Nikolai: The Complete Collection

36. Nikolai

36

NIKOLAI

“ O bjection, Your Honor. The ADA is badgering the witness.” I slip into a pew at the back of the chambers as Justine stands from her seat. “The defense already disclosed the accused’s extensive criminal history. Does the jury need to hear it all over again?”

She waves her hand at the dozen men and women filling the jury box. The strain on their faces shows they fully agree with her objection.

“Objection sustained. Move on to your next question, Mr. Gregor.”

When the ADA attempts a snide remark at Judge Morrison’s ruling, the judge glares at him, stuffing his reply into the back of his throat.

I’ve not yet had the pleasure of being seated in front of Judge Morrison, but I’ve heard numerous reports from Justine and affiliates of my industry that his rulings are stern but fair.

Unlike the judge he replaced, he’s not susceptible to bribes. I’m sure it will only be a matter of months until he eventually succumbs to greed. Until then, I will continue my negotiations without burden.

I’ve always been a stubborn bastard.

Over the next hour, I continue watching Justine in her element. Just like my strengths are best used in the underworld, Justine’s are revealed in glorious detail in the courtroom. She’s a tigress inside these walls, protecting her clients as if they’re her cubs.

After taking a few weeks of leave to work through circumstances beyond her control, Justine jumped back onto the bandwagon. Her decision to stand behind a prosecutor’s desk was her own choice, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

When a shipment of drugs went wayward, two of my men needed representation. Justine was my first choice. It was a brilliant move on my behalf. Not only did I get to work side by side with her for weeks on end, but she agreed I could pay her clients’ fees in a non-monetary way.

It was a fucking awesome three months.

I didn’t think my infatuation with Justine could grow any more rampant than it did during our first two weeks together.

I was wrong— so very fucking wrong.

Justine is the worst drug on the market, more addictive than any substance I’ve sampled. Her strength continues to amaze me every day, which in turn feeds my infatuation. Whether she was quivering beneath me thirty minutes ago or three days ago doesn’t matter. I can’t get enough. Every hit makes me crave another.

“Hey there, sorry things ran a little longer than anticipated.”

I lift my eyes, taking in the super-tight knee-length skirt and shimmery satin blouse Justine is wearing. When my gaze lingers on her perfect tits longer than socially acceptable, heat flashes across her neck.

“Oh, Ангел ,” I croon, my deep tone leaving no doubt as to my aroused state. “You can’t blush in the very room I’ve fucked you in… twice .”

Her teeth graze her bottom lip. “Who said I was blushing with embarrassment? I could simply be recalling fond memories.”

Her thighs press together when I growl, her body incapable of ignoring the excitement blazing through her veins. “There was nothing simple about what we did in this room.”

I slide out of the pew she stands next to. Her eyes blaze with unbridled anticipation when they drink in the black trousers, button-up long-sleeve shirt, and vest I am wearing.

“Nikolai, you look?—”

“Out of place? Like a fucking imbecile?” I interrupt with a grumble while yanking on the collar of my shirt.

Usually I wouldn’t be caught dead in this outfit, but I did as requested when Justine asked me to dress nicely this morning. I wasn’t lying a year ago when I said I’d button up in a suit for this woman. Anything she wants, she will have—even me in a monkey suit.

“Fucking hot,” Justine fills in, shocking me with her language.

My cock hardens to the point it’s painful. It’s so rare to hear a cuss word leave her pouty lips. I relish every one I get.

“But if you don’t feel comfortable, Nikolai, you don’t have to wear it. I love you, not the clothes you wear.”

My cock thickens even more. What I thought I heard Justine say all those months ago was true. She did tell me she loves me. Although I’m sure she only blurted it out in a moment of panic, the hundreds of times she has said it since can’t be misconstrued.

For some inane, stupidly crazy reason, she loves me. And I love her too.

“You asked me to dress nicely. Usually I don’t follow commands… unless they’re given by you . I’ll do anything for you.” I kiss the shell of her ear. “I’ll even slit the throats of a thousand men to keep you safe.”

