Page 4 of Betrayal and Vows (Bratva Vows #2)

Anton

T he bass thumps through my chest.

My eardrums bounce to the rhythm.

The club is not my favorite place. I don’t know if I have a favorite place.

My eyes scan the club from my elevated spot.

The underground club is a maze of shadows and smoke. Red lights cut through the darkness, illuminating faces that blur together in the haze.

The ceiling is low, oppressive, making the whole place feel like a tomb. The walls are painted black. The red lights that strobe from the ceiling make it feel like we’re in hell.

And maybe we are.

I hate it here.

This place is a meat market. Half the crowd is here to be seen. The other half is here to forget. I’m neither.

I’m here to watch.

The club is technically under Orlov Bratva protection, but that’s a polite way of saying it belongs to us. It’s one of many money laundering operations. And it provides a nice cover for the business that feeds the bratva.

Vadim likes his properties clean, secure, and profitable. Which is why I’m standing in the VIP mezzanine, leaning against the glass with a vodka in one hand and a permanent scowl carved into my face.

This is personal surveillance.

It’s not even my shift, but I volunteered. Which is unlike me. I’ll never admit it to Dmitri, but I’m hoping to feel something. A spark. A twitch. There are fifty women below me and I know a crook of my finger is all it would take.

Getting laid would solve so many problems.

At least that’s what Dmitri thinks.

I’m not so sure. Maybe it would make me feel alive. Feel something .

I’ve been picking fights I don’t need to pick. Bashing skulls harder than necessary. Dmitri says I’m tense.

He’s not wrong.

Below me, the crowd undulates like a single writhing beast. From my vantage point, I imagine it’s a snake sliding and slithering. Lights pulse over glistening skin covered in shimmering glitter and sweat. I spot two guys near the DJ booth. One of them bumps into a girl and doesn’t apologize.

I watch him for exactly twelve seconds before deciding I hate him. I’ll keep my eyes on him. If he does anything else, I’ll throw his ass out.

And then he does. I watch him grope a woman.

That’s not always wrong but it’s the woman’s reaction I monitor.

She doesn’t like it.

“Stay here,” I mutter to the junior enforcer at my side.

I’m halfway down the stairs before the guy can grab her a second time. I shoulder through the crowd, my height doing half the work, my reputation the rest.

I grab his shoulder. “Leave.” It’s a simple command.

I don’t like words. Words are obnoxious and pointless.

His brows rise. “What the fuck for?”

“I don’t like your face.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very.”

The friend opens his mouth to say something brave and stupid. I grab him by the collar and slam him against the cement wall. The music keeps thumping and people keep dancing. No one pays us any attention.

They know better.

Security swarms in, finally getting the message. I don’t say another word. I don’t have to.

The bouncers drag the two out the back like sacks of garbage.

“Thank you,” the woman that had been groped sidles up to me. “If you want to touch me?—”

I walk away, not entertaining her offer.

I climb back to my perch, back to my drink and my careful surveillance.

Dmitri stands next to me. “Feeling better?”

“No.”

“That’s a shame. The brunette over by the bar has been eyeing you like you’re a prized bull.”

I glance once. “No.”

“What about the blonde next to her? She looks flexible.”

“How can you determine she’s flexible just by looking at her?” I don’t know why I ask. I don’t care. But sometimes, I do wonder what goes on in his head.

Dmitri grins. "The way she moves her hips. Trust me, I have an eye for these things."

I grunt and turn back to scan the crowd.

My job is to watch for trouble, not to evaluate women's sexual flexibility. Though I have to admit, Dmitri's observations are usually accurate. It's a skill I've never understood or cared to develop.

"You know what your problem is?" Dmitri says, settling against the railing beside me.

"You're about to tell me."

"You're waiting for something that doesn't exist."

I don't respond. He's fishing, and I'm not taking the bait.

"Some fantasy woman who's going to make you feel human again," he continues. "News flash—we're not human anymore. We're weapons. And weapons don't get fairy tale endings."

My jaw tightens. "I'm not waiting for anything."

"Bullshit."

"Drop it."

But he won't. He never does.

"You used to fuck and fight and actually enjoy the work. Now you're like a ghost haunting your own life."

I finish my vodka and set the glass down harder than necessary. "Maybe I like being a ghost."

"Maybe you're afraid."

“You’re impossible.”

