Crown of Hate (Soulless Empire)

Chapter 16

16

ALYA

Mikhail bursts into the room like a force of nature. His hair is a tangled mess, his shirt shredded and drenched in blood, and yet, there’s that damn cocky grin on his face, like he just won the lottery. In one hand, he clutches a slightly battered red rose.

The book I’m reading—a study on caring for stray animals—drops from my hands, my eyes widening to saucers. Holy shit. He wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow. And definitely not looking like he just walked off a battlefield.

A dangerous smile stretches out on his face as he presents the rose with a flourish. “Missed me, malyshka? I brought you a little something.”

I stumble over to him, my eyes instinctively scanning him for injuries, then flicking to the rose. The petals are slightly crushed and a few droplets of blood cling to the deep red surface. Is that his blood or… someone else’s? It’s beautiful and terrifying all at once, just like the man holding it. “What happened to you, Mikhail? And where did you get a rose looking like... that?”

I reach out and take the rose from him. It’s such a small thing, but it speaks volumes. Did he really think of me in the midst of whatever chaos he just emerged from? The gesture is oddly touching, even as part of me recoils at the thought of what might have happened before he picked up the flower.

“Nothing to worry about,” he purrs while unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness.

My mouth goes dry as the piece of blood-soaked fabric slides off his shoulders. Fuck me.

He’s even sexier like this, all primal and covered in… I swallow hard, my gaze tracing his torso, but finding not even a single bruise. It’s not his blood. Just pure, lethal perfection.

Next, he shucks off his shorts and heads straight for the bathroom. The water starts running, and I’m struck by an insane urge to follow him, my nightgown suddenly feeling far too constricting.

What the hell is wrong with me? He’s drenched in blood, probably killed God knows how many people, and all I can think about is joining him in that shower.

But my feet move before my brain can catch up. There’s this pull—curiosity, lust, maybe even madness—that’s dragging me right into the bathroom with him. The rose slips from my fingers, forgotten, as I follow Mikhail’s bloody trail.

When I catch up to him, Mikhail has his back to me, facing the wall, and I’m treated to an eyeful of his sculpted ass. My hands itch to reach out and touch it, to feel the firm muscle beneath my palms. A vivid image flashes through my mind: my fingers digging into that flesh as he fucks me into oblivion.

Jesus Christ.

What kind of twisted whore am I becoming? Since when do I drool over a man’s ass?

I try to shake off the sudden warmth spreading through me, forcing my mind back to the reality of the situation. Come on, focus, Alya . “Mikhail, seriously, what happened out there? You're covered in blood,” I manage, but my voice wavers slightly. It’s hard to stay focused when his naked body is such a goddamn distraction. It’s not just the perfectly sculpted muscles, either. It’s the mosaic of dark tattoos. They snake over his skin like pure, gothic art.

A body chiseled by God… and painted by the devil.

And then he laughs. A low, seductive sound that sends a shiver crawling down my spine. Without turning around, he replies nonchalantly, “Just a little run-in with some old acquaintances. Nothing for you to worry about, malyshka .”

I grip my nightgown, a mixture of conflicting emotions warring inside me. Concern, fascination, and a sick kind of excitement I don’t want to examine too closely. Mikhail has always been enigmatic and unpredictable, but this is something else entirely.

Something I should hate, something that should repulse me, yet I can’t bring myself to care. Instead, a traitorous voice whispers in my mind: it doesn’t matter if he kills a thousand people, as long as he’s safe.

A sigh escapes my chest. What is wrong with me?

As the shower’s spray hits Mikhail’s skin, the blood swirls down the drain in hypnotic spirals, leaving no traces behind of whatever crime he committed. It’s unsettling how easily he sheds this violence, like a snake shedding his skin.

When he finally turns around to face me, his eyes are dark and smoldering with something unreadable. “You should go back to your book,” he says with a deep, husky voice.

My lower lip drops, instinctively disappointed, before it comes snapping back up when Mikhail continues, “… Or you can join me… if you want...”

I swallow back a lump in my throat. Goddammit, I do. I want to so badly it scares me. But I don’t say that. Instead, I force myself back and say, “I’ll leave you to it then.”

But I should have known better than to think I had a choice.

I’ve barely turned away before I hear him step out of the shower. A split-second later, his big, rough hand wraps around my wrist and hauls me to him. Our bodies collide—his hard, slick frame meeting the softness of mine, creating an intense, electrifying contrast.

