Wicked Savage: Chapter 45

After wrapping up the business call with my brothers, I slide into the car, the weight of the day pressing down on me.

Without thinking, I dial a number I never thought I’d call again. The line rings for a few seconds before he answers.

“Cillian. What can I do for you, brother?”

I grind my teeth. Keeping my tone even is difficult, but necessary. “Can you teach me Russian?”

There’s a long pause before Konstantin bursts into laughter. “I never thought I’d hear you ask me that.”

“Can you or not?”

“Of course. But why?”

“Because I’m trying…with her, and I thought…” I trail off, not quite ready to admit how desperate I am.

A knowing chuckle follows. “Ah, you thought that if you speak her language, say something nice, something that makes you seem sincere, she’ll believe you, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I’m nothing if not a romantic at heart.”

Right. The man who prefers to feed body parts to his pigs is definitely a romantic.

“I will teach you everything you need to know,” he continues.

“I found some stuff online. Thought you could help me figure out if the translation’s right.”

“No, no. Don’t waste your time with that nonsense. I’ll teach you proper Russian.”

“Alright,” I mutter, feeling like I just inhaled glass. “Thanks.”

Fuck, that was hard to say. But I’m willing to do anything, even swallow my pride.

“Anything you think I could do to win her over?”

“Did Dinara ever tell you about her mother?”

“A little.”

“She was a good woman. Kind, gentle, loved her kids. She used to make this cake Dinara adores. If you bake it for her, you’ll have her heart. I’ll send you the recipe.”

Baking isn’t exactly my forte, but I’ll try anything. “Alright.”

“I’ve sent it to you. You know, I always said we’d be friends one day.”

“Yeah, don’t push it, Marinov.”

He chuckles as I glance at my phone, relieved to find a text with a recipe attached—thankfully in English.

“After you share a meal and some cake, look into her eyes and say this: ‘Moy teli mir v tvoikh glazakh.’” The words roll off his tongue smoothly, making them sound more poetic than I ever could.

“What’s that mean?”

“My whole world is in your eyes.”

Damn, that’s good.

“Thanks for the tip. Hopefully it works.”

“Listen,” he continues. “I’ve always known you two would end up together, even when I wanted to kill you after she got into that accident.”

Cold dread hits me. “What accident?”

He pauses. “You didn’t know?”

“No. What fucking accident?” Rage fills my veins.

“The day after you left. She was driving to Natalia’s, crying on the phone, and it was raining. A car hit her. Came out of nowhere. To this day, I can’t find the bastard who did it. It’s my biggest regret. But thankfully, we didn’t lose her.”

The words land like a heavy blow to my chest.

A fucking accident?

My hands tighten on the steering wheel, my pulse pounding in my ears.

I caused this. It’s my fault.

The realization slams into me like a bulldozer. If I hadn’t broken her heart, if I hadn’t pushed her away…

“It was a long time ago.” Konstantin cuts through my thoughts. “Don’t beat yourself up about it now.”

But I can’t stop it. My mind reels with the weight of what he just told me.

“I’ve gotta go.”

Ending the call abruptly, I drop the phone into the cup holder as I pull out of the parking lot, my pulse speeding just like I am.

I need to see her, to hold her, to apologize for everything over and over until I’m the one who forgives myself.

As I pull up to the house, I glance at the security monitors through my cell, finding Dinara out by the pool, reading a book, and it makes me wish I was right there beside her.

Then she shifts slightly, and her eyes flicker toward the left, where some of my men are stationed. There’s a subtle change in her demeanor: her shoulders tense, her features tightening.

Why would the presence of guards make her nervous? She’s been around this life long enough.

But then I see it. One of my guys…he’s looking at her, and it’s not the usual respectful glance. No, this is different. It’s predatory. The kind of look that says he’s thinking about taking what doesn’t belong to him.

A cold fire ignites in my veins.

I don’t know if he’s stupid or just suicidal, but whatever it is, he’s about to learn a lesson he won’t soon forget.

No one touches what’s mine and lives to tell about it.

The sun warms my skin as I lounge in the chair. Amara and Elara are gone, leaving me to pretend I’m lost in the pages of my book. But I’m not reading. Not really. Instead, my attention drifts, side-eyeing the bastard stationed by the pool.

Conall. That’s what I found out his name is. He’s been staring at me again, like he’s imagining things he has no right to.

I grip my book tighter, shifting slightly to make it clear I do notice. It doesn’t deter him.

Maybe I should tell Cillian.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, the heavy doors to the estate swing open with a bang, and I nearly jump. Glancing behind me, I find my husband storming into the yard like a predator who’s already locked on to his prey. And the second I see him as he looks at me—his sharp jaw clenched, his dark eyes burning with rage—I know.

He already knows.

But how?

I don’t get a chance to react before he crosses the distance in a few long, furious strides. Conall barely has time to register what’s happening before Cillian’s fist grabs his shirt and yanks him forward.

“You thought you could look at my wife and I wouldn’t find out?”

Conall stumbles, his hands rising in a feeble attempt at defense. “Boss⁠—”

“Now you’re gonna find out what happens when you forget who the fuck you work for.” Cillian drags Conall right past the pool and slams him back against the stone pillar, his grip unrelenting.

The other guards don’t move or speak. They know better. They know Conall just signed his own death warrant.

“Tell me,” Cillian continues, his voice deceptively calm. “What exactly were you thinking while you stood there staring at my wife?”

