Chapter 21

Ilie awake with Ania in my arms, listening to her soft breathing. She feels so tiny and delicate in my arms. She feels like she needs so, so much protection. Weirdly, despite all the chaos, I feel far more peaceful than ever before. Maybe it's the in-and-out of her breaths, like waves lapping on a shore.

However, the savage in me refuses to rest. My groin aches, and passion flares through me. I've been hard ever since I climbed into bed next to her. I'm flooded with passion, need, and emotion. It's a hell of a mix. She murmurs in her sleep, snuggling closer to me.

At least she's resting. That's what I have to remember. No matter how difficult this is for me—resisting the urge to claim her over and over—this is what's best for her. Plus, she hasn't been to the bathroom since eating that food! That's a win.

But my groin won't stop pulsing. The lust won't stop expanding. Fuck. I want her tight body so badly. She's a virgin. Nobody else has ever touched her. She belongs to me, just me—nobody else.

No, no, what am I thinking? Dammit.

I try to sleep, letting my eyes fall closed, but the darkness of my eyelids is like a projector playing a movie. I see Ania dancing around a studio flooded with light. I hear her laughing as she spins, her athletic, gorgeous legs cutting shapes across the studio.

She murmurs again, her hand sliding under my shirt, tickling my bare skin. Sudden heat flares into me. My dick pushes against my underwear, precome making me sticky.

"Ania," I whisper.

"Hmm," she moans, her hand moving over my stomach, then down.

"You're not awake."

"I am," she says in a sleepy voice.

"You're not," I say firmly, knowing she might not be so forward if she were really awake.

She slides her hand down toward my crotch. I shudder as she gets closer and closer, my manhood so hungry for her touch, my desire making me somehow thicker, somehow harder. My heart pounds, anticipating what comes next.

It takes everything I have to grab her wrist before she can slip under my beltline.

"Hmm," she moans insistently. "Let me."

"I want to … so badly, but not like this."

"Like what?"

She starts shifting her body against mine, and her graceful movements make the hunger even more challenging to resist. I keep my hand on her wrist so she can't stray down to my manhood, but that doesn't stop me from noticing the way her breasts rub against me, her body moving one way then the other like she's trying to dance me into the lust.

"Remember my fetish?"

"No?"

"I like it when women pretend to be asleep."

She giggles in that intoxicating way of hers. "That's pretty creepy."

"Can you do it for me?"

"Okay … but only because you asked nicely."

Just like last time, she begins to snore. I wait until I feel her hand go limp, and then I gently push it away. Even now, if I don't, the temptation is there. So much precome leaks from my cock, wave after wave of it burning hotly out of me, making me want to roar with how wild she's making me.

There's no way I'm getting more than a few hours of sleep tonight, but at least I can be here for her.

After a while, she sits up and switches on the lamp. She looks down at me, her eyes wide. "Oh," she murmurs.

I can tell she's awake now, properly lucid. It's not one thing specifically, but her general demeanor.

"What?" I ask.

"I had a dream …"

I sit up, too. Her tone is like it was when she was sleepwalking, but she's not now, is she? There's no damn way.

"What sort of dream?" I growl, even though I'm pretty sure I know. I can read it in the redness of her cheeks, the way she purses her lips, the tension draping every part of her. The same tension burns in me.

"It doesn't matter."

Finally, I can't stop myself. There's only so much one man can take. Reaching over, I place my hand on her leg. She's wearing PJ shorts and that tempting-as-fuck tank top that shows her pert, tight nipples. She gasps as I lean forward.

"I know what you were dreaming about," I tell her. "You don't have to be shy."

"Me … shy?" She tries for a laugh, but it turns into a moan when I stroke further up her leg, feeling the heat of her skin, savoring the way her moan grows more intense the higher I get.

"You're so hot," I tell her. "Not just sexy. Not just beautiful. You're burning up. Fuck, I bet your pussy's soaked, too."

She stares down at me wide-eyed as I smooth up her leg, then push my hand into her shorts from the bottom, reaching up and gently touching her. I can feel her through her underwear, and I was right. She's wet. She's hot. She's on fire.

"Oh my God," she whimpers. "This is … Is it supposed to feel this good?"

