Page 5 of Nobody Wants Me (Volkov Bratva #5)

V ictor

Ivan arrived early, right at seven, just as I knew he would.

I hadn’t seen my wife, but I had noticed the main hallway was clear of any pieces of the quilt I had thrown in her face last night.

She did not need to be making me things.

I wanted nothing to do with my wife. She was a means to an end, and she needed to start seeing it that way.

It pissed me off that she would even try. What the fuck was wrong with her!

I knew I was being a dick, but I just couldn’t help it.

Ivan stepped out of the car, and he wore, as usual, his black pants, white shirt, and matching black jacket. Nothing out of place. Always ready to do business.

Now, I was not expecting his plus-one. She stepped out of the car wearing a pair of jeans, a plain red t-shirt, and a baseball cap. I also happened to notice she was chewing gum.

The Butcher. I didn’t even know her real name.

Why the fuck had Ivan brought The Butcher into my territory? Since when had The Butcher and Ivan been BFFs? Did The Beast even know about this?

“Victor,” Ivan said. “It is good to see you.” He reached out a hand, and I took it.

I had a deep respect for this man, even if at times I didn’t like his methods nor the company he kept. The Butcher looked at me and gave me a nod.

“What is she doing here?” I asked.

“She is his plus-one,” The Butcher said. “What’s the matter? Shitting your pants? You think you’re on the hit list?” She winked at me, which I didn’t find funny.

I kept my bored gaze on Ivan.

“Do I need a reason?” Ivan asked.

“No.” But I wanted to know if he no longer trusted me. All I had ever done was show my loyalty to him and the Volkov Bratva. Ivan played the long game, always had, and I doubt he was going to let anyone know what his plans were.

“He’s still pissed,” The Butcher said, leaning in close pretending to whisper, while clearly loud enough for me to hear. She was doing this on purpose.

“Where’s your wife?” Ivan asked. “I’d like to see little Freya.”

I had no idea where my wife was, and I had a feeling Ivan already knew that.

I don’t know how he did it, but he always seemed to be one step ahead of the game.

He always knew everyone’s business. I had no doubt he had men or women working for him.

Spies to report back. I didn’t even mind.

My loyalty was absolute, and I would never do anything to jeopardize that.

“She’s here,” a small voice said.

I turned in time to see my wife coming downstairs.

Her long brown hair was pulled back with some of it up in a small bun at the base of her neck.

The rest fell around her shoulders. She wore a plain yellow summer dress.

Knowing Freya, I could imagine it was a homemade dress.

I don’t recall any branded boutique making something like this.

She stepped toward the door, and I noticed she kept a wide berth from me, not that I could blame her. I was in high dick mode last night. Clearly, she had learned her lesson.

“Good morning,” Freya said.

She went to reach out her hand to Ivan, but I should have known my boss. He pulled her in close for a hug.

“It is good to see you,” Ivan said. “You’re looking lovely.”

Actually, I saw the makeup she wore. It wasn’t thickly applied, but her eyes seemed a little puffy. Either she had been crying, only there was no redness to her eyes, or she didn’t sleep last night. I didn’t care. Whatever caused her to not sleep was not my fucking business.

“Thank you.” Freya turned. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

“Ah, Freya, this is my good friend, The Butcher.” Ivan made the introductions.

“The Butcher?” Freya asked.

“That’s me. I did earn the title, so I find it a lot of fun to use it. Not exactly classy or original, but it will do.”

I had no idea The Butcher was so talkative. In all the times I had seen her, she barely spoke a word.

The two women shook hands. I couldn’t help but check to see if there was any kind of battle going on. Kind of how men did when we squeezed each other’s hands in tight death grips, hoping to be the strongest.

The Butcher would win. A woman who had killed multiple men and women, with the reputation of being a violent criminal, had to be stronger than my wife.

“It’s good to finally officially meet you,” The Butcher said. “I was at your wedding, but it was kind of a fast ceremony, and I didn’t get to say hi.”

Freya nodded and stepped back. “I will go and see if Umberto has the breakfast ready. You both must be hungry.”

“Totally,” The Butcher said.

“I could eat.” This was from Ivan.

Freya made her escape.

“She looks ... sad,” The Butcher said.

I looked at The Butcher, and then to Ivan, stepping back as I did so, allowing them room to enter.

