Nikolai: The Complete Collection

22. Nikolai

22

NIKOLAI

T rey grins at me over the rim of his bottle of beer when I yank Justine down from the coffee table she’s dancing on. She kept her word, she’s dancing with her clothes on, but what she said earlier is true. You can be sexy with your clothes on, and she is sexy as fuck.

I trust my men. They have my back no matter how dangerous the target, but they’re a bunch of horny fuckers who wouldn’t feel an ounce of shame using Justine’s seductive dance moves as inspiration while lessening the tension their whores can’t.

There’s an edge of seduction attached to women who don’t flaunt their goods. The saying, ‘what you can’t see makes you want it more,’ is absolutely on par with Justine, and no, I’m not just referencing her seductive-as-fuck body. The woman I see in her eyes is just as ravishing as the one who’s been dancing up a storm the past hour.

Silence falls between Justine and me when I carry her into the kitchen. Sergei’s blood is still spilled on the floor. It whitens Justine’s gills as much as it sobers her up.

“I’ll have that cleaned up in the morning,” I promise through a growl, frustrated by the lack of spillage.

If there were more blood, I wouldn’t have needed to seek confirmation if Sergei had succumbed to the knife wound I slashed across his throat. I would have known without a doubt.

After placing Justine’s backside onto the kitchen counter, I toss a dish towel onto the blood, then move into her pantry. It’s one of those old-aged ones you’d expect to find in the South during the slave era. It is the size of a bathroom and echoes from the emptiness down one end.

Once I have a loaf of bread, peanut butter, and a jar of jelly in my hands, I return to Justine’s side of the kitchen. She’s clearly drunk, but just like fear will never be the first emotion she displays around me, a belly full of vodka can’t hide the lust in her bloodshot eyes either.

A ghost-like smile touches her lips when I slather two slices of whole-grain bread with a generous serving of condiments, shred it into two even halves, then hand one to her. “The carbs will help absorb the vodka in your gut.”

Her half-smile switches to a full-blown grin when I rip through my half of our sandwich like I’m a savage. I’m hungry as fuck. My hunger just has nothing to do with food.

I swallow down the chunk of gooey bread without chewing before jerking up my chin, wordlessly demanding for Justine to follow suit. She hasn’t eaten since lunch, which means there’s nothing but vodka and Xanax in her stomach.

She takes a little nibble on the crust before rolling her eyes. “I’d rather greasy bacon.”

“And I’d rather you naked and on your knees sucking my cock, but we can’t always have what we want, can we?” I’m lying. If my actions weren’t being monitored, I’d give her everything she wants—including my head between her legs.

Justine tries to hide the heat flaring across her face with her sandwich, but it does her no good. She’s redder than the strawberry jelly sitting on her top lip.

When I clear away the blob of sugar with my thumb, her hot breaths fan my cheeks. I stare at the lips I’ve fantasized about sliding down my cock more times than I’ll ever share while she peers at me with hungry, desperate eyes. Her stare alone is hot enough to tempt a devil into becoming a saint, and it has me thinking recklessly.

Leaning in, I drag my nose down the vein beating out a funky beat in her neck, confident its thump matches the one between her legs. When the scent of her needy cunt, which has gone from subtle to dangerous in less than a minute, fills my nostrils, I’m hard in an instant.

With my pulse as high as my wish to claim her as mine, I place my hands on Justine’s thighs before spreading them wide enough for me to slot between them. While brushing the back of my hand down the heat making me mindless with need, I lock my eyes with Justine’s. She returns my stare, knowing she should tell me to stop but aware she never will.

She wants this.

She wants it as badly as me.

Her breaths batter her ribcage when I curl my fingers around her neck. My hold is dominant but painless. The soft moan she releases when I tighten my grip assures me of this.

When I inch her mouth closer to mine, ever so slowly, yet also impatiently, warning alarms sound, consequences are assessed, but more than anything, need prevails. She’ll be the most expensive trophy I’ve ever owned, but she’ll be worth the risk, the torment… my death. If she survives me, she’ll be strong enough to survive Vladimir. I am the devil incarnate, the spawn of all evil. I’m worse than Satan himself. I fear nothing—except how weak she makes me.

