Chapter 2

Ithink I’ve broken her. As soon as the words came flying out of my mouth, Ana froze on the spot, a wheezing noise escaping her plump lips. I drink her in like a man dying of thirst. It’s been just over two months since I was last in her orbit and my memory didn’t do her justice. With her shoes halfway across the room, her little painted toes are on display. Her pencil skirt outlines her wide hips and lush thighs while her drapey blouse shows off her large tits and a hint of cleavage. My pulse picks up and I’m pretty certain it’s centered directly in my cock. My gaze drifts up to take in her wide moss green eyes framed with thick black eyelashes. What I wouldn’t give to see them looking up at me with my cock in her beautiful mouth. Speaking of her mouth, I watch as her pink tongue pushes through her plump lips and she wiggles it around, back and forth, side to side.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m checking to make sure I haven’t had a stroke.” She says, as if it’s obvious.

“What?! Shit, do you feel ok? Quick, have a seat, let me check.” I’m on her in two strides, my large hands on her lush hips, pushing her down onto the ugliest couch I’ve ever seen.

“Wait, get off me!” She slaps at my hands while I try to grab them.

“Dammit, I can’t tell if you’ve had a stroke if you keep hitting me!”

“I think I’m fine. My speech isn’t slurred or anything. What about you?” I stare down at her in confusion.

“What about me?”

“How are you feeling?” She grabs my face in her small hands and starts moving my head around.

“Any slurring? Facial weakness? How’s your mobility?” At this stage, we’re just grabbing and moving each other’s body parts around, and I’m not sure why. I take a step back and take a deep breath.

“Ok, what the fuck was that?”

“I thought one of us may have had a stroke.”

“And you thought that because…?” I don’t remember Ana being nuts, but I guess they were unprecedented times and all.

“Well, I’m pretty certain you asked me to marry you. So I figured either I had a stroke, or you did.”

“I did ask you to marry me.”

“Why would you do that?” She frowns up at me.

“To stop you from being forced out of the country. Think about it, we get married and you get a spousal visa. It doesn’t matter how long Roman is away, or what job you do, you’ll still be able to live here.”

I watch as she hops up off the couch and starts pacing again. I noticed she did this when we were at the MC. It was after we found out that both she and my sister, along with Roman’s ex wife and daughter, were all set to be kidnapped and auctioned. It’s a stress tell.

I follow her with my eyes as she stomps across the room from one side to the other. This has to be the ugliest room I’ve ever had the pleasure of being in. Roman’s house is as you’d expect from the Pakhan of the Bartashev Bratva. Huge, with a lot of marble and gold accents. But this room, his home office, this room looks like the furniture came from an Elton John yard sale.

I go back to watching Ana pace, drinking in the sight of her ass as it jiggles away from me before she turns and I get to enjoy the sight of her tits jiggling toward me. She stops directly in front of me, toe to toe, looks up at me, frowns, and then stomps off again. I can hear her muttering to herself and I’m not sure if it’s all in English or not.

“What ethnicity are you?” She spins to look at me.

“What?”

“I know you’re from New Zealand, but what ethnicity are you? You aren’t white, but you’re not black either. Do they have black people in New Zealand? Anyway, it’s just that I’m certain you don’t always speak English.” A flicker of uncertainty passes over her face before a small smile teases at her lips.

“I don’t know what I am. I got left at the hospital a day or so after I was born. I was born addicted to whatever my mother was on, so no one wanted to adopt me. I spent my time in different foster care homes. But my mum, or the woman I call Mum, is Maori, indigenous to Aotearoa, New Zealand. When she gets frustrated or mad or whatever, she rants in Maori. I must have picked up the habit.” She shrugs and smiles to herself as she goes back to pacing.

I realize with those words that there is actually very little I know about this woman. Does that make me want to take back my proposal? Fuck no.

When I walked into this ostentatiously ugly office today and I saw her, I knew I wanted her. By whatever means. Not just her body, though that is a fucking bonus. I love a woman with meat on her bones. I’m not a small man and I like to know that the woman I’m with can take a good, hard fuck. Aside from that, I like the way I feel around her. My chest feels warm and I feel lighter than I have in a while. I enjoy orbiting around her, and if I want a chance to really get to know this woman and all she offers, I need to convince her my idea will work.