My breath catches in my throat. “What are you doing?” I whisper, though there’s no one else around to hear us.

He twists me around to face him.

“I missed you today, malyshka,” he murmurs, caressing my cheeks gently, the water dripping from his hand onto my nightgown. “No matter what was happening, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About coming home and holding you, taking you. Fucking you.”

My knees go weak as he slips off the straps of my nightgown. They drip down my arms. Mikhail nods, and if by magic, the rest of the material falls with them, pooling around my feet.

“Then do it,” I whisper, my voice barely breaking through the hiss of the shower.

Taking my wrist, he leads me under the water, then places me against the misty wall. His eyes hold a mixture of raw desire and something more savage, like a predator eyeing its next meal.

The look cuts right through my sanity, tapping into something feral.

It’s a reaction that must be written all over my face, because he leans in close, his hot breath mixing in with the steam to swirl around my ear.

“Did you miss me?” he teases. “Did you sit around thinking of all the ways I’d fuck you when I got home. Tell me the truth, malyshka. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

With a savage ease, he flips me around so that my cheek is pressed against the warm wall and my ass is pressed out into his cock. Then, one hand is around my throat and the other is between my legs.

“I was too busy reading to think about you,” I lie, pressing myself back into him. His already rock hard, his warm girth setting fire to my skin.

“Lie,” he proclaims, his pointer finger pressing down on my clit. The act causes my entire body to spasm, but I don’t move an inch, because Mikhail presses himself into me even harder, forcing me in place. His cock pushing between my cheeks, placing an irresistible, terrifying pressure on a hole I never even thought of using.

“Is this what you daydreamed of?” he asks, thrusting into me. “Or are you too innocent for that?”

His finger starts to lead my clit in circles, I gasp, but the air is so humid that there isn’t anything to breathe in.

“Too innocent,” I quietly rasp, slowly suffocating, slowly losing my mind.

“I’ll change that.”

Without giving me time to prepare, Mikhail sinks his teeth into the tender skin on my neck. At the same time, he reaches further around my waist and slips that finger inside of me. The hand around my neck drops, falling to my ass.

“Do you think you can take me?”

My eyes go wide as his thumb presses against my asshole. The pressure is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before… and I can’t tell what’s dripping off me more, the water or my arousal.

“What-what are you doing?”

“Claiming you. Every last inch. Every single hole.” His tongue flutters up my neck. His teeth nibble at my ear… before his tongue enters.

“Oh my god.” I squirm, but he has me so utterly caged that all I do is rub harder against his slick, hard skin.

“That’s right,” he growls. “Pray to me. I’ll worship you in return, malyshka. All you have to do is tell me the truth. What did you think about today?”

“… You.”

“And what do you want me to do with you?”

His thumb presses in harder until it’s nearly inside of me. Another finger joins the one he already has in my pussy. My back arches.

“Everything,” I confess. “I want you to do everything to me.”

“And I will.”

I’ve lost my mind.

I’m acutely aware that this man has blood on his hands and is capable of horrors beyond imagination. I know this man killed my father and every part of me should be screaming for vengeance. Yet as he slides his fingers out of my pussy and flips me back around to face him, I can hardly grasp onto a single thought. My mind is blank. A space of pure desire.

All I can do is stare deep into those dark, smoky blue eyes,

Sure, I still want to use him, to manipulate him, but right now, the sheer thrill of this twisted dance is quickly overpowering every other need. For revenge. For independence. For food. Air. Water. I’m reaching a point where I’ll be powerless to resist.

Fuck it.

That can all come later.

I reach up and wrap my legs around Mikhail’s waist, pulling him closer, feeling every hard inch of him. “Then fucking do it.”

His eyes widen, the hunger morphing into something even wilder. “That’s my fucking girl.”

His lips latch onto mine. Below, his cock finds my folds, I claw at his back, begging for him to enter. But he doesn’t.

“No. You need more than that,” he grunts. His hands push down on my thighs, untangling my legs from around his waist. The second my feet hit the wet floor, I’m turned back around.

“I’m going to make you melt, darling.”

Reaching overhead, Mikhail grabs one of the shower heads and turns a faucet. A fresh spray of warm water starts streaming out. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he presses the shower head against my clit. My lips part to cry out, but the shout stick in my throat when he finally thrusts into me from behind.

“Fuck!” I manage to croak. But I’m not even sure if the words leave my chest. Mikhail’s cock stretches out my pussy as the water from the shower head plays with my clit in an impossible rhythm.

