Deceitful Vows by Brook Wilder

 

Chapter 25

Andrei

 

“I didn’t know the pakhan wanted the girl.” Seryozha sits on a patch of pine needles in the forest, pleading pathetically for his life. His hands are bound behind him with a ribbon from a bridesmaid’s dress. “I didn’t know she was really his wife.”

 

The bridal party stands in a circle before him. We’re far away from the castle, where no one can see. Angry eyes are trained on him. Natasha and Katerina have kicked off their shoes and pace around him like sharks, eyes shining in anticipation of violence. Barefoot, they resemble psycho wood nymphs howling for blood.

 

“She is not yours to touch, durak!” Natasha hits him on the back of the head. “She screamed no, but you didn’t stop.”

 

“I didn’t know,” he pleads. “She’s not one of us. I thought—”

 

“Thought?” Katerina hisses. “You are not asked to think. Did your pakhan order you to touch her?”

 

“You know she cannot defend herself.” Natasha pulls his hair. “You took advantage, mudak.”

 

I turn my back on them and listen to him yelp after another hard crack. The men step back, watching as the women teach Seryozha a painful lesson on boundaries. They taunt him, digging nails into him, slapping him. He’s lucky the men are here to stop it if things go too far.

 

Seryozha spent a lot of time as my father’s lapdog. When Father was murdered, Seryozha questioned my ability to lead. He said I was only a faint copy of the original. My father was the true pakhan.

 

Now, he pleads for my attention. “Andrei Vasilyevich, I didn’t know. I swear it. I thought the wedding was fake. I thought she was just a …”

 

He stops himself, realizing that the next word could very well be his last.

 

“Just a what, Seryozha?” I ask softly.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

 

He knows once the women are finished, the men will beat him, and then he will be shot. No one tolerates the rape of a Bratva woman. Especially by one of our own.

 

My hands ball into fists, but I don’t turn around.

 

“Your pakhan asked you a question!” Katerina slaps him.

 

“I thought she was just bait!” he shouts back. “I thought she was nothing and nobody!”

 

I spin around. Bleeding scratches and red marks in the shape of hands show where fists have beaten his broken face.

 

Seryozha continues to shout. “Her purpose was to lure them out, was it not, Andrei Vasilyevich? I thought you hired her to play a part and didn’t care if she died or not.”

 

I hold myself still while I catch my breath. A visceral image of Paige in her wedding dress, being shot, plays in my mind. Her mouth opens and those crystal blue eyes stare lifelessly. I don’t know why I care now, but I do.

 

The world around me stops. No one dares to move. There are no more slaps or taunts while I rein my anger in.

 

But I can’t. I can’t control it.

 

I’m on Seryozha before anyone can react, lifting him off the ground by his collar. His tie presses into his throat as he gasps for air.

 

“She is mine and not to be touched,” I snarl as my father’s voice pours out from my lips. Still think I’m a faint copy of the original? “Fake or not, she is my wife. Your pakhan’s wife. You disrespected me when you touched her.”

 

I toss him onto the ground. And he lies coughing, his face hard against the dirt.

 

“It won’t happen again.” His words are forced out between coughs as drool escapes his lips. “It won’t ever happen again, my pakhan.”

 

I’m tired of his begging and hold out my hand. “Dima, your gun, please.”

 

Seryozha’s eyes widen.

 

“Untie him,” I say as I take Dmitri’s gun into my hand.

 

The women grab at the knots, pulling them open. And he rubs his wrists with his other hand.

 

“Today is your lucky day, Seryozha. Today, you will learn a very important lesson. I won’t shoot you between the eyes unless you look at my wife again.” I laugh darkly. “And to help you remember, we will play a party game. Do you care to know what it is?”

 

His head dips unwillingly in a nod.

 

“We will see who among us is the best marksman.” I smile. “And you will be a target. We will allow you a head start. If you make it to the road, you live. One … Two …”

 

Seryozha scrambles to his feet, and his face twists in pain as he hurries for cover in the trees.

 

I take aim and shoot. He yelps in pain, clutching his shoulder.