“Look, I know I was an ass and didn’t get in touch. I didn’t ghost you-”

“- I dunno, I felt pretty haunted-”

I blow out a breath, eyes on the swirly patterned rug. “I’m sorry. Shit just got busy running damage control and making sure all known threats had been taken care of and then I realized I’d left it too long.”

She lets out a little sigh before looking up at me. “Gus, I get it. I had a phone too, you know. I could have contacted you. But you’re right, shit got busy, and we left it too long. So why this now? If marriage is the best way for me to stay, then I can find someone else. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself on my behalf.”

A pain shoots through my jaw due to how tightly I’ve clenched it thinking of Ana with someone else. No fucking way is that happening.

“Look, it makes sense. I like you, I’m sure you like me,” I watch as a beautiful blush stains her cheeks. “We know we have good chemistry -” fucking good chemistry, from what the few kisses we shared told me. “- I know your friends. You know my whole family. It will be easy to show immigration that we are the real deal.”

She’s chewing on her plump bottom lip and I really want to reach over and pull it from her teeth, but I keep charging ahead. “We stay married for two years, then after that, if you want a divorce, I’ll give you one. That should be long enough for you to have permanent residency.”

“And that’s it? That’s the plan?” She asks, and I can tell she’s not convinced.

“Look, I’ll give you 24 hours to think about it. In the meantime, let’s look at this security plan, yeah?” Her shoulders slump in relief and she walks behind the biggest desk in the world, her business persona wrapped around her once more, showing how in control she is. She’s fucking breathtaking and I really hope she’ll be mine.

“He WHAT!?” Roman screeches at me from my computer screen. His gorgeous big blonde husband cringing at the sheer volume. I’m tucked up in my PJs on the Elton John couch with a glass of wine, a box of chocolates, and my two best friends on the screen.

“She said he proposed to her Roman. But you may not have heard her over your obnoxiously loud popcorn chewing,” Sasha says drily.

Just over five years ago, I was backpacking around Texas and stopped at a gas station. A few men that can only be described as ‘fucking shifty’ came in and I got the hell outta there. Growing up in foster care, you get a sixth sense of when bad stuff is gonna go down. Hearing muffled yells coming from a car in the forecourt, I popped the trunk only to come face to face with a big, blonde hottie. Said big blonde hottie happened to be the husband of the head of the Russian mafia. Sasha took me home with him to keep me safe in case of any blowback from the failed kidnappers.

When he first introduced me to Roman, I thought he was the coldest, most calculating person I had ever met. But I realized quickly that it is the mafia mask he puts on. In reality, around his close friends and family, Roman is a teddy bear. And quite the screecher.

“Turns out when my employer decides to leave for over 2 months, immigration gets all funny about it.”

“We’ll come home straight away, won’t we, babe?” Sasha says, but I can tell by the look on Roman’s face he’s scheming.

“I don’t know Sash, I have a lot of work to do. I really am needed here.” Sasha gives his husband the most offensive side-eye I’ve ever seen.

“Think about it. Ana marrying August gives her permanent residency. I think you should do it. While you’re at it, make sure you do ALL your wifely duties.”

I feel my eyebrows hit my hairline and I choke on the Ferrero Rocher I’ve just popped into my mouth. I’m in a precarious sitch where I don’t know whether to spit or swallow, (heh, that’s what she said) so I decide to spit, chocolate goop going all over my front. My eyes are watering and I’m hacking like a cat with a fur ball. By the time I get myself under control by chugging half a glass of wine to wash down the rest of the death ball, both Roman and Sasha are staring at me in horror.

“On second thought, maybe leave the poor man alone.”

“I hate you sometimes.” I manage to wheeze out.

“No, you don’t, you love me.”

I sigh because I know it’s true. “Yeah, you’re right. I love you and miss you both.” I say to the two men on the screen. “Can I confess something?”

“Shoot,” Roman says around a mouthful of popcorn.

