Crown of Hate (Soulless Empire)

Chapter 12

12

ALYA

My eyes tear open as a loud bang echoes through the house. I sit up quickly, heart pounding.

For a moment, I’m lost in a fog of confusion. What was that? Where am I? What time is it?

Slowly, clarity returns.

I had stayed up all night waiting for Mikhail to come home. I’d been worried sick, and I can’t even explain why. The thought of something happening to him out there sends a slosh of panic down my chest.

Glancing at the golden clock on the wall, I see it’s past midnight. Someone must be downstairs. Could it be Mikhail?

Sliding into my furry slippers, I tiptoe out of the bedroom. The hallway is dark and quiet. I make my way down the grand staircase, my hand trailing along the smooth banister.

At the bottom, I pause and listen. A faint sound is coming from the direction of the bar. My heart skips a beat. Only Mikhail is allowed in there, especially when he’s not home.

I creep towards the bar and notice the door is slightly open. Moonlight spills through the crack, casting a silvery glow. Peering inside, I spot Mikhail sitting on a stool, hunched over, downing a glass of brown liquor.

I’ve never seen him look so distraught. The attack this evening must have really gotten to him. Losing twelve men and a shipment worth thousands of dollars would shake anyone… even a monster.

Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and enter inside.

In a blink, Mikhail vanishes. One second he’s there, the next he’s gone. A shiver travels down my spine.

Where the hell did he go?

I clutch my flimsy nightgown, a useless shield against the chill of fear seeping into my bones. He was there, I swear it. Did I hallucinate it? No, I couldn’t have—his half-empty glass is still there on the bar… I start to back away, each step a hesitant stumble, as I scan the shadowy bar.

My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he must hear it, wherever he is. Or what if… what if it wasn’t Mikhail at all and it was just my mind playing tricks on me, making me believe it’s who I wanted to see? What if someone else has broken in?

The thought sends a fresh wave of terror through me. I keep backing up until I collide with something warm and solid.

Before I can react, I feel cold metal pressing against my temple. My breath freezes in my lungs and time seems to stop when I realize what it is—a gun.

A thousand thoughts race through my mind in an instant. Is this how I die? In a dark bar wearing nothing but a nightgown? What about my plans for revenge? My future? Mama…

With trembling hands, I slowly raise them in surrender. My voice quivers as I speak, hoping, praying it’s who I think it is. “Mikhail, it’s me… Alya.”

The seconds that follow feel like an eternity. I wait, muscles tense, for either the sound of his voice or… something far worse.

“Alya.” My name rumbles from his chest in a deep, husky voice that electrifies my body. His chest is pressed against my back, and the smell of tequila, mixed with sandalwood and citrus reaches my nose. “What are you doing here?”

Relief floods my system, but it’s short-lived.

The gun doesn’t move.

I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. Does he realize he still has the gun pointed at my head? Or is this deliberate—a reminder of who he is?

“I waited up for you,” I manage to say, hating how small my voice sounds. “Are you okay?”

I can feel his breath on my neck, slightly uneven. He’s not okay. Not at all.

“I’m not okay.” The gun lowers at last, and I finally relax as I hear the soft click of the safety being engaged. “Go back upstairs. I want to be alone.”

The dismissal stings, but more than that, it worries me. I’ve never seen Mikhail like this—so raw, so close to the edge. If I leave him alone now, what will happen? Will he drink himself into oblivion?

I turn slowly. In the dim light, I can see the haunted look in his eyes, the rigid clench of his jaw. This can’t just be about tonight’s attack.

“But I can’t leave you alone like this.” Mustering some courage, I reach out and grab his hand. “Come upstairs with me. It’s past midnight, and you’ve had enough to drink.”

His eyes darken as he glances down at our joined hands. For a moment, I half-expect him to push me away. Instead, he prowls closer and cups my cheek. “I’m in a dangerous mood, Alya. I don’t want to take it out on you.”

There’s part of me—a sane, self-preserving part—that wants to heed his warning. To flee upstairs and lock the door. But there’s another part, a part I don’t fully understand, that wants to stay. That wants to see what happens when Mikhail Zhirkov loses control.