A chill runs down her spine, causing her tiny frame to shudder. If I didn’t know her as well as I do, I’d be worried she is scared.

Pity for Justine, I know her better than anyone.

She’s not scared, frightened, or remorseful.

She’s turned on.

“Soon, Ангел. Very soon,” I promise, curling my hand over hers.

Her disappointed groan is nearly drowned out by her client calling her name. From the information Justine gave me this morning over brunch, Frederick McClare is a nineteen-year-old West Coast native who has lived in Vegas for six years. Although he moved here with his parents, he’s been raising his four-year-old sister alone for the past two years.

In desperate need of supplies, he robbed a liquor store at gunpoint three months ago. Stupidly, he got caught with not just the money he stole but with his balaclava and gun in his possession as well.

“Hey, I’m glad I caught you before you left,” Frederick greets, his eyes locked on Justine.

Although his heavy-hooded gaze mimics many I’ve seen eyeing Justine the past year, his stare doesn’t bother me enough to spark a reaction out of me— not yet!

“I just heard from Mercer. They’re going to let me see Talia this weekend. It’s a supervised visit, but I’ll take anything I can get.”

Justine’s smile quickly reminds me of the organ beating in my chest. “That’s wonderful, Frederick. I’m so glad. Talia must be missing you a great deal.”

When she runs her hand down Frederick’s arm, wordlessly relaying her excitement, I tighten my grip on her hand. Frederick is barely a man, but nothing can harness my jealousy regarding this woman. She’s mine and only mine, and I don’t give a fuck how old you are—if you don’t learn that fast, I’ll beat it into you.

Frederick is smarter than I first perceived. His eyes stray to me as he says, “Oh, hey, man. You must be Nikolai. I’ve heard a lot about you. Justine talks about you all the time.”

I jerk up my chin before accepting his offer of a handshake. I squeeze his hand, strengthening the warning my eyes relay with a bit of muscle.

He doesn’t glower at me or even give an indication to Justine about the pain jolting up his arm. He accepts his punishment like a man much older than his years.

It is inspiring, and it has me thinking reckless thoughts.

“Don’t even think about it,” Justine grumbles when Frederick saunters away. Frederick impresses me further by waiting to check his hand for broken bones until after he’s walked through the swinging doors of the chambers. “He only robbed that store because he didn’t have a choice. He isn’t a criminal.”

Placing my hand on the curve of Justine’s back, I guide her into the courthouse foyer. “He didn’t rob that store because he had no choice. He did it for his sister.”

When she nods, agreeing with my assessment, I say, “If he worked for me, he wouldn’t need to be a petty criminal to ensure her needs are taken care of… I’ll make him a master crafter.”

Her elbow pops into my ribs. “It’s not funny, Nikolai. If you keep mentoring my clients, I’ll run out of clients to represent…”

Justine’s words trail off as her brows stitch. She knows as well as I do how false her statement is. When she’s with me, not only will her every wish be granted, but she will also never be exhausted of clientele.

Lia has kept her on her toes the past nine months, let alone my extensive list of men.

“Give me a minute to freshen up,” Justine requests, her eyes straying to the ladies’ room.

Nodding, I wave my hand to Roman, who is sitting at a bank of chairs on our right. “I’ve got a few calls to make before we head off, so I’ll wait for you outside. Make sure you stay with Roman.”

Although my vicious yet triumphant battle with Alexei and his crew ensured my sanction hasn’t been targeted in the past twelve months, there’s no such thing as too much caution when it comes to protecting Justine.

Anywhere Justine goes, Roman follows, even five-second restroom visits.

Knowing no amount of arguing will change my mindset, Justine presses her lips to my mouth before signaling for Roman to hurry.

I wait for them to enter the ladies’ room, before slipping my cell phone out of my pocket and exiting the courthouse.

“Did he talk?” I ask, not bothering to issue a greeting.

“He sang like a fucking canary,” Trey answers, the lisp he picked up after his assault barely audible. “I’ve got an address for a vacation home on the Puerto Rican coast. Do you want me to handle it, or…?”

