Chapter 23: Chapter 23

My ass hurts.

A lot.

After Drazen’s promise that I’d “regret” threatening to blow up his plans with Yelizaveta, I expected the worst. I spent the rest of the day waiting for him to jump out of the shadows to brutalize me, to punish me somehow.

But it never happened. Nor did it the next day, or the day after that. It’s been six days now since Yelizaveta’s visit: five nights of slipping under the covers, wondering if this would be the night I’ll wake up to a black devil mask and a tattooed hand around my throat seeking retribution.

That retribution never came.

Until earlier this afternoon.

I was in my dressing room, slipping into a genuinely stunning Yves St. Laurent cream-colored gown—form fitting and strappy, with a slit up one thigh, a plunging back, and almost equally plunging front—when Drazen wordlessly entered.

“It’s time.”

That’s all he said. That’s all he had to say for me to know.

Ten seconds later, he was pulling me into my bedroom, bending me unceremoniously over the foot of my bed, and yanking the gown up over my ass. Four seconds after that, my panties were firmly stuffed into my mouth and his palm was coming down hard on the bare skin of my ass.

That was just the beginning.

An hour and a half later, my ass was downright bruised. My pussy was sore beyond belief from him fucking the absolute shit out of me three times, my nipples were on fire, my makeup was completely smudged, and I honestly wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to sit down again.

Several hours later, I’m still not sure. Comfortably, that is. I did just spend a few hours sitting on his plane flying to Moscow: albeit with a goddamn icepack under my ass.

I redid my makeup and hair on the plane, and made sure the dress looked perfect. I’m even sort of getting used to the contacts I’ve slipped in tonight, even though I really hate them. Even so, as we step out of the car in front of the lavish Hotel Bhakut in central Moscow, where the gala is being held, I feel a shiver of…something.

Shit. It’s nerves. And I never get nervous. Not for trials, even against really tough opposing counsel, and certainly not for shit like galas and fundraisers. That said, I’ve never done this before: never had to face an entire firing squad of truly powerful Bratva heads—some of whom know more about my past than I do—and smile through it.

For the first time, I’m truly facing the world as Annika Brancovich. And it’s terrifying.

I shiver as Drazen’s hand goes to the small of my back. I glance at him, but he’s smiling cordially and waving graciously at various people outside the hotel that he seems to know. He keeps his hand on the small of my back as we walk up the red-carpeted steps to the hotel entrance. There, we pause.

My pulse skips as he leans close, his lips by my ear.

“Remember,” he murmurs. “This is⁠—”

“Important,” I mutter back. “Yes, I’m aware. Thanks so much for the pep talk.”

Drazen pulls back. His eyes stab into mine.

“It wasn’t a pep talk.”

“I’ll be fine, okay⁠—”

“Because you don’t need one.”

Wait, what?

“What I was going to say,” he murmurs. One hand slides to my hip. The other slides up my back, tangling a little in the back of my elaborately pinned-up hair. “Is that this is your moment.” His head cocks. “Try to enjoy it.”

One second, we’re standing there. The next, his mouth is descending to mine.

And the moment after that, my world shatters. Because for the first time, Drazen is kissing me.

The breath leaves my body. My heart stops. My skin lights on fire.

It’s not just a peck. It’s pure Drazen. His lips part, and my brain is still racing to catch up when his tongue pushes past my lips. His mouth sears to my mouth. His tongue duels with and conquers my tongue. He steals the very breath from my lungs and the thoughts from my head until all I know is the all-consuming, all-annihilating sensation of him devouring me.

It feels like it’s over almost before it starts. He pulls away, his eyes locking with mine for long, drawn out seconds. Then he’s turning, nodding to someone else he recognizes, and returning his hand to the small of my back as we walk inside.

Suddenly, I’m not so nervous anymore.

Weird…

It’s not hard to tell which of the Iron Table heads Drazen has his sights on. Not for me, anyway. I’m used to these sort of dynamics, these battles fought over cocktails or across boardroom tables with smiles on faces and knives hidden behind the backs.