“I think I like him. And I think I might want to marry him.” I whisper out before I quickly cover my eyes with my hands, my legs coming up as I curl into myself. My mortification at my confession only abates when I hear sniggering. Peeking through my fingers, I look at the screen.

“Babe, the chemistry between you two was so hot that even Tuesday picked up on it, and that woman is oblivious to anything that isn’t murdery or Rhodie,” Sasha says.

“Look, Ana. As your best friend and your boss, marry the man. It solves your residency problem and means that you stay indefinitely. That paperwork we have to file for your working visa is a total ball ache.”

“What do you mean ‘we’? I fill that paperwork out! You just sign it, you lazy zasranets!” I flip him the bird and watch as he runs a finger beneath each eye as if wiping away tears.

“She’s calling me an asshole in my mother tongue. She truly loves me,” Roman sniffles out.

“Yeah, yeah.” I chew on my lip for a moment. “So, do you think I should do it?” Roman stares at me for a moment, his face softening

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I’ve seen the way he treats his genius sister. I’ve seen the way he treats his family. He’s a good man, Ana. He’ll treat you well and keep you safe when I cannot. Give him a chance.” He gives me a soft smile before it turns shark-like. This is the Roman the public sees.

“And if he hurts you, I’ll kill him.”

* * *

Lying in bed after three full hours of Googling everything I could possibly think of that would help my immigration case, it would seem smarty pants August Tombs is right. The best way to get out of this is to marry him. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? You fall in love with the man and he realizes you’re not worth it. Then he leaves just like everyone else you loved when you were a kid. That’s what. Ugh. Damn my childhood trauma and fear of abandonment, which, let’s be honest, is a totally valid fear to have if you were dumped as a baby.

Thinking back on my childhood, it wasn’t all bad. Yes, there were crappy foster homes. Too many kids. Super strict and sometimes abusive parents. But there were also happy homes too. When I was 8, they placed me in the home of Michael and Deborah Taylor, and it felt like all my Christmases had come at once. Almost too good to be true. Michael and Deborah, or Mick and Debs as they liked to be called, fought a long hard battle to gain my trust, but once they did, they became my first proper family. So much so that I started calling them Mum and Dad after a year.

We spent every weekend and holiday in the outdoors, camping and tramping. We’d take the caravan out on a road trip, never quite knowing where we would end up. Once we were wherever we wanted to stop, Mum would set up camp while Dad and I would tramp and fish and do outdoorsy stuff. Dad taught me everything I know about surviving in the bush. It was on one of our tramping trips that Dad told me about his dream of traveling to America. Somewhere along the way, Dad’s dream became my dream. We’d talk about the things we’d eat and what we’d do.

Life was the best I had ever had it. Until the day I was called to the school office and told I had to get home quickly. When I got there, Mum was a mess. Dad had had a heart attack at work and there was nothing they could do. The weeks that followed were awful, me and Mum were in a daze. Then Child Services arrived. Without Dad, they didn’t allow Mum to keep me as her foster daughter. Another family took me in, but I hated it so much that I ran away. For the next two years, until I aged out of the system, social workers would find me at Mick and Debs and drag me home. But it wasn’t my home.

Once I was old enough to leave the system, I went back to live at home with Mum, working my arse off in terrible jobs, trying to save enough money to travel to America and live all of Dad’s dreams. Never in my life would I have thought that would lead me to managing the Bratva in Roman’s absence. Mum always laughs about that little twist of fate. I wonder what she’d think of me marrying a man for a visa? Knowing Mum, she’d take one look at August Tombs and tell me to “let that man bang you like a screen door in the wind”. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. In fact, I’ve thought about it so much, I had to get a new B.O.B because I wore mine out.

Could I do this? Could I marry him and convince everyone we are a couple without getting hurt at the end of two years? Could I have August Tombs as my husband? Or should I go home to Mum? The thoughts bounce around before settling on an answer. Gus is coming by tomorrow at 11am, but I don’t need the extra time to think. Reaching for my bedside table, I feel around for the rubbery lilac case of my cell phone. Phone in hand, I pull up Gus’s contact. I type one word and hit send.

Yes.