I smirk at the naiveness in her tone. It's the thing that should warn me away, but it just makes me want her even more. At this moment, hunger runs rampant throughout my body, the urgency turning me into a total savage.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

She chuckles but is cut short when I push her underwear aside and stroke up to her clit. The laugh becomes a moan like she can't get enough air. She shifts up and down, moving her hips in time with my hand, her moans driving me closer and closer to the feral edge. I keep rubbing, putting more pressure against her virgin clit when I hear her moans getting even more urgent.

She grabs my arm, digging her nails in, gasping when I press my palm against her clit and move my finger down to her core.

"Fuck, you're tight," I growl, pushing against her wetness, feeling her tightness open for me.

"Hmm …"

"That's my line."

She giggle-moans, then leans toward me for a kiss, almost nervously. I close the distance between us, sinking into the kiss as I push my finger inside of her, keeping pressure on her clit all the while. It's like her body moves on instinct, her hips following the music of our pleasure.

"Your pussy's going to get creamy for me," I growl. "Fucking soaked."

"Oh, oh," she whimpers. "I don't … I think … Is this …"

Then she can't talk anymore. The pleasure bursts out of her as her lithe body writhes against me, chasing the release. I rub her faster and faster, feeling addicted to my ballerina already. She kisses me again as the orgasm entirely claims her, and then she falls back, gasping, drawing in big breaths like she just emerged from underwater.

"I'm sorry," she says when I slip my hand away.

"Sorry?"

"I don't think I can … for you. I wouldn't even know what to do!"

I can show you, I almost say, but I can't push her. The hunger in me tries to make me do it, tries to make me tell her to get on her knees, open her perfect mouth, get ready to take the bulging end of my cock. Then it's like she can read the look in my eyes and panics.

"It's fine," I growl, consciously trying to change my tone. "Really."

"Maybe this never happened. Maybe I was sleepwalking anyway."

"No, it happened. We're not pretending it didn't, but I'll never pressure you, Ania."

Even if some part of me wants to, I could use psychological techniques to convince her to give herself to me. But I'd die before I did that. It doesn't make much sense, considering how long we've known each other, but I already feel more protective over her than I ever could've believed before I held her in my arms, before we kissed, before I heard her pleasure-filled moans.

"Go back to sleep," I say.

"Are you sure?"

"You don't owe me a damn thing. Hearing your perfect moans as you gave yourself to the release was enough for me."

For now, I think, but don't say.

The following day, I leave before Ania is awake. I have work to do, and being close to her will only make it more difficult to hold back. In another life, I'd happily stay in bed with her all day. As I take a shower, I close off my mind to the memory of her twitching and moaning; at least, I try to. I fail. Fail hard.

I end up pumping my hand up and down my slick cock just like last time, exploding my release all over the shower wall.

Dad is waiting for me on the balcony, where he likes to spend most of his mornings.

"Heading to your meeting with the Bratva?"

I nod. "The Sokolovs and I, working side by side. Who would've guessed it?"

"How's Anna doing?" he asks.

"She's handling it better than many women her age would. She's a strong person. Far stronger than she realizes."

"That's because she has you to support her."

"Hmm."

"What?" he retorts.

"You and Molly … It's like you're trying to set me up with my stepsister."

"Stepsister?" Dad says, shaking his head. "Maybe in name, but not really. I've just never seen you like this before."

"Like what? What are we even talking about?"

"You're cold, Aiden. You can turn on the charm when you need to. You're an effective operator, but you're cold. Except, lately, you don't seem that way."

"I'm going to be late," I tell him, turning away.

It's like they've both gone insane. I don't know what they expect me to say or think when they make hints like that. I must seem different somehow in a way I'm not aware of. Both Molly and Dad have been dropping hints for a while that they'd like me to find somebody and settle down, but my stepsister?

I leave the apartment, trailed by two cars filled with security as I drive across the city. Yesterday, while Ania was sleeping off the shock, the Sokolovs and I arranged a meeting with Roman Kozlov. The man seemed motivated by money, so it'll be interesting to see how he reacts when he realizes the only thing I'm willing to give him is a mouthful of broken teeth for what he did.

