Page 18 of Claim Me (Dmitriyev Bratva #2)

As the blade was sliced through muscles, tendons, and organs, I realized I was Bratva through and through.

And proud to be my father’s son.

“Take care of the body,” I told Ryker as I approached the house.

The security lights automatically turned on, providing a detailed view of my evening’s accomplishments.

I quickly glanced at the picture I’d taken from Charlie’s house.

His boyish grin was similar to mine. In certain light, we could appear as true brothers.

Ryker stood taller than before, whistling as he peered down at me. “You found him.”

I chuckled and immediately removed my jacket. As soon as I did, I heard music coming from inside the house. “What is she doing?”

Ryker shrugged. “She woke up and opened the front door. After I told her you were at a meeting, she disappeared inside. She started playing music almost immediately. She’s been at it since then. She’s talented.”

The music was coming from something deep and ugly inside of her, the powerful notes creating a dark fantasy of pain and violence.

Filthy thoughts drifted into my mind. “Yes, she is. Have the men bag the body.”

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“Find a local landfill or river and dump his fucking remains.” I’d debated sending Popov a care package, but given a picture was worth a thousand words, I opted for that choice instead.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“One other thing,” I interjected while thinking of the vivid photographs nestled on my phone. “Find the personal email and physical address for Detective Ryan Torres with the Seattle police department. Not his business email. You may need to call in a few favors, but it can be done.”

“Yes, sir.” I sensed Ryker was skeptical. If the detective was so intent on being Popov’s puppet, I was happy to pull his strings myself.

Nodding, I moved onto the front porch, taking the time to roll up my sleeves. I’d lost the tie earlier, but the suit suddenly felt confining.

As soon as I opened the front door, the music enveloped my system. The chords were hauntingly melodic, sadness wrapped in extreme anger. She was working through the tragedy in the only way she knew how.

Her back was to me and it was apparent she was lost in the music, her entire body swaying. Her fingers flew across the bass, the deep rumble of the notes igniting passion even within my bones.

I softly closed the door, remaining where I was for a full two minutes.

Hissing, she stopped briefly, scribbling something on paper on the surface of the piano just above the keys. A single step closer and I knew what she was doing. She was writing a song.

I had no idea she was also a composer.

The revelation touched me in ways nothing else had done before.

I tossed my jacket over the back of the chair and inched around her. She tensed the moment her eye captured my approach. Her hesitation was brief and as she continued to play, I remained where I was, noticing she’d placed several items on the surface of the piano.

Jesus.

Dead roses caught my eye, the bouquet still with the red ribbon attached. A tightness developed in my chest. I looked away into the kitchen, suddenly not wanting to disturb her. I placed the frame next to the other items so perhaps she could understand that I hadn’t come to hurt her.

Suddenly I wondered why she’d brought them as well as a jewelry box into the living room.

There was also a notebook positioned perfectly next to a pad when I noticed music notes.

She was methodical in her actions, making perfect circles when she created a single note, even erasing one before making another.

She was mesmerizing to watch, especially the way her long fingers wrapped around the pencil before returning to the keys. As she started playing in earnest, I could sense she’d blocked out my presence.

In my mind I had to wonder what it would be like to be lost in a creation so beautiful.

I moved into the beautifully decorated room.

The kitchen was warm where mine was cold and stark.

Her kitchen towels depicted Golden Retrievers, her kitchen table still with the stack of mail one of my men had brought in from her mailbox.

The granite counters and stainless-steel appliances were offset by the wooden table and chairs, a wooden bowl ready to be filled with fresh fruits in the center.

While everything was neat and tidy, the room appeared lived in and loved.

Unlike my kitchen, which was rarely used.

The bottle of scotch was still on the counter and I grabbed another glass, feeling guilty for leaving the other on the table in the living room. Another chuckle flicked past my lips. She had me thinking about things that had seemed of no importance before.

With the glass poured, I lifted it in a toast to no one, including myself.

The sip went down too smoothly. I’d wished for a heavy burn.

It had been a long time since I’d taken the life of a man.

While necessary and in truth, invigorating, claiming the lives of enemies had felt like an activity left in the past.

The light was on over the sink, the pendant lamp with a crystalline blue shade highlighting the blood on my hands. Well, fuck. That wouldn’t do. I set the glass down with care, worried I’d break the fragile material. With soap on my hands, I ran them under water, washing all ten fingers vigorously.

When the music stopped, I was the one who stiffened, uncertain what to expect.

The overhead kitchen light was flipped on, her appearance creating a wave of desire along with the tension ebbing into every muscle. There’d been an electricity between us since the beginning, an unrefuted crackle of chemistry that even a blind person could sense.

I slowly turned toward her and instantly, her eyes opened wide. Seeing her wary expression, I slowly allowed my gaze to drift to my shirt.