Conall swallows hard, his gaze flicking to me for a split second.

Wrong move.

Cillian snaps. His fist collides with Conall’s stomach so fast I barely see it. Conall chokes on a gasp, doubling over, but Cillian isn’t done. He shoves him back again, his knuckles white from the force of his grip.

“You like looking at things that don’t belong to you? Or were you stupid enough to think you could actually touch her?”

“N-n-no, boss, I swear⁠—”

Another punch to his kidneys comes harder, and I gasp.

Cillian’s grip tightens. “You weren’t what?” he growls. “Gonna do something? Gonna try something?”

Conall shakes his head frantically, but it doesn’t matter. Cillian’s fist flies, and the sickening crunch of bone against flesh sends a shiver through me. Conall’s head snaps to the side, blood already trickling from his nose as he stumbles, gasping, but Cillian doesn’t let go. He grabs him by his shirt and drags him by the edge of the pool, and my eyes grow.

“Get on your knees!” He shoves him on the ground. “Get on your fucking knees and apologize to my wife for making her uncomfortable. Then you beg for my forgiveness for disrespecting me.”

Conall rises on his knees, clasping his hands together, choking on a cry as he stares at me. “Please, Mrs. Quinn.” He peers at me from his right. “I’m sorry. I was an idiot. I promise I’ll never, ever look at you again.”

“That’s right; you won’t.” Cillian kicks him in the jaw, and a tooth flies out.

“Please, sir. I’m sorry. I-I messed up. I’ll never do that again.”

“Of course you won’t.”

What is he gonna do?

The hairs on my arms stand up.

“Now you’re gonna find out what happens when you fuck with my wife.”

In one swift, brutal motion, he drags him into the pool and shoves his face into the water, holding it there. Conall struggles, but Cillian is stronger. Faster. Angrier.

“P-p-please!” Conall chokes out when he pulls his head back. “I swear I⁠—”

Cillian doesn’t let him finish. He thrusts his face into the water again.

A violent splash echoes as Conall’s body jerks, his arms flailing. Cillian holds him down without a word, his eyes on mine, his grip unyielding, unmoved by the frantic thrashing beneath him.

“Stop!” I get to my feet, rushing toward him.

But his eyes are distant, clouded with too much anger to calm down.

“You don’t have to do this.”

His mouth twitches. Not in a smile, but something colder. Darker. And it excites me.

“Let me make something clear, Dinara.” His tone is low, but it cuts through the air like a blade. “You’re my wife.” He says it with unwavering certainty, a vow carved in stone. “And I will protect you with my life.” His grip tightens, his expression hardening. “Anyone who hurts you will meet the same fate.”

A shiver runs through me—not from fear, but from the undeniable sense of security he gives me. With him, I know I’m safe.

Bubbles continue to rise to the surface. Then fewer. Then none.

After a long moment, Cillian finally lets go, watching as Conall’s lifeless form sinks, disappearing beneath the rippling surface.

He steps out, water cascading down his body, eyes fixed on the dead man as if he’s just taken out the trash. Then, without hesitation, he stalks closer, gripping the back of my neck with a firm, possessive hold. His body presses into me, heat radiating between us, his hardness unmistakable.

“You’re mine, Dinara Quinn.” His voice is dark, absolute.

A vow. A declaration.

My breaths hitch as he backs me up against the stone pillar and pins me, the raw intensity between us igniting something primal.

“Yours,” I whisper, the admission trembling past my lips.

The truth. The only truth that’s ever existed.

A guttural growl rumbles from his chest before his mouth crashes onto mine, devouring, consuming, stealing the very air from my lungs. His hands are ruthless, pushing up my sundress and yanking my panties down in one swift motion. Then he spins me around, bending me over as heat floods my veins.

He shoves his pants down, and with one brutal thrust, he’s inside me. A ragged moan tears from my lips as he fills me, stretching me, his hips driving into me with an unrelenting force that steals every thought from my mind.

I take it all—every punishing stroke, every ounce of his need—my body responding with desperate, reckless hunger. My heart clenches, aching for what we once had, what we could have again.

When my release crashes through me, it’s explosive, shattering me from the inside out, but he doesn’t stop. He thrusts deeper, harder, until my knees threaten to give out.

Only then do I realize the guards are gone. Not that it would have stopped me. Nothing would have.

With a final, feral growl, he spills inside me, his grip tightening as his body trembles against me. His hips slam into me like he wants to break me, consume me, ruin me completely.

As we both come down, his lips brush over my shoulder, his breath ragged against my skin. And for the first time in a long time, I feel whole.

Then his voice cuts through the haze. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you got into a car accident all those years ago?”

My eyes widen. Konstantin must have told him.

I shrug, peering over at him. “It was so long ago.”

His nostrils flare as he eases out of me, pulling my panties back into place before adjusting his own clothes. But the tension in his body doesn’t ease.

“Do you understand how much you mean to me, baby?” His words simmer with emotion. “The thought of something happening to you, knowing it was my fault…” He drags a hand down his face, his jaw tight.

“Hey…” I reach for him, tugging his arm down.

He lets me, his eyes filled with turmoil.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”

Pain flickers across his features before he clasps my face in both hands, his thumbs brushing along my cheeks. Then, silently, he leans in and kisses me. Deeply. Passionately.

And for the first time in forever, I want to believe that maybe, just maybe, we can have it all.