King of Masters by Brynn Ford

CHAPTER 28

Stella

“I WANT TO have the baby back home, at Mikhailov Manor,” Anya says.

Ezra drops his fork on his plate and it clangs loudly in the unusually quiet dining room. He looks at Anya with a surprised expression.

I glance at Murphy, sitting at the opposite end of the long dining table, and find him glaring at Ezra’s plate. “Be careful. Those were my grandmother’s.”

“Murphy—”

“I heard you the first time, lass.”

I watch Anya and the way she steels herself, preparing to boldly ask my husband again. I want to give her encouragement to push him on this, but I don’t think she needs it.

“Then I’d like to hear your response,” she says.

Murphy puts down his utensils and pushes his plate forward, folding his hands in front of him, and leaning on his elbows. It’s just the four of us dining together tonight—me, Murphy, Anya, and Ezra. It’s a much quieter affair than usual at our twice weekly O’Shea family dinners.

Cormac and Declan are off inspecting an O’Shea factory, and Kostya is doing the same with a Mikhailov facility. Much of the rest of the family is off on vacation, and Fiona has gone with them under Boyd and Bridget’s care. I tried to convince Murphy to let her stay with us. Bridget may be kind to her, but Boyd can be cruel. Even though he’s aging severely, he still holds a great deal of power as the former patriarch of the family—and he abuses it when given the chance.

My husband, ever the opportunist, decided he wanted to take advantage of the empty nest so we could play house. Thus, Fiona is away with them, and I worry for her well-being.

But just as much, I’m annoyed for myself. He wants me to spend time with Anya, though I’m not allowed to speak with her unsupervised. He thinks that seeing her pregnant will convince me to want to have a baby with him.

He wants me to have his baby, for crying out loud.

He’s been talking about it more since Anya’s been staying here for the past couple of months, and it’s a bit of an understatement to say it’s a sore spot. I’m not interested in having children at this point in my life, and least of all to raise them in the four families’ world.

He’s a fucking moron if he thinks I’m going to allow that to happen.

No.

I have more important goals. I’m looking for opportunities to chisel away at the power the four families hold over him. I’m trying to make him see how much better off he’d be if he understood what I knew…This is not a life, it’s a death sentence—the only question is how long it will be before he’s killed or arrested doing what he calls “work.”

I wish I didn’t care.

I wish I didn’t give a fuck what happens to him.

I’m a captive who’s had no willing involvement in his business. My marriage was forced. I like to think I’d be spared any criminal convictions if he were ever found out and arrested. I like to think all I would care about is myself if that ever happened—that I would testify against him and help them prosecute him and his despicable family to the fullest extent of the law.

But something terrible happened the night he decided to let Anya and Ezra stay with us. I accidentally let my guard down and my heart softened.And when that happened, my heart played a dangerous trick on me. My heart saw him only as the man I initially fell in love with, and it’s been beating with that image ever since.

I can’t shake it.

These days I see the good in him more often than the bad, and the way I’m falling for him now significantly rivals the way I fell for him in the beginning.

I fall a little more for him each day that passes, with each bare-minimum act of kindness he shows me. He gives me a million moments of hardness, but one moment of softness keeps me on the hook for more.

I’m starting to look more for those rare moments, and I know it’s foolish. It minimizes his toxicity in my mind and leaves me feeling like a dumb, lost little girl who’ll take any attention she can get.

My regular phone conversations with Cora further prove how dumb and lost I am. Since our engagement, I’ve had to lie to her and convince her how happy I am. Yet more and more, the lies have become truths. They’ve become my overdramatic retellings of the things he actually has done that make me happy, that make me feel loved. I have her as fooled as I am, and she’s happy for me because she thinks it’s all worked out.

But she only hears the good moments.

I worry I’m starting to blind myself, only allowing myself to see the good. But I am only human, a captive in our forced marriage, and I crave those moments.

I watch him with the glow of firelight behind him, flames crackling in the fireplace. He’s a strong, beautiful man that I could bend for—a man I have bent for—and I need to be careful. I straighten my spine and harden my expression as I look at him, trying to remember who he really is.

His eyes catch mine, almost as if he senses my shields going up, and he lunges after the switch to stop it. “Stella. Tell me your thoughts on this…as…a woman.”

I could take him asking for my opinion as a kindness. But I’ve already given up too much power to him today—I was teasing and playful with him earlier and I regret giving him too much of the real me.