I take a slow sip of my drink, letting the burn distract me from the ache.

“She’s getting married, you know,” Dmitri says after a moment. “Two weeks.”

I don’t answer.

“Daddy’s little princess marrying a devil.”

Still nothing.

“You ever gonna tell me what happened between you two?”

“No.”

He snorts. “Right. Of course not. What was I thinking? Anton Smirnov doesn’t talk. He just broods and breaks things.”

I say nothing, my eyes watching.

He nudges me with his elbow. “Come on. Just one night. Pick a girl, have some fun. Forget her for a few hours.”

I laugh once. It’s hollow.

“Forget her?” I say. “She’s the only thing I can’t forget.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “Okay. Fine. You win. Be miserable. I’m going to find something soft.”

He walks off. He’s always on the prowl.

I used to be like that. And then one woman ruined me.

I stare down at the dance floor looking for anything that will lead to trouble.

I barely notice the women that are practically fucking other women and men on the dance floor. But a flash of silver catches my eye. I take a small step to the left to get a better look.

There’s something familiar in the sway of hips. I can’t explain it, but I can’t look away. I’m drawn to her. She slowly turns, her knees opening as she lowers her body with her hands in the air. Her full lips painted a dark crimson curve into a smile.

My brain stutters.

I blink once.

I can’t see her eyes.

But I know.

I fucking know.

I’m already moving.

I take the stairs two at a time. People part, not wanting to make eye contact with me.

Lena.

The world tilts. I can feel her in my very soul. How? How the fuck has this woman woven her way into my soul?

She doesn’t see me at first. Her eyes are closed. Her hands are in her hair. A man rubs up against her from behind. She smiles and rubs her ass against him.

Fury floods through me.

“Leave,” I growl, my gaze on the man touching her.

He locks eyes with me for a half-second before he disappears, fading into the crowd.

Then she opens her eyes—and everything stops.

Recognition flares. Shock. Then something deeper. Darker.

She spins on her ridiculously high heels and bolts.

I follow.

I warned her.

I told her the last time we saw each other I wouldn’t stop with a kiss.

And I have no intention of letting her get away from me a second time.

She pushes through the crowd, fast, but I’m faster. I catch her in a corridor between two fire doors, slam a hand against the wall beside her head, trapping her without touching her.

We freeze, chest to chest, breath to breath.

“Tell me I’m dreaming,” I rasp.

Her mouth parts. “You’re not.”

I stare at her, trying to reconcile this wild-eyed woman with the polished mafia princess with the platinum-blonde hair and innocent beauty.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” My throat feels like I’ve gargled with gravel.

We stare at each other. Years stretch between us. Choices. That kiss.

That kiss that ruined me.

I don’t know who moves first.

Maybe it’s her. Maybe it’s me.

My mouth slams against hers. I feel a pinch in my upper lip from her teeth crashing against mine. I relish the pain. I feel the pain.

A soft whimper from her fills my ears.

I’m gone. I’m gone.

I grab her ass through the flimsy material that barely covers her. Her fingers dig into my chest. We kiss like we’re drowning in it. I feel my blood moving through my veins.

“Anton,” she gasps against my mouth.

I press her against the wall, knee between her thighs. She moans again. It unravels me.

I grab her wrist and push it against the wall, pinning her there, body to body.

“I warned you,” I growl.

“I can’t.” Her words are soft, barely audible.

“Why?”

“Because they’ll kill you.”

I brush her hair back. “Let them try.”

“You don’t understand?—”

“No,” I snap. “You don’t understand. You think I’ve touched another woman? I’ve been dying from the inside out, Lena. I. Will. Have. You.”

She shudders.

And then we’re kissing again. Desperate. Messy. Too much and not enough.

I’m going to fuck her. My cock is hard and demanding relief. I hear voices and female laughter.

“Fuck,” I hiss and pull back.

I can’t fuck her in the hallway.

I grab her hand and shove open the door to the men’s room. “Get out!”

The man standing at the urinal with dick in hand jumps. He looks at me and rushes out, zipping up as he moves. I kick the door shut and turn the lock.

She’s staring at me with shock and confusion. “Anton.”

“I told you,” I say and stalk toward her. “I will have you. I will know what you feel like squeezing around me.”

I can see the war in her eyes. Fear battling desire. She knows this is dangerous. We both do. But I'm past caring about consequences.

"You're getting married in two weeks," I say, my voice rough. "To him."