“You can take it out on me,” I hear myself say before I can stop the words from tumbling out. I instantly regret it. Heat floods my cheeks as I realize how those words must sound. As a teenager, I devoured novels where the bad guy punished his love interest with all sorts of wild, kinky scenarios.

But this isn’t fiction, and I doubt Mikhail is into those kinds of things...

There’s a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “You have no idea what you’re asking for, wife.”

Wife.

That darn word makes every hair on my body rise on end. There’s something possessive and seductive about it. I don’t like being his wife, but I’m obsessed with the idea of being his in this way, and him being mine.

His eyes zero in on my mouth as I wet my lips. “What’s the worst you can do?” I challenge. “Kiss me? Spank me?”

“It’s a lot worse than that,” he whispers. “You can’t fucking imagine the things I want to do to you right now. Dark, ruthless things. You won’t walk for days after.”

I should be disgusted or even terrified. But the rawness in his voice sets something primal on fire inside me, a heat that threatens to consume me from within if I let it simmer there for too long.

This isn’t like those dirty novels. This is real, dangerous, and so much more thrilling.

“You’re all talk, Mikhail. Nothing more.” If he’s playing this game, I’ll match him move for move. But a small voice in the back of my mind warns me that this is no game. Not with this man.

“No, you aren’t ready for the worst of me. The darkness. The fire. Not yet…”

“Sure.”

I turn around to walk away, heart in my throat, wondering if I’ve finally pushed too far. But I barely make it two steps before his hand closes around my wrist. In one fluid motion, I’m pinned against the wall, my hands forcefully drawn above my head.

“… But you will be. I’ll prepare you, malyshka . I promise. We start tonight.”

My chest heaves. “Mikhail.”

He’s so close now, his lips a breath away from mine. “Don’t regret this, darling. I warned you.”

His mouth crashes down on mine in a bruising, possessive kiss.

I free my hands from his and wrap them around his neck. Then I kiss him back just as hard, moaning into his mouth as I’m cocooned by pleasure—part of me knowing that the only way I’ll survive this is if I match his ferocity.

“Such a naughty girl,” he heaves, his words swirling deep down my throat. “Do you need to be punished?”

As his tongue wrestles with mine, I feel myself getting lost in the intensity of the moment. My hands grip his shirt, pulling him closer, matching his raw passion. I want every part of him I can get. My nipples harden to painful points, and I have to grind them against his chest to find any relief.

“I’d rather be rewarded,” I sigh.

His hand cages my body, trailing fire down from the nape of my neck. He grunts, deepening our kiss. And then, without warning, he rips my nightgown apart.

“Here’s your reward.”

My tits bounce free, and goosebumps pebble my skin as the cool air hits me.

Breaking the kiss, Mikhail looks me in the eye, his gaze burning into me. “Tonight, you're mine, Alya. Mine to do with as I please.”

I struggle to catch my breath, heart thundering. “… What will you do with me?”

His smirk promises delicious sin. “Whatever I want.”

With that, he scoops me up. I gasp as he carries me over to a dark corner of the bar. I’m spread across the table, legs splayed wide. An offering. A sacrificial lamb to a dark god. To him .

“So fucking perfect,” he snarls, his eyes darkening as he looks me over, stopping between my legs. His thick, wet tongue flashes out across his swollen lips. “So fucking tempting.”

He takes my ankles in his hands. They feel like fragile porcelain wands beneath his immense strength as he stretches them out to the corners of the table, only stopping when I can feel the cool touch of the bar’s brass rails against my exposed skin.

“Mikhail—“ I flinch, but his thick forearms flex as he holds me in place.

“You aren’t to move, malyshka ,” he says. “Understand?”

His voice is so commanding that I don’t even think, I only nod.

“Good girl. Now stay put.”

My back arches with need when he releases me from his grip. I watch as he unbuckles his belt, rips it off, then without hesitation, rips it in two.

I gasp in shock, but before I can flinch, I remember his orders. It takes all of my willpower, but I stay in place, a good offering.

“I’m going to fucking devour you,” Mikhail rumbles. Wrapping one piece of the ripped belt around my left ankle, he fastens it to the nearest brass rail. Then, with what’s left of his belt, he does the same thing with my other ankle until I can’t move, even if I wanted to.

