Nikolai: The Complete Collection

31. Nikolai

31

NIKOLAI

J ustine’s slap rattles both my teeth and the devil I’m trying to keep contained. I was raised by violence, so it’s my quick go-to when I’m spiraling out of control.

I’m trying to be different this weekend. I want to be the man Justine sees when she looks at me for just a day—even if it kills me.

My grip on Justine’s wrist tightens as I talk through the anger clutching my throat. “Don’t ever hit me.” My words are as violent as the abuse I endured during my childhood.

I’ve been burned, stabbed, shot, beaten with fists, sticks, and chains, but nothing hurt me as much as my mother’s hand colliding with my cheek. She was my blood, the only person I ever loved without wondering what she wanted from me, but not even that was enough for her. She abused me as much as Vladimir.

“I’m sorry,” Justine mutters on a sob as tears flow down her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have hit you. No one has the right to put their hands on another. I let my emotions get the better of me, and I’m sorry for that.”

Sorry is another word people use without significance. They rarely mean it, and it’s only expressed once it’s too late. The damage has already been done.

Justine’s apology didn’t sound worthless. It was the most genuine I’ve heard. There was no malice in her tone when she spoke, and her eyes aren’t just full to the brim with moisture, they’re also crammed with remorse.

She’s as sorry she slapped me as I am about hurting her.

I shouldn’t have used her scars to free her from Vladimir’s madness. I should have shielded her from him as I plan to from here on out.

Roman peers up from his shoes when I ask him to leave. As he takes a step toward me, the worry on his face becomes unmissable. “Your father, Nikolai. You know what he is like after Rico. Disobeying his direct order could result in?—”

“I’ll deal with him,” I interrupt, my hostile voice warning him my mood is already on edge, so he’d do best not to test me. I’ve never struggled with my emotions as I am now. Usually I give a demand, and you either follow it or die. Today, the only thing I want to kill is the pain in Justine’s eyes.

After a stretch of intense silence, Roman asks, “Will the benefit outweigh the penance?”

He has asked that question many times in the past decade. Not once have I been able to answer yes. This time is different. Justine is unlike any woman I’ve ever met. She’s smart, beautiful, and when her eyes aren’t filled with pain, she sees the real me, the man I hide from others.

Although hurt continues reflecting from Justine’s eyes, its rate slows when I drag my thumbs across her cheeks to clear her tears. I don’t know if my touch is responsible for the flare of hope drying the wetness in her eyes or what I say while touching her. “Yes. Do I not deserve a night of pardon after all the years I’ve served?”

I killed for Vladimir, and I forgot who I was for him, so I deserve more than one lousy night, but if that’s all I can get, I’ll take it. A lifetime of apologies won’t fix the mistakes I’ve made, but one night of showing Justine who I really am is a great start.

Roman’s eyes hold the sentiment they did when my shattered ankle was set without anesthetics when he mutters, “You deserve that and so much more.”

After dipping his chin and wishing me luck, he exits Justine’s apartment without so much as a backward glance. Strangers would believe he’s leaving me high and dry. I trust that he’d never do that. He will put measures in place to ensure my one day off isn’t interrupted because he knows I’ll come out the other end more powerful than I’ve ever been.

A grin tugs at my lips when Roman’s deep timbre booms through Justine’s rapidly closing door. “You know how to reach me. Contact me when you’re ready.”

When the latch on the front door clicks into place, announcing we’re alone, I commence rebuilding my empire by removing the tears slipping down Justine’s face. Even a devil needs a queen at his side when he takes his throne, and bratva queens don’t cry when they’re hurt by their enemies. They annihilate them.

Once Justine’s face is free of moisture, I plop her backside on the couch so she’s out of the way while I remove the one object I know will foil my attempt to make things right—the surveillance equipment monitoring every inch of her apartment.

“Wait here.”

Although confused by my quick change in demeanor, Justine nods, agreeing with my request. Her chin has barely lowered an inch when I drag the armchair I sat on last night while watching Justine dance up a storm to the far corner of the living room.

An idea of the madness I want Justine to be a part of is showcased in an unfavorable light when the electrical cord maintaining the live feed breaks through the crown molding in the living room.

“They were hardwired?” Justine mumbles, shocked.

Nodding, I cut through the wire with my knife before moving for the camera in Justine’s room. It’s still covered by her yoga pants, but that won’t stop its microphone from being activated.

While removing the blinking red contraptions from Justine’s dead-silent apartment, I feed off the torment slicking my skin with sweat. Before ending the live feed with my knife as I plan to do to Vladimir’s life, I smile down the lens. Each condescending smirk should add another nail to my coffin, but I was raised by a master manipulator, so I know all his tricks.

I have something Vladimir needs. I’m his golden ticket to a power he’s been striving for his entire life. Without me, his greatest wish will never come true. Not only does that knowledge free me from the fear of persecution, but it also changes my game plan in an instant. Vladimir will still class what I’m doing as disobedient, but he will also respect it because, as far as he is concerned, I’m being the man he raised me to be.