There was no mistaking the dried blood that had soaked through. There was no reason to apologize. If she only knew that I’d just saved her life, she’d fall straight into another debilitating nightmare. In her hand was the notebook, her fingers wrapped tightly around the spine.

While her lower lip quivered, she took her time studying the carnage before lifting her gaze back to mine.

“You sent me roses after three different concerts in three different cities. You also sent me gifts, the most beautiful, expensive jewelry I’ve ever seen.

The last being the night before Charlie was killed.

I did a concert in Los Angeles. That was you, wasn’t it?

The man who quoted incredible passages in the hopes they would spark so many emotions deep inside. They did.”

When I didn’t answer her immediately, she flung open the notebook.

“Music creates a powerful moment where nothing in the world matters but the beauty of the creation, the artist the blank canvas. You wrote that one.”

Her lilting voice controlled me, hypnotized me. They were words I’d said to her in the privacy of a note. That she’d kept.

My silence was not a reward nor was it an admittance. It was simply providing her with the time to accept that our lives had inexplicably been intertwined long before.

“Beauty captured in a moment of reverence in the presence of music is breathtaking in a way only those with haunted hearts can truly understand.” Once again, she lifted her gaze, then in a surprise move, took two purposeful strides toward me.

Her eyes opened wide and she lifted her arm, her fingers almost touching my face where Victor had punched me. When she curled her fingers, I could see returning fear.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“What had to be done.”

“To protect me,” she whispered. How the hell was I supposed to answer that?

I took a sip of my drink and I was rewarded with her wrapping her fingers around the glass while touching mine. I didn’t try to stop her as she pulled the drink to her lips. My hand remained next to hers, the light brush of skin on skin creating a need so intense my cock hardened.

As she tilted the glass, her long, thick eyelashes skimmed across her cheeks. I was left mesmerized by the simple act. After she downed the liquid, my balls tightened. I shouldn’t want her this way. I couldn’t think of her as anything but my friend’s sister, my ward.

But my body was betraying my mind. Her nipples were hard, pushing through the thin material of her dress. And her scent of desire was driving me wild.

She allowed me to take the glass, tilting her head. There was such defiance in her that I was blown away by her ability to hold onto her grief while navigating some sense of normalcy.

If you could call our connection normal.

“You wrote those beautiful lines. Didn’t you? I need to know, Kazimir.”

I still didn’t answer, merely placing the glass on the counter. Where was she going with this?

“Didn’t you?” She closed the distance until we were only inches apart. “I know you did. You sent the gifts. Why?”

Sighing, I looked away briefly, an ache in my chest developing.

“Because I wanted to.”

“Did you know who I was?”

“No, I did not.”

“The picture,” she continued. “That’s you with Charlie.”

“Yes.”

She looked away briefly, dragging the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip.

“I remember now. He told me about you. Maybe only once did he say your name, but he talked about how the nine months of being incarcerated had changed him. That’s what he called the time spent in Vegas.

He left a young man who was so angry, so violent that I was afraid I’d never see him again.

When he returned, he was so happy, so full of life.

I loved the stories. Then they stopped and I don’t know why.

Maybe because my father didn’t want me to hear them any longer. He was like that, controlling.”

My silence was what she needed, her mind processing not only Charlie’s death, but the life that she would continue living. There was too much sexual tension between us, a burning need that could go nowhere.

I’d seen her quick glances even at the hospital, had felt the heat continuing to build between us. I was losing the battle quickly. In what war?

As she slowly turned her head to face me, she allowed her gaze to drift to my groin. She could clearly see what she did to me. Raw pain pushed me to an uncontrollable edge and there was no way to take my mind off her luscious body.

You’re insane.

Maybe so, but it was becoming harder to ignore the need.

Especially with the way she looked in the dress, the heat exploding between us and the softness of her skipping breath.

When she pressed her hands against my chest, the control slipped even further. “I don’t like being alone.”

“You won’t need to be. I’ll be with you. I’ll take care of you.”

Marissa shook her head. “You killed someone. Didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Because he was coming after me.” She curled her fingers around my shirt and every muscle in my body stiffened until I reached a hardcore ache.

“Yes.”

“I’m scared.”

The long line of her neck highlighted the intense pulse as her breathing became labored. Against my better judgment, I curled the fingers of one hand, brushing my knuckles across the softness of her cheek. “You don’t need to be. I’ll protect you.”

“I know. But… Kazimir.” There was no mistaking the lust in her voice or the desire dripping from her lips.

“This can’t happen,” I growled.

“Why?”

“Because I’ll hurt you.”

My eyes watched in a moment that would burn into the darkest portions of my mind as she licked her bottom lip once again. “Maybe I want to be a little hurt. Please. I need you.”

Just like that, the resolve that I’d kept tightly woven deep within my mind and my soul was shaken.

Now nothing would stop me from taking exactly everything I wanted.

God help me for what I was about to do.