The cool, hard metal presses against the balls of my ankles painfully, but before I can complain, Mikhail rips off the bottom of his shirt, revealing a tattooed wall of hard abs.

“Comfort first, princess,” he almost teases. Folding the pieces of cloth, he gently fits them under my restraints—pillows to protect me from the brass. “Pleasure second… until you’re ready. Then those rules are reversed.”

The pain vanishes. But that doesn’t mean I’m not hurting, dying for what comes next. Whatever it is, I need it. I need him.

As if reading my mind, he descends.

My body tenses in response. The ache between my legs intensifies. I inhale sharply as he circles my clit, teasing along my folds before plunging a finger inside.

“Mikhail—”

“Shhh. Not a sound yet.” He pushes the finger deeper, curling it all the way up until it feels like he’s playing with my soul. “When you call my name, I want you screaming it, begging for me.”

A second finger joins the first. I clench my teeth to stifle a moan.

I fight to remain silent as he continues to finger me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. I feel like I'm a bomb ready to explode. My knuckles whiten on the table’s edge as I lose myself in the exquisite torture. The brass rails shake against my restraints.

“Please, Mikhail,” I beg, wriggling under his touch. “Please…”

He pulls his fingers out, and I feel his mouth replacing them. His tongue flicks against my swollen clit. My toes curl with delight.

“Mikhail—” I moan, my hips bucking against his mouth.

He chuckles softly against my skin, the vibrations sending waves of red-hot pleasure burning through me. “I said no sound.”

I try to hold back, but the pressure is too much. My body betrays me. There’s a storm gathering beneath my skin, begging—pleading for an outlet.

“Mikhail,” I quietly groan, unable to keep it in any longer.

He smirks, satisfied by my reaction. “Now, scream my name. Let the whole fucking world know who owns you.”

“Mikhail!” I scream, my voice echoing in the empty bar as I erupt.

Everything seems to quake with intensity. My entire world shakes.

Holy shit.

A devilish laugh pierces the chaos. Mikhail . He slows down the pace, allowing me to catch my breath. Then, he stands up, removing his ripped clothes until he's completely naked. I watch in awe as he positions himself between my legs, lining up his hard cock with my entrance.

His cock… my racing heart nearly drops into the abyss at the sight. It’s huge, thick, throbbing at the seams, dripping for me.

I swallow. My lips part. I’m scared.

Scared, but desperate.

“You made a mess of my tongue, wife .” He leans in and kisses me so I can taste my own cum. “But I forgive you. Delicious, right?”

I nod, speechless with anticipation.

With my restrained legs stretched out straight, I’m defenseless as Mikhail slowly pushes inside me. For a moment, everything burns. He stretches me out to what feels like a limit…

But I’m so wet that he slides in without any more pain. And the burn slowly turns to pure ecstasy as he starts to thrust into me.

“You're so tight,” he groans, watching me squirm beneath him. “I can’t get enough of you.”

My mind-short circuits. I can’t believe I’m having sex. With this gorgeous god. With this sinful devil. With him .

I can feel my wings burning off. My heart drops all the way to hell. The flames embrace me as I sink into them, a smile on my face.

“Fuck me,” I rasp. Locking my arms around his neck, I draw Mikhail deeper into me.

He fills me completely, stretching me in ways I never knew possible. It’s primal, raw, incredible .

He’s claiming me, marking me as his own. And I’m all for it.

And then, he starts to move, his weight pinning me as he pumps his hips in a steady rhythm. My body responds instinctively, matching his pace, meeting each thrust. I melt against him, angling my hips to take him even deeper.

He pulls out half-way, then sinks back in fully, hitting some perfect carnal spot deep inside me.

“How do you feel so fucking good,” he grunts, his body tensing. “How?”

“Don’t stop,” I whimper. It’s all I can respond with.

He quickens the pace, his thrusts growing more erratic. A glass from the table falls to the ground and shatters. Neither of us even pretends to care. Mikhail is laser focused on driving me to the brink. I clench around him, milking him as he dives deep into me.

It all happens suddenly, the build-up breaks, my mind shatters.

My body gives in.

“I-I’m going to cum!”

“Then do it,” he growls, thrusting harder, deeper, and faster. “Cum for me. Cum for your husband.”