 

We laugh, and I hand Dmitri back his gun.

 

“Whoever kills him has to clean up the mess.” I leave them to carry out my lesson. “He lives, but not without pain.”

 

Dmitri nods and takes aim. A bullet ricochets off a tree trunk, narrowly missing Seryozha’s head. Smirking, he hands his gun to Natasha.

 

She accepts the gun and rolls her eyes at his smirk.

 

“You’re a shit shot, Dima.” She raises the gun and squeezes the trigger. Somewhere in the dark, Seryozha screams in pain. “And you’re an even shittier flirt.”

 

***

 

“I thought she was nothing and a nobody!”

 

Seryozha was right. I thought the same thing until someone pointed a gun at her. And now, I have pushed her into the spotlight for all to see. People want to hurt her, including my own.

 

Her father is a guilty man. He has to be. Otherwise, why would anyone be interested in killing her? And in the Bratva world, the sins of a father pass to his children.

 

But if Gerald Reyes is guilty, then why am I treating Paige as if she really is my wife?

 

I can hear Dmitri and Natasha laughing as another shot rings out in the dark as I make my way back.

 

When I arrive back at the venue, Inessa steps aside as I enter the hallway to the bridal suite. I nod to her. “I’ll be with my wife. No one at the door, but someone at the end of the hall. Call a guard and have them watch the stairs.”

 

Inessa nods and then glances at her phone when it chimes.

 

“What does it say?” I ask her.

 

“He made it to the road.”

 

I nod. “Impressive.”

 

My hand stays on the doorknob and I wait.

 

It is all fake, I remind myself. She is just a path for me to get to her father, and he might be the one who can point me to The Thief.

 

I’m using her and she must be using me, so there is nothing wrong if we both enjoy it. And I know she enjoys it. Her body practically melted against mine even though she said she hated me.

 

She may have gritted her teeth in mock resistance, but she never said no. She kept on touching me, kept driving me nuts with her eager hands and her soft, alluring moans.

 

My breathing heightens as I open the door. Paige is sitting on the bed, her back against the headboard. A sheer robe wraps around her body. Her long hair covers her shoulders and chest. Bratva women rarely wear their hair so long or so plain. It’s always colored, cut, and teased. Hers is straight and flowing over her shoulders. She looks up; her big innocent eyes widen for a moment and then lower.

 

My cock strains against my zipper and aches to be in her. It’s just lust, I tell myself. This woman is part of a plan, not part of my life. I will use her, and she expects me to. I close the door behind me, and she leans back against the headboard as if she’s trapped. She stares at me as I take off my jacket and start working at my cuffs. There’s blood staining the edges.

 

“What did you do to him?” she whispers.

 

I don’t answer as I peel off my shirt.

 

“What did you do?” she demands.

 

“He tried to rape you.” I say quietly, and drop my shirt to the floor. “Would it please you to know that he is dead, moya nevesta?”

 

Paige stares at me with uncertainty as her mouth opens and then shuts. She watches me as if I’m up to no good, and swallows hard before she looks away.

 

“You do not need to worry about my business,” I reply.

 

Her mouth tenses into a line as she wonders if she should tell me off. The others think she’s weak, but I know better than that. There is strength in her that they don’t see. There is fire. She’s determined, and most importantly, not easy to break.

 

Slowly, she sits up straight. Her robe slips off her shoulders, barely covering her breasts. She has a look in her eye as if she’s up to no good. Scheming. As if she’s deciding her next move.

 

“So, what happens now?” Paige licks her lip. “Are we spending the night? As husband and wife?”

 

Her alluring look instantly transforms into a scowl when I laugh. She gapes when I eye her with arrogance. Without warning, a pillow is launched at my head. I catch it and toss it back. It falls in her lap. Her eyes gawk in shock.

 

“Not expecting that?” I sit on the edge of the bed. “You’re not as practiced as the rest.”

 

“What does that mean?” She grabs her robe shut.