He waits for further instructions, identifying this isn’t a standard run-of-the-mill business negotiation. This is as personal as it gets.

“Send me the info. I’ll handle it in the same manner I handled the rest.”

Trey chuckles before making a throat-cutting noise. Although I can’t see him, I imagine him dragging his thumb across his jugular.

After promising to send me the info, he disconnects our call. As my hand slips into my pants pocket to house my cell phone, my fingertips drift over a ratted piece of paper stuffed in the corner. There isn’t anything overly significant printed on the thin document. It is just a list of names, but its importance to me is undeniable.

It contains the names of the men who bid on Justine last year—my list of targets.

As the months have moved on from Justine’s sale, the number of names on my list has shrunk. Thirteen men have dwindled to two. One belongs to the owner of the safe house in Puerto Rico Trey just uncovered, and the other belongs to the only man who won’t be scratched off my list with my knife.

It belongs to Dimitri—my brother.

Without his help, Justine’s location would have never been unearthed, so he will be spared my blade for that alone.

I told Justine the men who bid on her would pay for their insolence.

I’ve kept my promise.

I arch a brow in suspicion when the group of men standing next to me stop gibbering legal bullshit mid-conversation. Peering over my shoulder, I spot the reason for their gaping jaws and bugging eyes.

Justine is sauntering down the stairs of the courthouse, the natural swing of her hips entrancing every man within a five-mile radius. Unlike the shimmery blouse she wore five minutes ago, the red spaghetti-strap bustier shirt she’s wearing showcases every inch of her beautiful frame. Her lush tits bounce with every step she takes, and the slight roll of her hips hints at the seductiveness she exerts under the sheets.

She is a knockout.

A ten out of fucking ten.

“ Ангел… ” I don’t say any more. I don’t need to. Justine knows the effect she has on me. She can feel it in the air, smell it on my skin. I am fucking gone. Done and dusted for this woman.

Her long, wavy locks are pinned back in a messy bun, and her delicate neck and shoulders are on display for the world to see. I run my index finger over one of the scars on her right shoulder, smug as fuck at how confident she has become over the past twelve months. My Ангел is a goddess, and she is finally learning that.

“You look fucking ravishing,” I mutter to Justine, incapable of holding back my praise.

When she smiles at my compliment, I want to smash the teeth in of every man gawking at her with drool pooling in their mouths, but I won’t. Her confidence is the highest it’s ever been, but she still has a little ways to go before the woman I see behind the shield fully emerges. She’s damn close, just not quite there—yet.

After hooking my arm around her petite waist, I guide Justine down the stairs of the courthouse on the heels of Roman. Just as they do every time they are in my presence, the paparazzi go crazy. They repeatedly call out my and Justine’s names, praying they will get a money shot.

When I arrived at court months ago, they assumed I was here via a legal ramification. They had no clue I was merely picking up my woman after a hard day at the office.

As the months rolled on, Justine’s importance in my life was broadcast on every news channel on the entire West Coast. It doesn’t bother me that her face is associated with mine in every printed article in the past nine months.

Her gorgeous face is well-recognized. To the media, she’s the woman who tamed the notorious murderer, thief, and cheat. To the men in my industry, she’s known as the untouchable—one wrong glance, comment, or insinuation means lights out.

To me, she is my Ангел —the sweetest dessert any man can have.

My cock braces against the zipper of my pants when Justine slips into the SUV in front of me. When I notice her skirt is minus a panty line, memories of our conversation during brunch today filter through my mind.

I want your cunt bare and ready for me, Justine. If we’re going to spend the day apart, I don’t want anything in my way .

Spreading my hand across Roman’s chest, I stop him from following Justine’s lead into the SUV.

“I’ll meet you at the restaurant,” he grumbles.

His tone amuses me. From the day I told him to protect Justine as if she’s his daughter, he has. Which means I’ve been on the receiving end of many stern looks and lectures over the past twelve months.

Roman will never admit it, but his grumpy attitude is a ploy. He loves riling me up as much as I love stirring him.