Pleasure crashes over me in giant, searing waves. I feel like I’m being lifted off the table as my body trembles under his skilled touch. The restraints around my ankles are all that hold me down as I push into Mikhail’s hard, warm body.

I jerk with each new thrust, screaming out his name, gripping the edges of the table even tighter.

Then, it’s his turn.

“Fuck,” he roars.

With a final, powerful thrust, he erupts inside me.

“Oh my god,” I cry as he fills me up completely. A heavy haze swirls around us both as I claw at the ecstasy, unable to tell up from down.

Slowly, the haze clears. We collapse together, panting and sweaty, our bodies still entwined. Mikhail’s forehead presses against mine, and I can feel his heart pounding against my chest.

We stay like that for a moment, until Mikhail leans in and kisses the top of my head. I’m shocked to see a small smile on his face. My tired heart flutters. How did that happen? He was so dour before, but now…

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, and I blush, realization finally dawning on me.

All I can do is stare up awkwardly at the ceiling as he unties my ankles. When he’s done, I try to slide my sore body off the table, but he slips his hands around my waist and lifts me up.

“What are you doing?” I ask, voice barely more than a whisper.

“What does it look like?”

“Put me down,” I protest, mortified. “You can’t carry me out there. Not like this. What if someone sees us?”

He cocks his brows. “You’re my wife, Alya. And this is our home, I couldn’t care less who sees us. But no one would dare look, anyway. They know who you belong to. Now, hold on.”

Unable to muster up the strength to resist, I reluctantly obey, wrapping my arms around his neck. He carries me to our bedroom, gently dropping me on the bed before running a bath. When it’s ready, he lifts me again, carries me to the tub, and softly lowers me into the strawberry-scented lather. My ankles throb against the heat.

A moment later, he sinks in across from me, grunting as he buries himself in the warm water. Our toes meet, and I fight the urge to pull away, even as my body screams for more contact.

Damn it, Alya. Get it together. He’s the enemy, remember?

“What’s on your mind?” he asks, peering right into my soul with his stormy blue eyes.

I shrug, unable to admit what’s really on my mind—that just having his toe brush against mine has my core throbbing with need. That I’m torn between wanting to straddle him and wanting to strangle him. That I’m caught between a paralyzing fear and a tantalizing desperation to find out what darkness he’s preparing me for.

That I can’t believe I just lost my virginity to the man who killed my father.

My heart tightens, my eyes race. I don’t want to think about it. It’s too much. So, instead, I search for a distraction.

My gaze lands on the viper tattoo on his right bicep. An escape. “What’s the story behind that?” I ask.

He looks confused.

“The tattoo, I mean. Is it some kind of mafia initiation thing?” Papa had a few of them, and they always had something to do with the Bratva. Does Mikhail’s body tell the same bloody story?

He ponders my question, taking the bait. “I got it after I returned from Russia. It’s supposed to remind me of all the men who betrayed me.”

“Men like Boris?”

“And Akim.” A wicked smile plays on his lips. “If there’s one thing I don’t forgive, Alya, it’s betrayal.”

A knot forms in my throat. The sheer, thundering rage in his voice is impossible to ignore. Whatever happened tonight must’ve cut deep. Could I ever wound him the same way? How would he react if I did?

“You betrayed my father.” It’s more of an accusation than a statement.

Emotion flickers in his eyes. “Is that what you believe?”

It is, but I bite my tongue. I don’t have to rub it in his face. Not yet. “Convince me otherwise.”

“Your father and I were never allies. I didn’t betray him; he never deserved to be Pakhan. So, he got exactly what was coming to him. I’m glad he’s gone.”

His words twist in my gut like a knife. The pride, the utter lack of remorse when he talks about taking my father’s life—it makes my blood boil. Anger bubbles up, just like it did the day I found out my father was dead and who killed him.

I must’ve been a fool to have forgotten that this man is— and always will be— nothing more than a monster. My enemy.

Fuck.

He hasn’t seen true betrayal yet. I’ll show him what it really looks like.

I’ll make him trust me, rely on me, and then I’ll rip his black heart into a million pieces.

“Only a mad man would think to betray someone like you, Mikhail.”

And it’s true. But I am no man, and my madness is only just beginning to take root.