My hands instinctively reach out, desperate to grasp onto something, anything. But there’s nothing… until Mikhail’s free hand finds its place back around my throat.

I immediately grab onto his flexing forearm. It’s so thick that my fingers barely get halfway around. But it’s enough. It’s something.

I hold on for dear life as he pounds into me from behind, my eyes slowly rolling into the back of my head.

“Shatter for me, baby girl.” His low rumble swirls in with the running water. “Melt that resistance away. Cum!”

His body moves with a rhythm that matches the pounding of my heart. Each thrust is more powerful, more desperate. The bathroom disappears. All that exists is the chaotic pleasure building from below. The back and forth of my clit, controlled by countless beads of water. The pressure of Mikhail’s cock, reaching deep inside of me. The thick, suffocating air, barely making its way past the iron grip he has on my throat.

“You are mine, Alya,” Mikhail growls, his voice low and filled with promise. “Say it back to me.”

It’s like I’m being controlled by a web of strings wrapped around his fingers, because the words just spill from my lips.

“I’m yours, Mikhail.”

And then, somehow, by some miracle, the levee breaks, my mind shatters, I erupt. And, at the exact same time, so does Mikhail.

For a moment, I blank out. Nothing exists but a feeling of pure carnal satisfaction.

When I finally come to, I’ve been turned back around. I wear I feel a soft kiss planted on my forehead. My eyes open. That stormy blue gaze has cleared slightly.

I collapse against him, burying my face in the crook of his neck. For a few precious moments, we remain like that, simply existing, limbs entangled, basking in each other’s warmth and listening to each other’s heartbeat.

When Mikhail finally pulls away, he looks me up and down and smiles. “Let’s get you cleaned up, malyshka.”

It’s eleven p.m. by the time we finish showering. To my surprise, Mikhail takes on the unexpected task of drying my hair. For a man so brutally powerful, his touch is shockingly gentle as he coaxes the tangles free. He even braids it into a neat little pigtail—a skill that has me eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and undeniable jealousy.

When he’s done, I whirl around to face him. “How do you know how to braid?”

His lips curl into a smug smirk. “I’ve had a lot of practice with the women in my life, Alya. Comes with the territory, you know?”

Oh, I know alright. I know exactly the type of “women” a man like Mikhail keeps company with. The thought of him running his fingers through the hair of all those faceless, nameless floozies has my blood boiling. This skill, this little intimate gesture—it’s not supposed to be theirs. It’s supposed to be mine . I hate that it’s not just special to me.

I glare at him, teeth gritted so hard my jaw aches. “Of course, you’ve had experience with all your whores.” The insult rolls off my tongue with venom. “Pig. I’m going to bed.”

Fuming, I spring to my feet, intent on storming off to the sanctuary of our bedroom. But Mikhail is faster, his iron grip snatching my wrist just as I’m about to take my first step. He yanks me back and swirls me into him. “You really believed that?”

I roll my eyes. “That you’ve been with a ton of women? Why wouldn’t I believe it?”

“Not that, malyshka.” He tips up my chin with a finger, forcing me to look at him. “I used to braid Kira’s hair. She’s the only woman who I’ve ever touched this way before you.”

The confession knocks the wind out of me. Stupid, stupid Alya. Now I feel like an utter fool for letting my jealousy get the better of me. “Were you teasing me?”

Mikhail’s low chuckle only twists the knife deeper. “You look prettier when you’re all riled up, you know that?”

“I wasn’t jealous,” I insist stubbornly, even as the heat in my cheeks betrays the lie. “More like I was just… disgusted.”

“Don’t even try to lie to me, malyshka.” Before I can protest further, he silences me with a soft, lingering kiss. “Now, did you have any dinner yet?”

The sudden shift in topic has my head spinning. “Uh, just a cookie and some grape juice,” I admit sheepishly. The truth is, I’m starving after the intense sex we had. “Did you have something to eat?”

He shakes his head. “Come on then, let’s go downstairs and see what we can find to heat up and eat.”

He holds out his hand for me, and I take it without hesitation, allowing him to lead the way downstairs.

In the kitchen, I head straight for the fridge. He was way off—there’s plenty to eat. Seems like Grace is always cooking and stocking up, so that there’s never a shortage of food.

I scan the items for the easiest thing to heat up. “How about some frozen pizza and low-fat Greek yoghurt?”