 

“When a woman doesn’t know how to kill with her bare hands, she’ll try to control a man with what’s between her legs.” I continue talking before she has a chance to explain herself. “I see the scheming look in your eyes when you flash your tits at me. You think I’m too busy killing to do anything else.”

 

“You’re an asshole. You’re the one who was hitting on me. Or did you forget that you wanted me enough to kidnap me?”

 

“There’s a difference between want and need.”

 

Something in her changes. “And do you still need me after all this?” she asks.

 

I see the vulnerability in her quivering lips. The fear returns, and it is real. She’s afraid of me. I continue staring at her and see a tremor rush through her. Her knees press close to each other, and I see her nipples hardening beneath the flimsy robe.

 

I can feel her fear and her arousal. I can practically smell both.

 

It shouldn’t be a turn on, yet it is. And in that moment, I realize she can control me. It’s not sex, but her innocence. The way her big eyes beg me to protect her. The way she melts into me when I shield her from harm with my body. The way she opens herself to me when she knows we’re alone.

 

I stand by the edge of the bed and break the silence. “You have to beg.”

 

Her body tenses as she backs further away.

 

I smirk. “You have to beg me to fuck you.”

 

“Fuck you.” She shakes her head slightly.

 

The smirk turns into a chuckle. “You think you know what teasing is, but I assure you, Paige Barinov, you have no idea. You don’t know what it’s like to be broken. I will tease you until you go insane. I will tease and pleasure you until you forget your morals. Until you stop judging me. Until you stop trying to run away. And when I’m done, you will beg me to keep you in my bed. And you’ll forget why you ever wanted to run away from me.”

 

She starts to scoot back, but I leap onto the bed, startling her. Paige freezes against the headboard, staring at me as if I’m a madman. I lean into her and sniff the scent of her skin. A mix of fading perfume and sweat. Her hair tickles my nose as my lips brush her soft shoulder. My tongue flicks out to taste her skin.

 

I pull away, and she’s breathing as hard as I am.

 

I grip her chin and bring her lips to my mouth. Her fists brace against my chest, but she doesn’t pull her away. She kisses me back. Gradually, her hand opens and rests against my pec, outlining the muscle with her fingertip.

 

I open my eyes, and a devilish smile flashes on her lips. No, I want control, so she’s going to wait.

 

“I wonder what you taste like,” I growl.

 

I straddle her hips and tug the belt on her robe open. Her breasts tremble as she takes deep breaths. My nose nuzzles against her skin, and patiently, I kiss a path down her body to her legs. My fingers dig into her hips and my hands grip her thighs. A slight motion is all it takes for her legs to part. My tongue dives into her and I taste her sweetness—warm and slick against my tongue. She moans as she spreads her legs even wider to give me access.

 

Sweat dots my forehead as my hands tighten their grip. I want to fuck her. I can feel my own control slipping away.

 

Paige moans louder and presses her pussy against my mouth. But her moans never turn into pleas. I pull back, and she wiggles her hips on the bed, trying to tempt me to come back.

 

I grab her knee and toss her onto her side, closing her legs. She looks at me, but only her eyes are pleading.

 

Not her voice.

 

Well done.

 

I slide off the bed. “I’m going to take a shower.”

 

Her lip curls, aware of her victory. “Make it a cold one.”

 

***

 

The cold water stabs into my heated skin like shards of ice. And I wonder what she’s doing alone in that bed. My imagination grips me as I picture Paige’s legs opening, and her hand drifting down between them. In my mind, she is moaning as her eyes squeeze shut and she whispers my name. Bracing my hand against the shower wall, I grab my cock with my other hand and pull it with a strangled grip. Punishing it hard, running my fingers over the head until I’m gasping in pain. I clutch for the wall as I cum in one ropey spurt after another. The hot white liquid splashes and rolls down the tiles. Closing my eyes, I see stars as I keep pumping myself until I shoot again.

 

Stubborn woman.

 

I grab a towel and dry myself off, unsatisfied. I’m cold from the drops of water left on my skin. I should be in there fucking my bride, but I won’t break first.

 

Paige will beg for me on her knees, with tears on her face.

 

And won’t that be a sight to see?