As sworn, I attempted to release Roman from obligations with my family the week following his shooting. He wouldn’t hear of it. He was adamant he was born for our lifestyle, and no amount of arguing would change his mindset.

Although it was drummed into me my entire life that favoritism, friendship, or even something as weak as love should never enter the equation, Justine has taught me that isn’t necessarily true. Roman may be a member of my crew, but he is also my family.

After slipping into the back seat of my tinted-out SUV, I signal for the driver to go. The pulse thrumming in Justine’s neck increases when I slide up the privacy partition between the driver and us. The generous swell of her chest rises and falls as every inch of the thick-paneled glass lifts into place.

It’s barely locked into position when Justine slips onto my lap. Her knees straddle my hips as her mouth seals over mine. The heat of her bare pussy scorching my cock increases its thickness.

I love how insatiable she is around me. Her desire for me is strong enough to misplace her morals. Streams of cars are on each side of us, but Justine’s hunger is too intense to let something as weak as shame harness her desires.

“Hold on to the handle . This is going to be hard and fast.”

I’d like to take my time with her, but we only have fifteen minutes before we arrive at the restaurant she made reservations at earlier this week.

Although we usually eat privately, Justine wished us to dine out tonight. Considering it is the Fourth of July weekend, who was I to deny her request? It is our anniversary, after all.

While Justine loops her hand through the leather brace hanging above the back passenger door, I free my cock from its tight constraints. The veins feeding my cock pulsate when Justine releases a throaty moan. Her eyes are locked on my cock, the hunger in her heavy-hooded gaze unmissable.

“Did you take your little white pill this morning?” I ask her as I drag my cock along her wet cunt, coating my knob with evidence of her excitement.

Justine purrs softly before connecting her eyes with mine. “No.”

My cock pulses. “Is that by choice? Or because you want to please me?” I ask, guiding the crest of my cock into the entrance of her greedy cunt.

She swivels her hips, opening herself for me before answering, “Both.”

The shortness of her response can’t lessen its impact. A little over a month ago, I expressed a desire to have an heir. I want someone with my blood running through their veins to inherit my legacy when I can no longer rule.

Unlike Vladimir, I won’t decide my heir by gender. If we have a girl, she will rule my empire with strength garnered from her mother. If we have a boy, he will be shown that rules and discipline aren’t the only factors required to make him a man.

Honor, trust, and integrity play a part as well.

When I take Justine to the root of my cock, I wait a beat, giving her time to acclimate to the pain stretching her wide. Although I crave this woman more than my lungs require air, I’ll never hurt her—not in a million years.

Too impatient to wait a second longer, Justine clenches the walls of her pussy, wordlessly requesting me to move.

Gripping one hand on her waist and another around her neck, I do as asked. With my eyes locked on the enticing visual of her pretty pink cunt full to the brim with my cock, I glide her up my shaft before ramming her back down.

“Again,” Justine demands before rising to her knees to give herself the leverage needed to draw my cock out to the tip.

A tingle races through my balls when she slams back down, her thrust more violent than my first.

Our pace is frantic in no time, adding to the lust teeming in Justine’s eyes. Skin slapping skin booms around the cabin of my SUV as I fuck her without hesitation—like I am a man possessed. I drive into her even harder when my thoughts drift to her lips wrapping around my cock this morning.

She swallowed my cum with more eagerness than she polished off her plate of breakfast treats.

I’ve taught her well over the past twelve months. She knows she doesn’t need to ask permission to slip under the breakfast nook and eat me for breakfast.

I’m hers whenever she needs me—in public or not.

“Oh god, Nikolai. Oh god…” Justine moans in a long, throaty groan. “I’m going to come.”

I grip her neck more firmly as I lift my ass off the seat. I’m fucking her so furiously her glorious tits are mere moments from breaking out of the confines of her top. They inspire me to unravel her even more. I love her tits—nearly as much as I love her insatiable cunt.

“Give it to me, Ангел ,” I command, my tone rough. “Give me every fucking drop.”

She grows hotter, wetter. I grind into her another four times before the most seductive fucking purr I’ve ever heard rips from her throat.