With my veins as icy as my blue eyes, I stare down the camera lens in Justine’s kitchen before singing a nursery rhyme no one but Vladimir will understand. “Send the angel to the devil’s bed, hold her, cherish her, then cut off her head. She danced with Satan, and now she is dead, all for lying in the devil’s bed.”

Every one of Vladimir’s men understands Russian. They just have no clue what his rhyme means. It isn’t about good or evil or coercing an angel to dance with death. It’s a warning to Vladimir’s sons on what will happen if they let a woman fracture the rightful order. They can be bedded by the devil and cherished by him, but the instant they dance with Satan by placing themselves between him and the spawn born solely to protect him, they’ll lose their lives by the devil they’ve fallen in love with or die alongside him.

I’ll never let anyone hurt Justine. I will protect her how Dimitri failed to do years ago, but I can only do that by convincing Vladimir she means nothing to me. Reciting Vladimir’s rhyme adds to the ruse Roman and I pulled on him earlier. When he hears it, he will believe Justine is nothing more than a night or two of entertainment and that the words I spoke moments ago were said to trick her into my bed.

I meant every word I spoke, but I’m happy for Vladimir to think otherwise. Then, once Justine is off his radar, I’ll play the game with the ruthlessness it deserves, and I will win.

The crown.

The throne.

The queen.

They will all be mine.

As will Vladimir’s life.

Once I have the dismantled surveillance cameras in my hand, all seven of them, I request Justine to follow me into the bathroom. The air turns roasting when she immediately jumps to my command. Her steps are shaky, but a gleam in her eyes has me skeptical fear isn’t solely responsible for her wobbly knees.

The strong don’t cower when fear comes knocking. They welcome it with a smile.

When I dump the cameras into the bottom of the bathtub before twisting on the faucet full pelt, Justine gasps in a sharp breath. She watches me with her mouth hanging open when I climb into the tub to crush the small black devices with my boots, preferring to be cautious than be played for a fool for the second time today.

Just because the devices were hardwired doesn’t mean they don’t have backup batteries. My men were caught out by a rival once before. They learned from their mistake.

Once the recording apparatuses are as shattered as the expression on Justine’s face when I offered her to Vladimir as a gift, I stray my eyes to Justine’s. “Happy?”

She’s lost as to where I’m going with this, but since she’s more trusting than scared, she nods her head. Slanting mine to the side to hide my smile, I climb out of the bathtub and make my way to her. As I did the last time we tussled in this very room, I drastically reduce the length of my stride, giving Little Red Riding Hood plenty of time to escape the Big Bad Wolf.

Unlike our last soirée, Justine doesn’t seek the closest exit. She holds my gaze as I bridge the gap between us, her breathing as unhinged as my desire to show her she’s perfect.

A floral scent stirs my cock when I grip the hem of her dress to pull it over her head. The thin cotton material falls to the floor with a whoosh, concealing the whistle of my lungs from the hurried breath I suck in. I’m not gasping in horror but struggling to maintain a rational head.

Her body… Fuck. Me.

I’m a goner.

I want her now more than ever.

Her perfect tits, milky white hips, and the scant little pair of panties she’s wearing have me wanting to forget why I’m stripping her bare. I want to sample the scent growing stronger with each second ticking by. I want to fuck her until the embarrassment in her eyes disappears, but since I know that will tiptoe her closer to the madness I’m endeavoring to save her from, I listen to the head on my shoulders instead of the one headbutting the zipper in my jeans.

It’s a fucking hard feat.

A vibrant pink hue creeps across the thrusting globes I’m struggling to ignore when I press my lips to a bite mark on Justine’s right shoulder. “Perfect.” I drop my lips to the tear that forced her onto her knees during her mauling. It’s as silky as the skin on her stomach but glittered with strength. “Perfect.”

When I fall to my knees, a smirk curls my lips. I’ve always believed it is better to die than show weakness by kneeling. Clearly, I had no clue the power associated with kneeling before a woman whose only weakness is you. I may be on my knees, but I am the most lethal I’ve ever been because nothing will stop me from protecting this woman. Not a million bullets or the Almighty himself.

Nothing.

“Perfect,” I mumble against two smaller bites on the back of Justine’s knee.

I kiss every bite I know of and a few she kept well-hidden, before standing to my feet and locking my eyes with ones that aren’t as pained as they were minutes ago. “I previously said you’d be worth three nights in lockup. I was wrong. You’re worth so much more than that. You’re perfect, Justine. Don’t ever let a monster like Vladimir lead you to believe any different.”

I anticipate the lust depriving the air of oxygen to thicken from my confession. All I get is more torment. She wants to believe what I’m saying, but her exchange with Vladimir didn’t just dent her ego, it stole her trust as well.

Justine stiffens like a board when I spin her around to face the vanity mirror. It’s one of those old-school Hollywood ones with over a dozen lightbulbs covering a rectangular wooden frame. The bright lights illuminate her pale skin, making her glow as if she truly is an angel.