Ivan stepped through, and The Butcher, as she did, removed her hat, running fingers through her hair.

The shirt she wore had short sleeves, and I had never been up close and personal with this woman.

Now, I saw the faded scars on her arms. Some I recognized as bullet holes, a few from knives, and a couple that were unidentifiable.

“Metal wire,” The Butcher said. “You’re clearly curious.”

I was not going to apologize. This woman was shrouded in mystery.

I’d heard many tales about her over the years, not that I was impressed.

Some of the stuff could have been stories, but if the truth was right, and she was once an Exterminator, then she was one dangerous woman.

An Exterminator was exactly as it sounded, only she didn’t kill the four-legged kind of pests.

No, she killed the human pests. That was her job.

There were rumors that when an organization or person got difficult, a select few known as “Exterminators” were assigned to hunt and kill.

No one knew for certain who these people were, or how it happened, just that it did.

This was all rumor. My assumption was that the rumor was true, but exterminators were only used in special circumstances—usually when it was a matter of life and death and someone had decided to annihilate half of civilization.

All people associated ended up dead. Family all gone, the line completely exterminated, so there was no chance of repercussions or someone wanting to avenge their parents’ death. That kind of shit was dealt with.

“How?” I asked.

“I got on the wrong side of it.” She walked toward the dining room, without an invitation, and I noticed she didn’t even need to be pointed in the direction of where she needed to go. The Butcher simply knew.

I turned to Ivan.

“Why?”

Ivan smiled at me. “I thought Freya could do with a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I asked. The last thing I needed was another woman in my home. I had shit to do.

“Well, seeing as you didn’t take my advice and go on your precious honeymoon, which you really should, you and I have some business to attend to. For that reason, I feel The Butcher will be best suited here, taking care of Freya.”

“You could just send her back to her father,” I said.

Ivan threw his head back and burst out laughing. I was not amused.

“Don’t ever send her back to her father,” Ivan said, and within a second, he had lost all sense of amusement. This surprised me. The sudden change was unexpected.

I looked at Ivan. I had no intention of sending my wife back, at least not until Ivan was done with her. Freya was a means to an end. However, I had a feeling she was going to be part of my world for a long fucking time. My wife.

I held my hands up. “Whatever you say.”

Ivan glanced down at his watch. “We’ve got time for food,” he said. “Also, I would like to get to know Freya. She is not an easy person to learn.”

Before I got a chance to ask him what the fuck was going on, he was already making his way into my dining room. I had more questions than answers, which I didn’t think was great, as it just pissed me the fuck off.

Entering the dining room, I found Freya and The Butcher sitting close together, actually fucking talking. They were not on opposite sides of the table, but close together, on the same freaking side. I did not need my wife becoming friends with The Butcher.

“Freya, darling,” Ivan said. “Tell me, where did you get that dress?”

“She fucking made it,” The Butcher said. “I was just asking the same thing.”

Freya glanced down at her body, and I wondered under her makeup, if she was blushing. I had noticed she blushed a great deal.

“I ... it’s nothing.”

“I think it is really pretty,” The Butcher said.

It was a pretty dress.

“Thank you,” Freya said. “I know it’s probably ... boring, you know, sewing my own clothes—”

“Stop right the fuck there,” The Butcher said.

She held her hand up, and Freya had gone silent.

“If it is what you love to do, then do it. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s boring or some stupid shit like that.

People do what the fuck they want all the time.

You don’t need any validation. Life is too damn short to worry about what other people are thinking.

You like making clothes, you make clothes.

You want to be a wife and a mother, be a wife and a mother. ”

“Do you want to be a mother?” Ivan asked.

I fucking hated The Butcher. I couldn’t help but wonder if the two were working together to make my life so fucking difficult.

I was not going to have kids with this woman. No fucking way. I told Ivan I was never going to be a father. Admittedly, I did also mention that I never wanted to marry either. Ivan had once responded, “All in good time.” I thought he was messing around, but alas, no.

If Ivan wanted more children born within the Bratva, then he was going to get it. I already knew the other Brigadiers were in fact fathers. I was the only one who hadn’t yet had a child. This is not something I wanted. I didn’t want any children. I was starting to sound like a broken record.

“Someday I would like to be,” Freya said. Her voice was so small.