Fortunately for me, my weaknesses make me stronger. I won’t let anything happen to Justine. I will protect her and keep her safe after I make her mine.

Our lips are an inch apart.

We’re sharing the same breath.

Then disaster strikes.

Roman bursts into the kitchen, knowing all too well what he’s interrupting. Not only does his arched brow fault his ruse, so the fuck does the device in his hand. It’s showcasing a live stream from the camera perched high above my head.

“ Не говори ни слова ,” I warn him in Russian, even though I’m aware he doesn’t speak a word. “Or I’ll cut off your tongue and feed it to you.”

Justine giggles when Roman rolls his eyes like a child. I really wish she wouldn’t. I’m on the verge of killing him, and I’d rather do that without an erection. I’ve been called many things, but a deranged psycho will never be one of them.

Well, not tonight, anyway.

Justine’s laughter shifts to a groan when I lift her off the counter, then nudge my head to the door still swinging from Roman’s brutal push. “Time for bed.”

For someone disappointed the fun is over, she follows my command remarkably quick.

I guess I didn’t say she was going to bed alone, so she has no reason to fret.

Roman doesn’t utter a syllable when I walk past him with a stumbling Justine in my arms. He doesn’t need to. His worldly eyes convey the entire story, not to mention the file he’s clutching like I want to do to his neck. It’s stamped with the Wallens Ridge State Prison seal, and the stack of papers inside are missing the thick black lines Maddox’s last file had, proving his time away from Justine’s apartment has served me well.

“I’ll meet you on the balcony.” Although the tightness of my jaw chops up my words, Roman has no issues hearing them. He dips his chin before following my exit of the kitchen, snickering like his tendons aren’t close to being sliced.

Even with Justine’s apartment being the smallest I’ve stayed in, our walk from the kitchen to her bedroom seems longer than a marathon. She takes more steps backward than she does forward, but since I can’t trust myself to touch her and stop, I guide her steps instead of forcing them.

She uses our closeness to her advantage. After pivoting around to face me head-on, she assesses my face as I plan to do her body when she’s not drunk.

Just like her, my face is free from the scars of my childhood. It hides my stories well.

A massive surge of cockiness pelts into me when she slurs, “You’re sooo pretty.”

Her voice is the same cock-thickening one she generally uses, but it has an edge of playfulness to it, making me convinced it’s been a long time since she let go of the reins. Almost as long as the last time she was fucked.

“I wish I had your lashes. They’re sooo long they could reach the stars.”

Once she’s in the safety of her room, she breaks away from my side. “Woo!” she squeals as she dives onto the mattress.

With a laugh, I kick her door closed before pivoting around to face her. My cock knocks at my zipper when she commences removing her clothes. She drags her shorts down her milky-white thighs before fisting her long-sleeve shirt. When it joins her shorts on the floor a few seconds later, I ball my hands into fists, fighting like fuck not to touch her.

Her beautiful body ensures one taste will never suffice. It will have me craving another, and another, and another until we both end up in a ditch. I can protect her, but only if I remember the killer I was raised to be.

My beeline for the door slows when Justine murmurs, “Don’t go. Please.” My nails dig into my palm as painfully as my cock headbutts my zipper when she undresses while murmuring, “Stay with me. I don’t want to be alone. I’m sick of being alone.”

Her whispered words tug at my chest. They pull me into a dark place—a solemn hole. They hit me harder than any fist, whip, or chain has. A man like me has rules for a reason, but she has me wanting to break every one of them.

The thought pisses me off as much as it excites me.

When I shift on my feet to face Justine, I work my jaw side to side. She’s lying on top of the bedding, looking as ravishing as she does innocent. “Climb under the sheets. There is no fucking way I can lie next to you looking like that and not touch you.” My husky words reveal my wavering constraint. They are as hot and temperamental as Justine’s sinful body. “And considering I won’t take anything not willingly given, you need to get your fine ass under the sheets.”

Mistaking the yearning in my voice as repulsion, Justine’s lower lip drops into a pout before she slips under the sheets as requested. The cloudy haze dampening her eyes softens when I move to the opposite side of her bed to remove my boots and jeans. My boxers are incapable of hiding the response of my body. I’m thick and hard, and the crown of my cock is peeking out the top of the stretchy black material. Although the removal of my jeans doubles my fight, it sliced Justine’s in half.