Rico was right. It doesn’t matter how many times I drive her to climax, hearing my name purr from her throat will never grow old.

The sight of her beautiful face etched with ecstasy is enough to set me off. I slam her down to the base of my cock before letting the sensation gripping my sack eject.

My cum surges into Justine’s pussy in raring spurts, intensifying the vicious shuddering wreaking havoc on her tiny frame.

Wondering if this could be the moment that ties her to me for eternity prolongs my orgasm.

By the time my cock stops jerking, Justine is slumped on my sweat-slicked torso. Our desire to fuck was so unquenchable we are both still clothed from the waist up.

“You all right?” I ask, hoping my need to drive her to the brink hasn’t hurt her.

She doesn’t answer unless you include a throaty moan as a response.

If she didn’t feel our SUV come to a stop at the front of the restaurant we’re eating at, I don’t think she’d move at all.

“We’re here already,” she mumbles under her breath, her eyes widening.

I groan when she slips off my lap, pulling my half-masted cock from her snug cunt in the process.

When evidence of my cum slips onto her thigh, I snag a handful of tissues from a box at my side and place them between her legs. My cock twitches when she’s incapable of holding back her moan from my meekest contact.

“Soon, Ангел. Very soon,” I promise. “That was just the beginning of our night.”

After cleaning up Justine the best I can with limited supplies, we exit the SUV.

If Justine’s ruffled hair and flaming cheeks weren’t enough of an indication to Roman of how we occupied our drive, the intoxicating scent of lust is a surefire indication.

“She’s not your daughter, Roman,” I remind him when he glares at me.

His chance to reply is lost when we enter the restaurant, and a large group of people screams a massive, “Surprise!”

My fingertips stop seeking my knife when my eyes scan the people approaching me from all directions. They are my crew, my men, my family.

What the fuck?

Justine curls her arms around my neck before pressing her lips to my ear. “Happy birthday, Nikolai,” she whispers breathlessly. “I know it isn’t your birthday for another two weeks, but after learning the hard way last year you aren’t a fan of birthdays, I brought your celebration forward a few weeks.” Feeling my pulse surging through our hands, she glances back into my eyes. “Don’t be mad. Everyone here loves you, and they want to celebrate with you.”

Stealing my chance to reply that she’s the only one stupid enough to love me, Justine nudges her head to the right. I’m shocked for the second time in under a minute when I spot Rico, Blaire, and their four-year-old son, Eli, standing at the side of the restaurant with Lia and Adrian.

Although this isn’t the first time I’ve interacted with my brother since he left Vegas a year ago, it’s our first meeting on my home turf.

Usually I travel to him.

Our first meeting was when Justine and I arrived on his doorstep so I could apologize to his wife in person. Blaire was apprehensive but accepted my apology with a small snip of the feistiness I’d always seen hidden within her.

Things are still rocky, but my relationship with Rico is solid.

His kitten will come around—eventually.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. I was a little tied up.”

Trey enters the restaurant with the same dramatic edge he always has. The limp he gained as a consequence of Alexei’s retribution adds to his natural swagger, and the scruffy beard he grew while recovering has the whores at Clarks in a tizzy.

Unfortunately for the numerous women eyeballing our greeting with batting eyelashes and tempting grins, he is as taken as me.

“Kristina, hi,” Justine greets eagerly, leaning in to kiss the petite blonde with bright-blue eyes cradled under Trey’s arm—the same blonde who aided me in saving Justine nearly a year ago. “How are things? I hope Trey is treating you well?” I don’t know what Kristina replies to Justine in Czech, but Justine approves, as her smile lights up the room. “Good. I told you he was a keeper.”

After greeting Trey with a kiss on his cheek, Justine scrubs her thumb over the area her lips touched, believing the bright-red spot on his face is a lipstick smear.

It isn’t.

He has matching splotches dotting the collar of his shirt and the cuffs of his sleeves.

“What? I didn’t have time to shower,” Trey mutters under his breath when he catches my glare. Justine is well aware of our industry, but that doesn’t mean she wants it thrust in her face multiple times a week.