He’s cordial enough to Yelizaveta Solovyova, who’s quite open about having met me already. He’s gruff but respectful to Kir Nikolayev, Pavel Nikitin, and Nikolai Antonov. But he’s all fucking smiles to Vadik Belov, even though it’s obvious the man is a hemorrhoidal asshole.

“So the prodigal wife returns,” Vadik sneers when we’re introduced. His eyes are firmly on my cleavage even though he’s got his arm around the lithe waist of some poor blonde girl who looks like she could be his daughter, if not granddaughter.

“Mne priyatno poznakomit’sya,” I say with a polite smile anyway.

It’s my pleasure to meet you.

No, I haven’t magically learned Russian. Just enough phrases to try and make a good impression. I mean, if I don’t, Drazen doesn’t get onto the Iron Table, and I don’t get my payout.

Vadik eyes me, sneering.

“Please, no more, Mrs. Krylov,” he chuckles roughly. “Your Russian is shit.”

“Well, at least her manners are better than yours, my friend.” Kir Nikolayev, a tall, handsome man with dark hair and eyes, directs a thin smile to the older Vadik. He turns to take my hand, shaking it politely. “A pleasure to meet you, Annika.” He beams. “Again.”

“Kir was at our wedding,” Drazen murmurs quietly into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. It’s not lost on me how aggressively and quickly he pulls my hand away from the other man’s.

“I’m so sorry to learn of your memory troubles,” Kir says, genuine concern in his tone. “That must be difficult.”

“Clearly,” Vadik chuckles. “Given that she slipped right back into the same bed she ran from before, when there’s plenty of room in mine.”

I jolt as Drazen’s huge hand at my back tightens almost to the point of bruising. I glance up nervously at him, half expecting him to smash Vadik’s face in. Instead, he just grimaces a hard, tight smile.

That’s when I know for sure that this is the man he’ll be destroying once he gets onto the Table.

Vadik roars with laughter at his own stupid joke. The girl at his side tries to laugh along, even though she looks mortified and scared even to be next to him.

“Some respect, Vadik,” Kir snarls quietly. “And perhaps some class while you’re at it.”

Vadik rolls his eyes, sloshing his tumbler of vodka around. “I kid, I kid. As long as she’s back in his bed, what does he care?” He snickers, elbowing Drazen. “Isn’t that right, Krylov?”

“Silver linings, Mr. Belov,” Drazen says tightly back, a smile etched roughly across his face.

“Well,” Vadik leers at me. “If you get tired of trying to remember where this one’s cock and balls are, you come find me, yeah?”

He says it as he slaps his date’s ass. The poor girl turns bright red, looking absolutely miserable as she smiles weakly.

“Oh, I can promise you, Mr. Belov,” I smile right into Vadik’s face. “My husband’s cock and balls would be impossible to miss.”

Vadik’s face sours.

“Hopefully your date has the same ease in discovery.”

His eyes turn confused, like he’s not quite sure if I’ve just insulted him or not. Kir, on the other hand, roars with laughter. The blonde at Vadik’s side bites her lip to stop herself from doing the same.

Drazen’s hand drops to my ass and squeezes, hard⁠—

Yep, still sore. Jesus.

…Still, don’t care, because the feel of his grip on me…does things to me.

Vadik mumbles something about getting another drink before he grabs his date by the wrist and roughly drags her away. Kir chuckles as he turns to Drazen and me. “You surprise me, Annika. This is not the quietly submissive little girl I met at a wedding fifteen years ago.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I smile.

“Oh, quite the contrary, I can promise you,” he grins before turning his attention to Drazen. “And you, my friend, can stop hiding your feelings so poorly. It’s quite clear to anyone with half a brain that you despise the man.”

Drazen’s jaw ticks. “I’m sure Yelizaveta has made known my intentions to ask for a vote onto the Table.”