“Look in the mirror and tell me what you see.” When Justine shakes her head, I tighten my grip around her waist before repeating my demand in a manner she won’t be able to refuse. “Look in the mirror and tell me what you see, or I’ll bend you over the tub and fuck you so mindless, you’ll submit to my every command without stopping to think.”

I understand this is hard for her to do, but I need her to see the woman I do before she’s swallowed by a blackness so thick, no amount of purity will clear.

When Justine’s eyes remain arrested on the floor, my dominance gets the better of me. “Five… four… three… ”

My words trail off when her eyes slowly lift to our reflections beaming from the retro mirror. At the start, she stares directly at me, her focus only shifting when the contrast between our bodies becomes too great for her to ignore. Her eyes shoot in all directions as they take in the way my large frame swamps her tiny one. Her skin looks super pale against the darkness of the ink covering most of my body, and although both our eyes have shades of blue, hers are too angelic to ever appear evil.

“We look like night and day. Darkness and light?—”

“Angel and devil,” I interrupt.

As confirmation flares through Justine’s impressive eyes, I pull her molten-red hair away from her shoulders. My hold around her waist allows me to feel the surge of her pulse when the bright lights emphasize the slivers of silver in her scars, but she remains as quiet as a church mouse.

After locking my eyes with the mirror, I ask, “What do you see now?”

Justine’s pupils swamp her corneas when she mumbles, “I’m not who I used to be, Nikolai...” Her words are replaced with a squeak when our eyes collide for the quickest second. The thirst I saw in her heavy-hooded gaze the day we met is unmissable in mine. Scars or not, I want her. She’s beautiful—a true gift from heaven.

“Nothing changed, Ангел … nothing.”

When disbelief remains in her eyes, I set her back onto her feet before taking three steps backward. Her lips twitch like she wants to question my retreat, but before a word can spill from her pouty mouth, I yank my shirt over my head by the tag at the back before popping open the button on my jeans and sliding down the zipper.

Once I’m as naked as Justine’s vulnerability makes her, I raise my eyes to Justine’s face. She’s still facing the mirror, but her eyes haven’t left mine the past two minutes. “Turn around.”

It’s a hard struggle to conceal my smugness when she follows my order without batting an eyelid. Once again, she’s not being submissive. She’s just being open to the idea not everyone is out to hurt her.

I wait for her eyes to stop scanning my body before saying, “Come here.”

I can’t hold back my smile when she whispers, “No. I’m safer here,” so I set it free. It doubles the heat on Justine’s cheeks while ensuring me I’m on the right path. This is all new to me. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve only ever placed myself first.

That’s set to change now.

“I guess I’ll come to you, then.” When I take a step forward, Justine takes a shaky one back. “Don’t run unless you want to be chased, Ангел .” My growl of her nickname reveals how far out of my depth I am. I’m struggling just as much as Justine. I’m just too fucking stubborn to back down. “I will chase you no matter how fast you run because I know that’s what you want.”

My cock throbs with want when my threat freezes her feet. She watches my stalk across the room with wide, hungry eyes, proving she doesn’t just want to be chased, she wants to be devoured as well.

I’ll give her what she wants after showing her only the most courageous people have scars.

Some wear them on the body.

Others wear them on their hearts.

Justine wears hers beautifully.

While peering into Justine’s eyes, I gather her hand in mine before tracing it over the tattoo just to the left of my six-pack. Tears pool in her eyes when it dawns on her why the scales in the dragon’s head look real because they are. My dragon tattoo conceals over half a dozen scars of which sizes differ as much as the reason I have them. Some are grazes from being dragged, others are cigar burns, and the main one is from the acid on Rico’s back soaking into my hip when I struggled to keep him on his feet while moving him from the dungeon he was tortured in to his bedroom.

The second scar I show Justine is the one Rico gave me after he learned I organized for his wife to be raped and killed. When he used my knife against me, I did nothing to stop him. I tried to lessen the severity of the blaze when I ordered Blaire’s hit, but I still played with fire, so I deserved to get burned.

After showing Justine a handful of less memorable scars on my back and chest, I lower her hand to the gravelly skin stretched across my right rib. This scar is more notable than the rest because it’s a reminder that no amount of fear will ever abolish my sins. I can beat them until their skin is as black as mine was when I was tortured. I can whip their backs until their blood pools around their feet, and I can stomp on them until their bones break under the pressure, but there is one thing they stole from me only now am I realizing no amount of retaliation will return.

My freedom.

I thought they broke me thirteen years ago.

I thought they stole my wish to live even more than the hell I was born in.

I thought I was worthless.

I know better now.

Time didn’t heal my wounds. Showing an angel her scars mean she is stronger than the person who tried to break her did. The wounds of our battles reveal how hard we fought to survive. We didn’t break, cower, or give up. We rose above the ashes and conquered the beast.

We chose to live.

With my chest sitting as high as my determination to show this beautiful woman just how perfect she is, I lock my eyes with Justine’s and ask, “Do you see me any differently now, Justine?”

She answers me in a way I never anticipated, but in a manner that may very well kill me if I don’t tread carefully.

She kisses me.