“Low-fat Greek yoghurt? What the hell is that?”

“Yoghurt, but thicker and healthier. I asked Grace to buy some for me.” I grab a pizza box and head for the microwave.

Mikhail holds the door open as I slide the box inside. When he closes it, I set the timer and lean against the kitchen island while we wait.

“How are things with the Russian Bratva?” The question slips out before I can stop it. I know he might not want to share stuff about the mafia with me, but I can’t bring myself to back down, even as his eyes darken.

“What exactly do you want to know?” His voice is suddenly cold, a stark contrast to the man that fucked me against the bathroom wall just minutes ago.

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “Whatever you can share.”

“Akim had the Italian mafia attack one of our warehouses. I took my revenge on them this evening.”

That explains the blood. A part of me wonders if he feels any sort of remorse for the people he kills. I don’t want to believe he’s a heartless monster, incapable of feeling anything beyond rage and cruelty.

He folds his arms and pins me with an unreadable gaze. “Is there something you want to ask me?”

I decide to be direct. If there’s a chance I’m going to spend the rest of my life with this man, it’s better I learn all I can about him. “Do you ever feel sad for the people you kill? Do you regret what you do?”

His jaw tightens, but his eyes remain unreadable. “In the chaos of the underworld, there’s no room for emotions like sadness and regret. It’s either kill or be killed.”

“So you enjoy it?”

“Do you enjoy standing here waiting for the microwave?” he counters.

I do, but only because he’s here with me. I would hate it otherwise. “No, I don’t.”

“Then why are you here? You could’ve chosen not to,” he says calmly.

“Because we’re hungry. Whether I want to or not, I have to wait if I want to eat.” Then I grin, trying to lighten the mood. “You could’ve been a gentleman and offered to do it alone instead.”

“You like being served in bed? Point taken. But that’s beside my point.” He leans back against the wall. “You don’t always do things because you like them. You do them out of necessity, It’s the same for me. While I wouldn’t go out of my way to hurt others, I have to defend myself.”

My lips part. There’s this aching need to ask him if he enjoyed killing my father, but the mood between us is so good, I don’t want to ruin it. I’ll ask another day. “I’m going to the shelter tomorrow,” I say instead.

“And you’re taking your bodyguards with you?”

“Can I not take them?”

“No,” he says firmly, inching closer. He smells like citrus and cinnamon—harsh yet addictive. “While I won’t keep you inside against your will, the last thing I want is you dying on me, do you understand?”

“Because you’ll miss fucking me.”

“Because I’ll fucking rip the world to shreds if anything ever happens to you, malyshka.”

The tension in the air is palpable.

My heart races, my pulse rate skyrocketing. Butterflies come awake in my stomach, and their flutters make me want to pull this man into a searing kiss.

He’ll never love me, I know. But how can I resist him when he says hot shit like that. What girl wouldn’t want a man willing to tear the world apart for her? Definitely not me.

The microwave’s shrill bleep snaps me out of my daze.

I take out the pizza, grateful for the distraction. “Can you take this to the island? I’ll grab the Greek yoghurt and join you.”

He takes the pizza, and I follow with the yoghurt, a bowl, and two spoons.

As he picks up a slice of pizza, his attention stays fixed on the yoghurt I’m scooping into the bowl. “How does that taste?”

I’m surprised he’s never had Greek yoghurt before. I assumed everyone had tried it at least once. “It’s really good. Like regular yoghurt but even better.” I cover what is left in the container and push it aside. “Want some?”

“If you don’t mind sharing,” he says with a hint of uncertainty.

I can’t help but chuckle. “I wouldn’t have brought two spoons if I minded.” I hold one out to him, and he takes it.

Mikhail takes a scoop out of the bowl and groans in approval. “This is good.”

“Told you. I have a kink for nice things.” I bite into a slice of pizza. “It tastes even better with fruit toppings.”

“I bet it does,” he muses. Then, almost shyly, he adds, “Think you can arrange for some tomorrow night? We could have it while watching a movie.”

My chest flutters. Sitting beside Mikhail like this, talking about Greek yoghurt and fruits, making plans for a movie night—it all feels strangely perfect. For a moment, I can almost forget that this is a forced marriage built on revenge, and just bask in this simple, domestic moment.

As I nod, a thought lingers in the back of my mind: Is this what our life could be like if I allow it? Or is it just a fragile illusion, bound to crumble under the weight of reality?