Page 44 of Climbing Everest

Kato

D ima Sidorov and the rest of the Russian fucks – minus Flora and her shadows – have been gone for over an hour, but I swear I’m still vibrating with rage.

The whole thing had gone about how I thought it would, but it sure as fuck looked as though Dima planned to attack Everest.

The last thing any of us want is bloodshed with so many witnesses. Doesn’t mean I would have hesitated to snap his fucking neck if he’d touched my wife.

And no. I still don’t give a shit about the fact it’s not legal yet. Everest Sidorova has been my wife since we were kids, since two months before my twentieth birthday when we all carved our initials into each other’s chests as a permanent claim.

That cock sucker had tried to erase us from her skin, tried to erase her from our lives.

He’ll never again get that chance. Until Dima and anyone loyal to him is no longer breathing, Everest won’t step foot out of the house without a full army of guards.

The beautiful woman in question is currently dancing with Flora and Kat, a glass of something I assume contains alcohol clutched in her hand. She’s had a few, and her cheeks are a little rosy.

Might need to cut her off soon so she doesn’t get sloppy or end up embarrassing herself, and I definitely want her to remember everything I’m going to do to her when we get home.

I can’t believe she stepped into the middle of two opposing factions and requested a formal sit down. Not her right. I will never attempt to change or control her, but she overstepped.

Time to assert my position in this family.

No. I don’t plan on making her bend the knee or sit quietly by looking pretty, but my fiancée speaking on my behalf can be seen as weakness by other leaders. I’m young as fuck to be in this position, and already on shaky ground as it is.

I definitely don’t need any of these old timers thinking I can’t control my woman or that she has my balls stored in her purse.

She’s going to fight me every step of the way. I already know that about her. She’s always hated how women were treated in the mafia families, hated how they are treated more as baby makers for the next generation and pretty adornments to hang off our arms at social gatherings.

That will never be the case where we’re concerned.

Still can’t have her making me look weak, though. If she has something to say, something to add, she needs to do it in private, not with so many others watching on.

“Wrap it up. I’m getting tired,” I tell Maddox.

All three of us are watching her closely, as well as keeping an eye on the remaining partygoers. Those still in attendance are primarily from the younger crowd. The older generation left shortly after Roman and the rest of the Russians took their leave.

“Want me to kick everyone out or just wrangle our girl?” he asks, turning his head to glance at me before looking back to where Everest is wiggling her ass, her arms over her head, a wide grin on her face.

She looks so…fuck, so happy. So carefree. The wariness and darkness that had been in her eyes when we found her in that shitty apartment is gone.

The girl who has owned my heart for as long as I can remember is back.

Which means tonight is going to be one hell of a fight. The mere memory of her kneeing me in the balls makes them ache with phantom pain. As much as that day sucked, as much as I’ve pissed her off, it’s good to see she’s still the same strong, defiant girl we all know.

While I’m sure she has a hefty level of PTSD, she hasn’t let any of that shit break her. It’s definitely made her stronger, if not a little jaded.

But Dima failed. He failed in killing her. Failed in breaking her.

Failed at taking her away from us.

With a smile, I shake my head. “Let her have her fun. It’s been a rough—”

“Four years?” Maddox finishes for me.

I turn a glare on him but can’t stay mad when Everest’s infectious laugh raises over the music for a beat.

I turn my attention back to her in time to see her snag Brixton by the arm and drag him onto the dancefloor.

The big fucker looks so awkward and out of his element, his head towering over the rest of the dancers as he simply stands there and smiles down at her.

“She looks…lighter,” Madd says, shoving his hands into his pockets as we both stand here and watch our girl like the lovesick fuckers we are.

Oh, there’s a firestorm coming when we get home, or maybe tomorrow when she sobers up.

For now, though, I’m content to watch her and see the girl we all loved before life and time fucked everything up.

Bullshit. Life and time had nothing to do with shit. It was the fault of one person and one person only.

A wicked smile tugs at my lips. I’m man enough to admit my dick got a little hard when I watched her not only approach but stare down her father, when she looked him directly in the eye and let him know in no uncertain terms, he was a failure.

And, while I’m far from pleased that she spoke to the Pakhan on behalf of the Antoniou Family, her strength and fire…

Fuck I love her.

While I don’t have a single problem with women in leadership in the syndicate, I refuse to allow anyone to see me as weak because of my wife.

The smile begins to falter as I remember the pain in her eyes when she spoke to her mom.

I mean, I’m pretty fucking pissed that the British bitch knew where she was all that time and didn’t say fuck all to anyone, but at least she didn’t mention it to her own husband.

Surely, Dima would have sent someone to do what Victor failed to complete.

“Her mom goes down, too,” I mutter to Madd.

I see his head nodding in my periphery. “Fuck, yeah, she does. Fuck that bitch.”

Nah. I don’t relish killing women. None of us do. But in my eyes, she’s as guilty as her piece of shit husband. She’s complicit in the attempted murder of my wife, her own fucking daughter. That makes her guilty, and a waste of space and oxygen.

In the end, though, that will be up to Everest. I can’t imagine she’ll be all too upset about her mom dying with her dad, but in the end, we’ll leave the decision to her whether we let Ada remain breathing and be forced to marry another member of the Bratva or whether she’ll fall beside Dima.

I probably should have laid off the bourbon. But the longer Everest and Flora danced, the more I drank and watched her.

She hadn’t tried to put on a show or be sexy for anyone. She looked free. She looked happy.

And now, I’m nearly as drunk as she is.

