ever consider the details of her getting what she wants. The details, of course, meaning pain in our ass women problems."

The thought of falling asleep with my body wrapped around Skylar's consumes me. I admit, "If it's between having the naked woman of my choice in my bed every morning and dealing with extra problems, versus no woman but no problems, I'm picking the woman every time."

I need to make sure she never finds out what I do or am capable of.

"Spoken like a man with a dick," Obrecht says.

"Maybe you should use yours more before you get too old to get it up," I suggest.

"My dick gets plenty of action, don't you worry," Obrecht claims. "Hey, did you make things right with Aspen's friend?"

Guilt fills me. "She was in my bed when you called."

Obrecht raises his eyebrows. He whines, "Oh, come on, brother."

"What? She's a fucking hundred on a scale of one to ten."

He shakes his head. "Getting involved with Aspen's friends is a recipe for disaster."

"Why? What does Aspen have to do with it?"

"If it doesn't work out, Aspen's going to be upset. That means Maksim—"

"Can kiss my ass. I'm head of the security team. I guarded Aspen as a favor to him. He knows it, and I know it. And what I do in my personal time has nothing to do with Aspen."

"Suit yourself." The car stops in front of my building. Obrecht puts his hand over the door. "Mom wants us to come over for dinner tomorrow night. It's been a long time. I told her we'd go."

I sigh. "All right. What time?"

"She said seven."

I nod. "Okay. See you later."

"Take care, brother."

I fist-bump him and get out. For the first time since I left, I turn my phone on.

Tuesday, one-fifteen.

When did I leave?

Early Sunday morning...three days. Shit.

A replay of how I left Skylar is like a movie reel. My gut sinks further. I pull up Skylar's cell and hit the button. It gets sent to voicemail.

It's the middle of the workday. She could be busy. Don't freak.

I pace the sidewalk and text her.

Me: I'm back. Can I see you when you get out of work?

She never responds.

My phone rings. Thinking it's Skylar, I answer it without looking at the screen. "Printsessa."

"Aww. You never called me printsessa before." Dasha's voice hits my ear.

Fuck.

I focus on the traffic. "Dasha, why are you calling me?"

"You didn't return my calls. Actually, your phone has been off. What happened, Adrian?" She lowers her voice. "Who was it?"

Rage and surprise crawl up my spine. Dasha knows better than to discuss anything that may have to do with me killing anyone. The fact she has any idea what I might have been doing irritates me. "I don't know what you're talking about," I sternly claim then slowly demand again, "Why are you calling me?"

"Aidy, let's have coffee. Please."

I ignore her using the nickname she created for me. I always thought of it as her way to claim me as hers, since no one else in the world called me it. During our separation, I realized she used it when she wanted to get her way—using it now, after everything we've experienced together, seems manipulative. "Damn it, Dasha. We went through this the other night. Not happening."

"I got in trouble, Aidy!" she cries out.

My pulse pounds in my veins. I step closer to a light pole, stepping out of the way of the pedestrians and bicyclists. "What are you involved in?" I grit out, trying to stay calm.

"I can't talk about this on the phone."

I crack my neck and stare at the blue, cloudless sky. "I won't be played by you, Dasha."

"I'm not. I swear. Please. Can we meet? I don't know what to do."

I scrub my hand over my face. No part of me wants to have anything to do with Dasha.

Emotions fill her voice. It drops lower. "I'm the mother of your child."

Our son may have died, but he fit in the palm of my hand when he was born. I only got to hold him for several minutes, but if I try hard enough, I can feel him lying on my fingers. I snort hard. "Fine. Coffee and that's it, Dasha."

"Okay. Thank you, Aidy."

I hang up, walk down the stairs, and focus on the water rushing down the river. My stomach pitches. What did Dasha get herself into? I glance at my phone and pull up Skylar's contact info. I try to call her, but it goes to voicemail again. Her face when I left pops into my mind again.

By the time I get to my penthouse, I'm spiraling. I need to see my printsessa. I try to convince myself I should stay away from her until I'm in a better mental state. Then I walk into the bedroom and smell her scent on my pillows. A pair of her panties twist around the sheets. I sniff them. It creates a mixture of polarity, both calming and full of energy.

I don't think. I go straight to her apartment, jimmy the lock, and sit on her couch, waiting for her to arrive home.

It may be inappropriate, but if I don't see her, I'm going to crawl out of my skin. I text her.

Me: Heads up. When you come home, I'm here, so don't freak.

Skylar: Did you break into my house?

Me: Yes.

Skylar: You're admitting it?

Me: Yes. Come home.

Skylar: Are you crazy?

Me: Probably. Now come home.

Skylar: Get out, Adrian.

Me: No. We need to talk.

Skylar: I have nothing to say to you.

Me: Yes, you do.

Skylar: Leave, Adrian.

Me: Come home. I miss you.

Dots pop up on the screen then disappear. It happens several times.

Skylar: Go back to your wife, Adrian.

My chest tightens. Dasha's only been back a short time, and she's already affecting my life.

Me: EX-wife. EX being the key word.

Skylar: Don't be there when I get home, Adrian.

Me: Sorry, but I'm not leaving until we talk.

My phone rings once, and I answer it. "I missed you, my printsessa."

"This isn't a game, Adrian," she seethes.

"I know. I just got back. I'm sorry—"

"You left me naked in your penthouse."

"Yeah," I humbly admit.

"Get out of my apartment," she demands.

"No. And you need a better lock. I ordered you one. I'll install it tomorrow when it comes."

"What? Adrian, have you lost your mind?" she cries out.

I smile. "Maybe. Hurry up and come home."

"You don't have a right—"

"Call the cops if you don't want to see me. Otherwise, get your sexy-self home. I'm hanging up now."

"Adrian, don't you dare—"

"Come home, my printsessa. Yell at me in person instead of over the phone. You'll feel better."

"You're the most annoying—"

"You're wasting time. Come home." I hang up and walk to the window. My stomach fills with nerves. I'm not sure how I'm going to get through this one.