The instant my head hits the pillow, she scoots across the mattress until we meet eye to eye. “A perfect fit.”

I thought being almost beaten to death would be the worst punishment I’d endure in my life. I was fucking wrong. Justine flattening her breasts against my chest is by far more taunting, and don’t even attempt to get me to mention the heat of her cunt scorching my dick, or I’ll kill you.

“See? Other than your extra-long legs, we’re a perfect match.”

A breathy chuckle rumbles in my chest when she murmurs a few seconds later, “Is the bed moving?” She looks like she wants to punch me in the stomach when she hears my laughter, but since that means she’d have to remove her tits from my chest, she’s not willing to do that. “I swear, my head is foggier now than it was on my eighteenth birthday. I guess that’s what I get for not drinking in almost a decade.” When I arch my brow, she rolls her eyes. “My brothers were worse than my father. I would have had more freedom in a convent than my childhood home.”

After snuggling into my chest, she tells me how her brothers had planned her eighteenth birthday celebration on the belief there’d be no alcohol involved. Excluding the part about her friend leaving with an abusive douchebag, it sounds like a typical eighteenth.

Well, I assume. I’ve never celebrated my birthday, much less had a party.

No one rejoices the devil’s resurrection.

The gleam in Justine’s eyes hardens when she says, “I’d give anything to go back to the days where my biggest worry was beating Maddox into the Jack-and-Jill bathroom we shared. He was such a free spirit, Nikolai. He wouldn’t have harmed a fly.”

I dip my chin, acknowledging I heard her, but I don’t utter a sound. I don’t want to rock the boat by pointing out that she said ‘wouldn’t have’ as if Maddox’s favorable traits are past tense. She has enough guilt in her eyes without me highlighting that she’s secretly skeptical about her brother’s innocence.

“If I had listened to him, he wouldn’t have needed to step in.” A hue stains her cheeks. This one is more in anger than lust. “I thought Dimitri saw me… the real me, but all he saw was a pretty doll for his display cabinet.”

My knuckles pop when I clench my fists. Dimitri is on the other side of the country, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to beat the living fucking shit out of him. He hurt Justine in more ways than one, yet she’s the one who got punished.

How the fuck is that okay?

By the time I’ve settled my anger enough that I can talk, I’m too late. Justine is asleep. The gentle rise and fall of her chest ensure I can’t be mistaken, let alone her faint snores. Watching her sleep settles something deep within me. She truly looks like an angel when she lets go of the weight on her shoulders. The shadows beneath her eyes aren’t as dark, and the groove between her brows isn’t as deep.

She’s peaceful.

Safe.

Protected.

More protected than she was when she got these.

The figure-eight pattern I trace over the bite-like scar she usually keeps hidden shouldn’t be enough to wake her, but I forgot about the sexual tension that forever crackles between us. It could wake the dead.

Justine stares straight at me, her eyes vacant and sad as she once again places the needs of others above herself. It’s a known trait of any survivor. “You have to help him, Nikolai. Maddox doesn’t deserve the life sentence he was served any more than you deserve the one you were issued at birth.” I’m not surprised she sees through the shield others can’t. I just wish it was occurring after I had reclaimed my throne. “If he could just serve his time at Harborview, my guilt wouldn’t be so intense. He wouldn’t be free, but at least he’d be safe.”

I stiffen when she burrows her head into my chest to hide the wetness streaming down her face. Tears are still new for me. I honestly don’t know how to respond to them. For years, I thought they were a sign of weakness and manipulation, but that wasn’t what reflected out of Justine’s eyes before she buried her head between my pecs.

She’s not crying because she’s weak.

She’s crying because she’s been strong for too long.

The heartache heard in her sobs brings back the unfamiliar stab of protection I felt when watching the video of her assault. It has me wanting to cocoon her from the world, to protect her how her brothers endeavored to when she was young.

I never relied on anyone. Even your shadow leaves you when things get dark, but you can trust me when I say I’ll stop at nothing to ensure the people responsible for Justine’s pain feel her pain.

If a devil can’t bend the rules of heaven for an angel to live her life in peace, he’ll raise hell instead. My body wears the medals from the last time I stepped into the fire for another. This time the honor will be bestowed on the area where my heart once thumped.