Nearly . I’m not being carried through the house by Brix’s big ass.

Her heels are hanging from her fingertips as she nips and kisses Brixton’s neck, whispering in his ear, no doubt trying to coax him to fuck her.

Were she anyone else, I’m positive he’d turn her down. Fucking a drunk chick…nah. Can’t give consent when you’re blitzed out of your mind.

I’m not sure I can perform tonight, not with whiskey dick, and my brain is going in far too many directions to stay hard.

“Did you see his face?” she suddenly blurts out, lifting her head from Brix’s neck to look at me and Maddox over his shoulder.

“Who?” I ask as we step through the foyer and head toward the stairs.

“My dad. I really hope someone got a shot of that. Someone had to have gotten a picture of his face when you said my name and – poof –,” she says, throwing her arms out to the sides, causing Brix to have to tighten his hold so he won’t drop her.

“I appeared on the stage looking like a bride. Or an angel. An angel bride, because I was supposed to be dead and was wearing all white.”

The longer she rambles and tries to explain her reasoning, the wider my grin grows.

Until her eyes become unfocused and her own smile falters.

“He should suffer before he dies. Like he made me suffer.” She’s sniffles. “Mom didn’t look surprised, though,” she says a little quieter.

Well, fuck. There goes the happiness and fire in her eyes.

“She needs to pay, too. She probably put Dima up to it. I wish I could be the one…” Her words trail off as her eyes become a little sad.

Her fucking cunt of a mother.

Maybe I won’t get Everest’s permission to end her mom’s life. Anyone who can dim the light in my wife’s eyes doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air or exist on the same plane.

Now Everest is quiet, a pensive look on her face as Brix carries her into her room. We need a bigger bed. There isn’t a chance in hell I’m sleeping anywhere except beside her, but the damn king-sized mattress doesn’t quite fit all four of us, especially not with Brixton’s big ass squeezing in.

As I reach over Brix’s shoulder and push the hair from her face, I frown. Her pretty gray eyes are sparkling with unshed tears.

Now, everyone knows alcohol is really good at amplifying emotions, but my girl has every right to cry after finding out exactly what her mother thinks of her.

Her watery eyes raise to mine, and she blinks before frowning. “You mad?” she asks.

“What?”

“Are you mad because I told the Pakhan we need to meet? Did I hurt your macho ego?” There’s a mischievous gleam to her eyes.

Oh, my wife is drunk, but she knows exactly what’s going on and what her words will do.

But I like this way better than the tears that are still present yet haven’t trailed over her lashes.

“I’m the head of this family, E. At least in public,” I say as Brix sets her on the edge of the bed and Madd plucks the heels from her fingertips. He doesn’t bother actually carrying them into her closet and putting them away, just tosses them in that direction.

Everest leans back on her hands. Even like this with her hair disheveled, her makeup a little smeared from dancing and sweating and laughing, she looks fucking amazing.

Doesn’t help that I’d intentionally picked a dress that looks like a wedding gown. Almost looks like she’s sitting there waiting for us to consummate our marriage or some shit.

“Does that mean I can be the head of the family behind closed doors?”

Raising one brow, I actually look up at Brix, a little shocked by her brazen question. She really has changed in our time apart. Not that she was ever shy when we were younger.

But this Everest, the adult version…she has no problem saying exactly what’s on her mind and telling us exactly what she wants.

Leaning forward, I drop my hands on the bed on either side of her hips and move my face so close our noses nearly touch. “Don’t for one second forget who’s in charge in this house, beautiful.”

Her face is slightly blurry between the booze and the close proximity, but I don’t miss the way her gaze darts to my lips then back up again.

And I sure as fuck don’t expect the moment her hand shoots forward and clamps around my throat.

My Adam’s apple bobs, but I’m having a hard time swallowing as she tightens her grip.

“How does it feel?” she whispers, her lips ghosting over mine. “How does it feel when you have something to say but someone silences you?”

A tremor works down my spine. I open my mouth to respond, but I got to be honest – I’m not sure I want to admit this moment, the feeling of her fingers clenching around my throat, has my dick so hard it’s nearly painful.

I don’t think I’ve ever been manhandled during sex, and I sure as hell have never had anyone even attempt to dominate me.

“Everest –” Brix starts, a warning in his tone as he moves forward.

I hold my hand up, stopping him. I really want to see how far she’s willing to go with this, whether she’s simply feeling brazen with the alcohol running through her system and the faceoff with her parents.

Or maybe she simply has some frustration she needs to release. I’m more than happy to let her work that steam off on me, especially if it’s in the form of a hard hate fuck.

“You might be the Don, you might run this syndicate, but don’t think for one second you will ever be in charge of me.”

Her lips feather against mine with every word spoken, her breath hot and scented with something sweet and a little warm from whatever cocktail she’d constantly downed at the party.

Raising my own hand, I clamp my fingers around her neck and push her back a little so she can focus on my eyes as I say, “I am Don. I do run the syndicate. You do not and will never speak for my business, and as far as being in charge of you? Never forget who owns this body.” I tease my free hand along the swell of her cleavage, sliding a finger under the fabric to toy with her nipple.

“Never forget who owns these tits, that pussy, even your tight little asshole.”

Although, if I have my way, it won’t be so tight by the end of the night.

I think it’s high time the three of us remind her exactly who and what she is to us. Not sure how long I’ll last with the booze affecting my dick, but by the time we all pass out for the night, I want cum dripping from all her holes.

I want her so full of us she’ll know the only time she’ll ever be a whore again is for us. Our beautiful, strong, brave little whore.