I have to balance it; I have to remind him that I’m still against what he stands for. I think now would be the appropriate time to be a proper pain in the ass. It’s only fair since he’s been a proper pain in mine about wanting me to get pregnant.

I mimic his position, leaning forward on my elbows and folding my hands just as he does. “You mean you’d like to hear my opinion as the only other child-bearing person in this room? Since that’s all I’m good for?”

His jaw sets. “That horse is dead, wife. Put your damn stick down.”

“Then it’s a fucking zombie horse, Murphy, because it keeps getting up to rear its ugly fucking head.”

“Watch your fucking foul-mouth. I’ll wash it out with soap.”

“Promise?” I cock my head to the side, agitation filling me with the same kind of rush I get when I’m horny.

Fucking fuck.

Murphy slams his fist on the table, but I don’t flinch. He does that plenty—trying to scare me into bending to his will—but he doesn’t scare me. Any violence that comes out of him always turns into sex…spectacular sex.Maybe I sometimes egg him on intentionally knowing that.

I scowl at him, waiting for him to say something, but then he just laughs. “Would you just speak your mind, woman?”

Woman?

Oh, no, sir.

I slam my hands on the table and push my chair back with a screech. My heart pounds because what I’m about to say is going to set him off, and the adrenaline I feel in anticipation of him unleashing is anticipatory bliss.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I flip him the finger. “Go fuck yourself, you fucking, misogynist pig.” I turn and head for the door in a flash.

I see him leap to his feet from the corner of my eye and it forces me to quicken my steps. I get through the swinging door of the private dining room just as he comes up behind me.

The moment we’re both through the door, he grabs hold of my hips and tugs me backward against him so I can’t run away. He turns and pushes me until I crash forward against the wall. I put out my palms to catch myself and turn my cheek, pressing it against the cold, stone wall.

My heart is beating so fast, fluttering like crazy. I’m instantly turned-on and that pisses me off…and being pissed off at him turns me on even more. It’s a vicious circle of lust and anger that maybe I’ve become a little obsessed with.

He leans against me, his body molding to my backside. He rubs his hands over my hips and waist, and he comes in close, bringing his face next to mine.

“Go fuck yourself? Really, sweetheart?”

I try to disguise the desire in my tone by masking it with sarcasm. “Really, Murphy.” I pause. “You really want my opinion?”

He kisses my cheek, shifting his hips forward, and I can feel his cock against my butt. My muscles tense as I try hard not to wiggle my ass against it.

“If I didn’t want your opinion, I wouldn’t ask for it. You know that.”

I push back into him, nudging him to leave just enough space between us so I can turn to face him. He’s quick to keep me there, hurriedly coming in close to fill the space between us as he leans into my curves and bends to nip at my neck.

Charming motherfucker.

“If you had to push a human being out of your asshole, would you want to do it in someone else’s home? Or would you prefer to be in your own damn home where you’re comfortable?”

“I’d rather be in hospital.”

I groan with frustration of both the intellectual and physical persuasion. “You’ve already made it very clear that’s not an option for her since you fear she’ll out you. Which she should. She should out the entire operation of the four families.”

He huffs out a breath and pulls his head back, dragging his lips away from my neck. He looks at me with admonishing eyes. “That’s not what we’re discussing.”

I sigh, trying to ignore my growing fury and lust because I care about Anya. And knowing what little I do of her history, I’d say she’s fully deserving of some comfort in her life.

“Let her have the baby wherever she wants. She’s been through enough; grant her that small comfort of being in her home.”

“I can’t just send them off to Russia alone. I don’t trust them.”

“Then we’ll go with them.”

His forehead creases as he considers. “That’s not a terrible idea.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Um, thanks?”

He tilts his head. “It’s a good idea. You and I could use some more time away from the family. And you’re right, she should have some comfort in the midst of childbirth. Okay,” he says with finality, then takes a sudden step back.

My body immediately misses the warmth of his.

“Okay?”

“I heard you, and you were right. I’ll make it happen.”

I swallow the thick lump of gratitude rising in my throat. “Thank you.”

He gives me a once over with his flickering gaze, a small smile creeping up the corners of his lips. “Now go to bed, Stella, and wait for me to join you.”

“It’s only seven o’clock.”

“I didn’t say anything about sleeping.” He disappears through the swinging door.

I hold my breath until it swings shut, then let it out in a heavy rush, along with all my willpower.