“Where are you going?” he asked on a sigh.
I sneered, “Anywhere away from you.”
He caught the back of my sweater and held me still as he moved to stand in front of me. Looking maddened and confused, he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He tried again and again until finally he crossed his arms over his chest and said, “This can’t happen, Nastasia.”
If he had taken a baseball bat to my temple, it would have hurt less.
It took me a while, but I replied, “I know.”
My response had him straightening, his arms falling to his sides, and his breathing steadied. “Good. Okay. Good.”
What? Did he expect a fight?
Well, he wouldn’t get one. I was done. Officially done.
Our eyes locked, and we held each other’s gaze a long time before Vik swallowed and blew out a short breath. “C’mon.”
And that was that. Whatever fantasy I had about Viktor Nikulin would remain just that.
Fictional.
He walked me back to the car and opened the door for me, but just before I moved to step in, he threw the door shut with a slam. Perplexed, I spun to face him. The moment I did, he crowded me, stepping forward and using his body to hold me captive, caging me between two strong arms by either side of my head.
My pulse increased as Vik’s eyes pleaded with mine. He shook his head. “This can’t happen.”
I swallowed hard and nodded in agreement.
His breathing turned heavy. “It can’t happen.”
What was going on here? The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
My lips pulsed as his hooded gaze landed on them.
I didn’t know much, but I knew—in that moment—that Vik was utterly at war with himself. And I could’ve sworn he wanted to kiss me.
“Vik,” I breathed out, my lips parting slightly.
“It can’t, baby.” Those whispered words said one thing, but as he dipped his face and hesitated a hairsbreadth away from my mouth, his actions said another.
We stayed that way for a while, the intensity of his gaze and the feeling of his warm, minty breath on my lips more than I could take. He wasn’t going to make the first move.
Call it a moment’s madness; call it sheer stupidity. Either way, my shaking hands rested on Vik’s stomach, and I slowly slid them up his torso until they rested on his shoulders. He watched me intently, and when he licked his bottom lip, I couldn’t wait any longer. I had already waited a lifetime.
Perhaps he would regret what was about to happen. Right now, I was so caught up in him that I didn’t have the room in me to care.
And so, I stood on my tiptoes, my eyes on his, and ever so gently, I tilted my head to place a single hot kiss to Viktor Nikulin’s full mouth.
A week ago, I kissed him hard and fast. I caught him by surprise. It was a sneak attack, impulsive and childish, in the hallway by my room.
It was dangerous. A mistake.
Now, the moment our lips met, it was warm and inviting. This kiss felt like a promise, and I knew—I just knew—I would never feel this way about another man so long as I lived.
I pulled back long enough to witness his composure break. One arm slid around me while the other rose up my back until his warm, large hand cradled my nape, holding me close while he ate at my lips as though he’d been poisoned and I was his only hope of survival, my lips the antidote.
We kissed and nipped at each other’s mouths, and when our tongues finally touched, I died a silent death.
We should not have been doing this, and knowing that made me all the more desperate to have it.
Who knows how long passed? Minutes? Hours? It felt like an eternity. But when we finally pulled away from one another, lips swollen, panting quietly into the night, I was sure we were both thinking an identical thought.
Oh Lord.
We’re in trouble.
1
Nastasia
I was going to fuck a bitch up and have fun doing it.
The bitch in question?
Viktor Nikulin.
My ex-boyfriend. My ex-best friend. My ex-everything.
But, why, Nastasia? He seems like a decent guy. A caring friend. A god in the sack. Someone you can tell your innermost secrets to. And, Lord above, that smile. Why must you fuck him up?
Because breaking up was never easy, and although I did my best to remain civil for the sake of our friends and closely connected families, Vik was being difficult.
Look, I’ll admit I cried for a while.
Okay. I cried for a long freaking while. I mourned and grieved and lamented and all that shit. But then I woke up one day and chose to be a mature and accepting person.
On that very same day, Vik woke up and chose violence.
It took months of unease until I finally snapped, but when it happened, everything I’d been feeling came out of my mouth like buckshot out of a shotgun.
It had been a hundred and three days since our official breakup, not that I was counting. And for a while, it was awkward. That awkwardness turned to anger. And because there was clearly something wrong with me, seeing Vik angry did something odd. The kind of thing that made you bite your lip and squeeze your legs together tightly.
Now, when we fought, it got intense. Vik knew this. He played on it. And, dear Lord, sometimes I played right back.
My eldest brother, Sasha, decided to host a business meeting under the guise of dinner at his house—if you could call the three-story monstrosity a house—to talk about upcoming events and new ideas for the club. Attendance was not optional. When Sasha requested you, you came. That was just how things were.
Was it all a little kingpin of him?
Yeah.
Did he secretly love to wield that kind of power?
Have you met the guy? Of course, he did.
Business was booming. Bleeding Hearts—once a sleazy strip club, now a classy burlesque joint—had one hell of a transformation in the past year. And although it was Sasha’s baby, we were involved in one way or another. After all, we all worked there, and like a well-oiled machine, each of us were a cog in the engine, making it run.
To see the business fail was not an option. Our family prided itself on going legit. And unless we wanted to take a step back into a seedy underworld where people did nothing more than sell weapons, violence, drugs, and women, we had no backup.
It had to work.
My front door opened, then shut. “Oh my God,” I heard a feminine voice mutter, and when fast footsteps came rushing up the steps, my brow furrowed. Even more so when she panted out, “It’s okay. It’s fine. We’re okay.”
The hell?
Stepping back from the vanity in my bathroom, I heard the footsteps get closer and closer, and when she stepped into view, wide-eyed and looking terrified, I moved toward my sister-in-law, Mina, with a feeling of deep panic sitting heavy in my gut.
Shit. Something was wrong.
I didn’t even notice the white bag she was holding until she freaking threw it at me. I caught it clumsily, making the contents jostle, and when I all but blustered, “What’s wrong?” she stood there, chewing on her thumbnail, murmuring under her breath.
Her long brown hair was tied in a low ponytail, and I looked over her yoga pants, black tee, wearing one sock, and slides. She looked a mess.
Then, suddenly, she regained focus and said, “Out.” When her brown doe eyes landed on mine, she put her hands to my arms and gently pushed me backward until I was just outside the open door. “Out!”