Her breath catches. "Yes."

I cage her against the sink; my hands braced on either side of her. She's trembling, but not from fear. I can smell that strawberry scent that's haunted me every night since the last time I saw her.

"Anton, please?—"

“I know.”

She closes her eyes. "I think about you every day."

Something primal roars through me. "Me too.”

My mouth crashes against hers again. This time she doesn't hesitate. Her arms wind around my neck, pulling me closer. I lift her onto the counter, stepping between her legs. The silver dress rides up her thighs.

"God, you're beautiful," I growl against her throat. "Do you know what you've done to me?"

She arches against me. "Show me."

I pull back to look at her. The black wig is slightly askew, revealing a strand of blonde underneath. Her lipstick is smeared. She looks wrecked and perfect.

Someone pounds on the door. "Hey! Open up!"

“Fuck off!” I shout back.

I slide my hand up the inside of her thigh. Her hands go for the buckle on my pants. There’s no time or need for foreplay. There’s been too much foreplay already.

I groan as I push her dress up further, exposing her wet heat to my touch. She gasps and arches into me, her fingers finally undoing the buckle of my jeans. Her nails scrape against my skin as she pushes them down, revealing my hard cock that's been trapped in this prison way too long.

I move closer, rubbing myself against her throbbing clit through the lace of her panties. She moans and spreads her legs wider, inviting me to fuck her. Her fingernails dig into my shoulders as she pulls me closer still.

I push the panties aside and slide my fingers over her slick heat. “You’re wet for me,” I whisper.

She whimpers. "I've been wet for you," she breathes against my mouth. “Only you.”

The admission nearly breaks me. I hook my fingers under her panties and tear them off in one swift motion. She gasps at the violence of it, but her eyes darken with need.

"Anton—"

"No more talking."

I position myself at her entrance, feeling how ready she is for me. Our eyes lock. This is it. The moment I've imagined a thousand times.

"Tell me you want this," I demand, needing to hear it.

"I want you," she whispers. "I've always wanted you."

I thrust into her in one hard stroke. She cries out, her head falling back against the mirror. The feel of her wrapped around me is better than any fantasy. Hot. Tight. Perfect.

"Fuck," I growl, staying still for a moment, letting her adjust to me.

I feel like an animal. A feral animal. I’m a good lover. I know how to prepare a woman, but I could not hold back another second.

And I didn’t need to. Her tight sheath squeezes and then relaxes, letting me push in even deeper.

Her legs wrap around my waist. "Move. Please."

I don't need to be told twice. I pull back and slam into her again. And again. Each thrust is punishing, desperate. Years of want and frustration pour out of me as I claim her.

I can feel the bass and hear the conversation beyond the door.

"Is this what you wanted?" I rasp in her ear.

"Yes," she moans. "God, yes."

I fist my hand in the black wig and pull it off, letting her beautiful hair fall around her shoulders.

Her fingernails scrape down my back as she wraps her legs around me like a vice grip. It feels so damn good I feel like I might die.

With each thrust, I sink deeper into her tight heat, feeling myself lose control bit by bit. "Lena," I growl against her neck as I grab her ass roughly. "You're killing me."

She responds by digging her nails into my shoulders even harder, urging me onward with those bright blue eyes that hold nothing but desire for me.

This woman has no idea what she does to me; how much power she wields over me.

I will walk through fire for her. I’ll burn the fucking world down for her.

I feel her body tighten around me, and I know she's close. The way she's breathing, the little sounds she makes—it's driving me insane. I change the angle, hitting that spot that makes her gasp and arch against me.

"Come for me," I demand, my voice rough. "I want to feel you."

Her response is immediate.

She shatters around me, her body convulsing as she bites down on my shoulder to muffle her cries.

The feeling of her climax triggers my own. I thrust deep one final time and let go, pouring myself into her with a growl that comes from somewhere primal.

We stay frozen like that, breathing hard, her legs still wrapped around me. I can feel my heartbeat thundering in my chest.

"Anton," she whispers, her voice shaky.

I pull back to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen from my kisses. She's beautiful and mine.

Mine.

"I know," I say, understanding what she can't voice. The reality of what we've done crashes over us both.

Someone bangs on the door again, more insistent this time. "Come on, man!"

I look into her eyes again and see the fear.

Ah, fuck.

I’ve just signed our death warrants.