I park outside the mall, nodding to the security guys as they pan out and surround the area. There will be more men inside, too, ready if the Kozlovs try anything foolish. Even the most hardened criminals know better than to try anything in high-risk areas like this. The Feds would be all over it.

The Sokolov brothers are waiting for me in the corner of the food court. Men after my own heart, at least how they scan the surroundings, both of them with their backs to the wall. It feels odd walking over to them, knowing what I did last night, the taste of their sister's mouth still on mine, the feel of her clit against my hand, the sound of her release playing over and over in my head.

"Gentleman," I say, putting my back to the wall, too. It must make for a strange sight, but habits are difficult to break.

"Aiden," Dimitri says, nodding.

"Sup," Mikhail says.

"He's keeping us waiting, then."

"Some two-bit wannabe thug," Mikhail growls.

"Not wannabe. That car bomb could've done some serious damage."

I nod at the elder Sokolov's words. "He's damn lucky Ania wasn't hurt."

I know it's a mistake as soon as the words are out of my mouth. Both Sokolovs study me with clear suspicion, their eyebrows raised as if they're wondering what the hell business that is of mine.

Dimitri gestures to the seat opposite. "Looks weird, you standing there like that."

"Hmm."

"What?" Mikhail says, and then it's like his programmer's brain kicks into action. "Ah, I get it."

He stands, moving to the seat opposite him, freeing up the one with the back to the wall. I walk around the table and sit down.

"Military man," Mikhail says. It's not a question, so I don't offer an answer.

"What are the cops saying?" Dimitri says. "We haven't got as many connections here as you."

"Suspected terrorist attack. That's the story, anyway."

"Let's hope they stick with it. The last thing we need is this Bratva shit going public."

"I don't want to be involved in any of it," I say sourly.

"A good law-abiding citizen, are you?" Mikhail says sarcastically.

"I take it you've done some digging if I'm reading your tone right."

"You've dished out your fair share of off-the-books justice," Mikhail says, "if the word on the street is to be believed."

"It is."

"So how the fuck are you better than us?"

"I don't deal drugs. I don't sell people."

"And we do?" Mikhail says in disgust, shaking his head.

"Easy," Dimitri mutters. "This is pointless posturing. If you want to fight, fight. Otherwise, let's order some goddamn coffee."

As we drink our coffees, Dimitri asks, "How is she?"

"Physically, she's doing well," I tell him, "but she's scared. She's young. She's naive. She's too damn innocent for this world."

The brothers look at me just like Dad did, knowing glints in their eyes.

"Are you married?" Mikhail asks.

"No."

"Girlfriend?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

I shake my head.

"It seems to me," Mikhail says, "you've got the hots for this young, naive, vulnerable girl—our sister, your stepsister."

I don't let any emotion show on my face, and I do my best not to let it register in my body language, but it's not easy. The way they're phrasing it makes me sound like some sicko.

"She's lived a very sheltered life," Mikhail goes on. "She doesn't know what she wants."

"Hmm."

"Hmm, hmm." Mikhail scowls, taking a sip of his coffee.

A few minutes later, two men walk into the food court. One of them is lean and short and is wearing a leather jacket. The other, walking slightly behind, is clearly the muscle, a man even taller than the three of us, and that's saying a lot. The man in the leather jacket stops at the table with a calculating expression.

"Sorry for my tardiness," he says with a snakelike smile.

"Should probably be more sorry about the bomb, buddy," Mikhail says.

"Do I need to introduce myself?" Roman Kozlov says.

"No. We know all about you," Dimitri says, standing and offering his hand. "Let's have a nice, civilized discussion about why you're making the worst decision of your life going against us."

Roman shakes his head with a little extra oomph, then sits down. The muscle lingers nearby.

"Let's start by stating the obvious," Dimitri says, as his younger brother leans close to Roman, staring at him as his hair flops to the side, looking like he's ready to strangle him at a moment's notice. "You're very lucky nobody was hurt by your little stunt."

"I'm the lucky one?" Roman snaps. "You beat and bloodied three of my most loyal men."

"After they burned down a lodge that, for all they knew, had my sister inside."

"They were your orders."