Rolling my eyes at his pathetic excuse, I curl my arm around Justine’s waist and guide her toward Rico and Lia.

Our long strides stop halfway across the crowded space when Justine’s cell phone vibrates in her purse.

My interest piques when a cute little groove crinkles between her brows, which deepens when her eyes lower to the screen of her phone. My blood thickens when I learn the cause of her dour response.

Carmichael I’m-Going-To-Gut-Him-Alive Fletcher.

Although Justine has been working independently for the past nine months, she has maintained an amicable working relationship with Carmichael.

This kills me to admit, but I understand why she didn’t cut him off cold turkey. Carmichael is a sleazy, underhanded, lying motherfucker, but he is also a brilliant defense attorney.

Besides Justine, he is the only lawyer on this side of the country capable of getting Maddox off his charges.

Since having her brother released from incarceration is Justine’s greatest wish, I set aside my dislike of Carmichael for her benefit.

It is a fucking hard feat.

“Take it,” I suggest to Justine when she hesitates in answering his call.

She shakes her head. “No. It’s your birthday. He can wait.” She waves her hand through the air like she’s shooing away a fly.

“It’s not my birthday for another two weeks,” I reply, tugging her close to my side. “Take your call. I’ll wait for you over there.” My eyes drift to Eli, who has his little arms curled around his father’s thigh.

He looks scared, and rightfully so. Half the men in this room plotted his demise before they knew he existed. Lucky for him, he is sheltered under the pardon I gave his father.

No one will ever hurt him—not if they want to live.

When Justine nods, I press my lips to her temple. My chest swells with smugness when I feel how damp the roots of her hair are. We only had fifteen minutes, but we rocked every minute we had.

Roman shadows Justine when she slips into the restaurant’s foyer, seeking quiet for her call.

Happy Roman is forever on guard when it comes to Justine, I make my way to Rico, Lia, and their families.

It takes me nearly ten minutes since I’m stopped by numerous partygoers wishing to bestow their birthday greetings upon me.

If I wasn’t so lost in Justine, I’d be pissed she organized this party.

I was born in hell—that shouldn’t be celebrated.

Rico greets me like he did when he left a year ago, by using my handshake offer to draw me to his chest.

“Happy birthday, Eli.”

I smirk, amused by his tone.

He hates birthdays as much as I do.

After pulling back, he drifts his eyes past my shoulder. “Is everything all right with your girl? She’s looking a little white.”

Following the direction of his gaze, I spot Justine heading in our direction. Her steps are slow and wobbly, and her face is marked with big, salty tears. I race for her, my legs thumping the floorboards faster than my heart is smashing against my ribs.

If someone has hurt her, I’m going to fucking kill them.

“What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you? Are you hurt?” I question, pulling her into my arms.

Her skin is clammy and cold, and the red hue of her cheeks gained during transport is no longer visible.

When her mouth opens and closes but not a syllable slips through her lips, I lift my eyes to Roman, anticipating his white dress shirt to be absorbing blood.

Like me, he won’t go down without a fight. He will protect Justine until his very last breath.

Roman isn’t injured.

He’s perfectly fine, unharmed, and as confused as me.

Ignoring the itch to slit the throat of every man in this room until they snitch on who harmed my Ангел , I lower my eyes to Justine.

She glances up at me, the lively sparkle in her eyes a stark contradiction to the expression on her face. “My brother,” she croaks through tears, her words brittle. “He’s coming home.”

Goosebumps race to the surface of my skin as I struggle to understand what she’s saying.

“Maddox?” I ask, still confused.

Justine nods, sending fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

“The woman he was convicted of murdering isn’t dead. She was arrested in my hometown for attempted murder. She’s alive, Nikolai. Maddox’s victim is alive. He’s coming home. Carmichael has filed the paperwork. He’s being released this week.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

My Ангел’s greatest wish was just granted, but I wasn’t the man who granted it.

Now I have even more reason to slit Carmichael’s throat.

Are you desperate for more? Readers begged, and I listened. A third and final instalment of Nikolai and Justine’s story is available now.