Kir nods. “Indeed. But surely you know it’s a majority vote that carries such a request, not a unanimous one. So fuck Vadik.”

Drazen smiles thinly. “I’ve been a numbers man since the war, Kir. Play the numbers, and you’ll play to win.”

Kir smiles, nodding. “Speaking of numbers…” He glances at me and clears his throat. “I was hoping to bend your ear, Drazen, about a business opportunity.”

Drazen’s eyes swivel to mine.

“I’ll go mingle,” I smile cordially. Yeah, I might hate these sort of functions. But fuck, I’m good at them.

“My apologies, Annika,” Kir smiles. “I merely need to borrow him for a moment.”

“I’ll be at the bar,” I smile as I turn toward Drazen. “Dear.”

I lean up to kiss his cheek, for Kir’s benefit, I guess. But at the last second, Drazen twists his head. My eyes fly open in shock when he kisses me. Then I’m melting as his hands slide over my hips, pulling me tight against his hard, muscled body.

“Don’t stray far,” he growls. “Dear.”

There’s still a shiver tingling down my spine and a throb between my thighs as I wander off.

Twenty minutes later, I’ve made the rounds. I’ve linked back up with Yelizaveta again and had a surprisingly good conversation with Pavel Nikitin and Nikolai Antonov on international maritime law, which I actually had a class on in law school. Turns out Pavel is a lawyer himself, though not practicing. And Nikolai attended Harvard for his undergrad.

Small world.

Eventually, I’m making my way past a quiet side hallway toward the secondary ballroom of the gala, enroute to the bar for a glass of champagne, when a hand suddenly slips out of the shadows.

I gasp as I’m yanked backward, and the breath leaves my body as I’m slammed against the wall behind me.

A hand grabs me by the throat, and my eyes widen as I stare up into a beautiful but fiercely savage man’s face.

“There seems to be a misunderstanding,” he growls in a slightly British-accented voice.

His features are a mix of—Japanese, perhaps?—and something vaguely Nordic. The dark hair and Asian eyes coupled with his towering height and squared, European jaw makes me think of a samurai mixed with a Viking.

My eyes drop to the wrist of the hand gripping my throat. The cuff of his tuxedo has slipped up, showing a flash of brilliant bright Yakuza ink.

“I—”

“You’ve been introducing yourself all evening as Annika Brancovich,” he snarls quietly. “But you and I both know that isn’t true.”

I swallow painfully, his grip still firm around my windpipe.

“I—yes, I⁠—”

“No,” he snaps coldly. “You’re not.”

My stomach knots as he looms over me.

“You don’t belong here, Ms. Crown.”

I stare at him. “I⁠—”

His hand abruptly drops from my throat. He steps a half foot back from me, as if he knows he shouldn’t be this close to me.

“I believe you employ my half-sister.”

My eyes go wide.

Holy shit.

This is Kenzo Mori?

I frown at him. “You’re Fumi’s brother?”

“We can’t talk here. But we do need to speak.”

“I don’t understand⁠—”

“Tell no one you saw me,” he growls, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little black flip phone. “Especially Fumi. Certainly not Drazen.”

I tense as he looms into me; for one second, it feels like this man might freaking kiss me. But then his mouth slips past mine to hover near my ear. I stiffen when I feel him slip the phone into my hand.

“Hide this,” he growls. “When you’re ready for answers, use it.”

“Answers to what?” I whisper as he pulls back and adjusts his tux.

“To all the things you can’t explain, Ms. Crown,” he growls. “The gaps in your memory. The things you do when you’re asleep.” His eyes lock with mine. “The question that I think deep down you’ve already figured out.”

I start to shake my head, but then I stop cold.

“I’m not her,” I whisper, almost to myself.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Taylor,” Kenzo murmurs as he starts to step away. “But there’s another you out there. And I would very much like to find her.”

Without another word, he turns and storms away into the crowd, leaving a wreckage of screaming, unanswered questions in his wake.