"No, you fuck," Mikhail snarls. "We told you to get her to safety."

"The mistake was ours," Dimitri says. "I had what I thought was reliable intel that the Kozlovs were trustworthy. I was wrong, but as I said, you were lucky. Now, we need to decide how we're going to handle your grave mistake."

"Handle … me?" Roman sneers. "This is my city. This is my turf. This is my world."

The muscle nods, staring like we're all supposed to be impressed. My hand twitches under the table as I think of all the things I'd like to do to this man for daring to put Ania's life at risk.

"We've come to a reasonable decision," Dimitri continues, ignoring his outburst. "You're going to cease the distribution of all hard drugs. We'll let you keep dealing weed."

"You realize how insane you sound, don't you, Sokolov?"

"I know. You'll be losing a large chunk of your income."

"Better than a large chunk of your skull," Mikhail growls.

I smirk. I can't help it. That's one hell of a line. They're doing the whole good cop, bad cop thing very well.

"Got something to say, Daddy's boy?" Roman snaps at me.

I smirk. "My father is a successful man. It's true, but don't let that give you the wrong impression."

"Oh? What impression should I have, then?"

"If you had a brain, you'd think I should listen to these Sokolov brothers. Otherwise, they might give me to their friend."

"Ooh, scary," he says, but I can read people, and he can't hide the genuine flicker of fear moving across his rat-like features.

"Ania has been through enough," I go on. "She doesn't deserve any of this. She deserves to spend time with her mother, baby brother, and …" Me—her man. What the fuck? I can't say that. "You should agree to the Sokolovs' terms. It's a fair price."

"And if I say no?"

"Then this ‘Daddy's boy' will have to show you who the city really belongs to."

"Pfft. You can't scare me. You have too many rules."

"My father has rules," I tell him. "Even the Bratva has rules. But when you've seen the most evil things humanity has to offer, you tend to have a more relaxed attitude toward them."

"Are we all forgetting why you hired me?" Roman snaps. "This man took your sister."

"And you put her life in danger … twice." Mikhail leans even closer, forcing Roman to lean away from him so they don't make physical contact. "My brother's terms are fair. We'll give you two days to consider them carefully. If not …"

Roman stands, opening and closing his hand, visible rage pumping through him. This isn't how he imagined this meeting was going to go. He strikes me as a man who's hopped up with what little power he's been able to scrounge together.

"I don't like being threatened."

"That is irrelevant to us," Dimitri says.

Roman grits his teeth, then says, "What do you think would happen if I got my hands on that oh-so-slender sister of yours?"

I snap. I lose control.

It's like I blackout. Suddenly, I leap over the table, and I have my hand on his throat. I lift him clear off his feet with one hand, digging my fingers into his neck, feeling the tendons and the blood pumping, feeling how fragile he is. The muscle tries to get involved, but then Mikhail is on him, an arm around his neck, holding him in place.

He kicks his legs like the weak little shit he is. Suddenly, there are men all over the food court—his men, Sokolov's men, and my men—but I see nothing else except the redness in this bastard's cheeks and the fear in his eyes.

"What were you saying?" I growl. "Go on. Keep going. Tell us what you're going to do to Ania. Tell us."

"I-I …" He begins to choke and sputter, clearly about to run out of what little air he has left. "I …"

I drop him, staring as he crumples in a heap on the floor. Violent intent surges up in me. I'm usually measured, but all I want to do now is tear his limbs from his body and rip him into tiny little pieces to show him how powerless he is. What right does he have to threaten Ania?

"She's been through enough," I snarl. "Threaten her again, or even fucking hint at it. I don't care if my father's business goes into the gutter. I don't care if the entire city sees it. I don't care if the city burns. Threaten her again, and I'll feed you your teeth. Do you understand?"

He tries to retain some of his tough-guy persona even on the floor, smirking up at me. When I lean down a bit, that all fades away. His voice quivers. "Okay, okay."

"Now get the fuck out of my sight," I snarl.

Mikhail lets the muscle go, and the two weasels skulk away.

"He won't forget that," Dimitri mutters.

"Fuck him," Mikhail says, looking at me. "He stood up for Ania. That's all that matters."