Summer Storm (Broken Circles Book 1), page 2
“Should I suck him off, dear?”
“Do you think the poor sod cares if you suck him or fuck him?”
Laughing loudly, I took a step away from the table. “Then why don’t we play a different game this evening?” Unwrapping the tie from my dress, I let the fabric fall from my shoulders and wriggled from its confinement, the garment falling to the floor. “Stop,” I ordered, Neil immediately stilling his hand. When he blinked up at me, I kept my tone gentle as I spoke. “You’re dismissed.”
“Thank you, Mrs Ischmova.” Gracefully, he slinked off the edge of the table and left quietly with not so much as a glance in Yannick’s direction.
“Why must you bore me, Irina? Your antics don’t interest me anymore.”
“But once they used to?” Interesting.
Yannick rubbed at his ear. “When a woman sits in front of me with her finger all up in her, it’s quite an enthralling picture. What’s not, is the tease, and a cock tease is what you are. After fifteen years of that shit,” he pointed to the table mat where Neil’s head had been. “Yes, it’s boring, does nothing for me.”
“How many women have you fucked in all those years?” I asked, knowing the answer as well as he did.
“I’m not playing your games.”
“Answer me!” I snapped as I kicked off my heels and climbed up onto the table on all fours.
His venomous stare would have cowed others, not me, I was used to the derogatory manner in which he often regarded me. “None. Not a single one,” Yannick gritted out.
“Fifteen years,” I whispered, crawling the length of the table toward him. “Fifteen years without sticking your dick in a wet pussy. I imagine that’s been considerably difficult for someone as virulent as you once were.”
“I don’t need to fuck pussy to get my rocks off.”
“Do you know how many men I’ve let fuck me, Yan? How many men have come inside your wife, left their spoils while you climbed into bed beside me at night?”
“I’m aware of your indiscretions, don’t mistake me for a fool. I didn’t marry you for the sex.”
“No. You married for penance.”
“And I’ve paid my dues.”
We were close now, him in the chair, me on the table, barely inches apart. He was such a beautiful man to look at - dark, sinister tattoos, a face shadowed with danger - but a hard man to love. I didn’t love him in the conventional way a woman should love her husband, our situation had never afforded such luxury, yet there was a love of some kind, buried deep and seldom shown. A regret I would live with because it was too late now, and who knew, things might have been different had I played a better game, shown more remorse than I felt capable of, softened who I was.
I swung my body around, coming to sit on the edge of the table, legs dangling and my knees wide apart. “You’ve paid your dues,” I agreed. “Will you accept a gift, perhaps two, before you take your leave?”
“Are there conditions attached? I won’t accept if there are.”
“No conditions, darling.” I laced the sweet word with a condescension he was used to hearing.
“Then talk because I’m sure as fuck they’re not pretty little gift boxes tied with bows.”
“I want you to fuck me like you should have your Princess.”
Yannick surreptitiously scanned my body up and down, mild disgust twitching at the corner of his mouth. “The second?”
“I know where your whore, Kayleigh, is.”
He nodded, as if he’d been aware I would already have the information he sought. Always being one step ahead of Yannick Ischmov ensured I’d truly owned him for the years I’d had him. Or perhaps that had been wishful thinking, and I’d never really owned him at all.
“You don’t fuck the way I would.”
Yannick saw a clinical lover, if I could be called a lover at all. I laid my man out, then climbed on top to take my pleasure in a muted, understated way. Nothing adventurous, nothing emotional. Yannick was messy, and fierce, and so damn cruel - he took, and he took with an anger that wasn’t entirely misplaced, considering the limitations put upon him.
“You don’t relish the chance to inflict some pent-up aggression on me?”
“Yosef.” The name punched me in the gut, I hadn’t heard it in so long. Yannick was being brave. “You were his, I won’t ever touch you like he did, he’d never forgive me. I’m sorry, I must decline that particular gift.”
He stood up, moving into the space between my legs, his hands brushing over the skin of my thighs until his fingers dug into my hips and he yanked me forward. Rubbing his hard, jean clad cock against me, I threw my head back at the delicious rasp of the rough material. It was as close as I’d ever get.
Clutching a handful of my hair, Yannick jerked my head forward, his lips to my ear. “I’m hard from the boy on the table, not you, my darling.” Shifting, he tugged again until our noses touched, and I was just a breath away from his mouth. “Here’s my gift for you.”
A kiss.
A simple kiss on the lips, the first time my husband’s mouth had touched any part of me in fifteen years. Every piece of anger and disgruntlement I’d ever felt for him melted away as I chased his lips and silently begged for more.
“Get your chef in here and let me watch, that would be a far better gift.”
Bastard.
One up for Yannick Ischmov - a rare occasion - and in the grand scheme of things, not likely to be his last. The mood had changed. Yannick’s storm was coming, and I would be the eye.
Yannick Ischmov
Master manipulator. Game player. Hustler. Take your pick, or any other variant, my soon to be ex wife fit the bill. She’d mastered those styles with such perfection, it was hard to tell anymore who she really was at any given moment. The personas she chose to adopt when she saw fit were frighteningly realistic unless you knew who the woman was.
The comment I’d made about her latest toy was simply a means to rile her up. I wasn’t gay, nor was I bisexual, had never thought of another man in any kind of sexual or naked way. Irina didn’t need to know those details, she wasn’t getting the upper hand like she so often wished she did. The first person I fucked in fifteen long years would not be the poisonous bitch who was my wife in name only, no matter how much she grovelled. I’d rather stick pins in my cock and bear the pain.
“I want you, just once.” Whining, though pathetic, really didn’t suit her at all.
“No can do, Irina.” Couldn’t, wouldn’t.
Removing myself from the space where I stood, I walked the length of the room to retrieve the dress Irina had so theatrically discarded on the floor. Handing it over on my return, I stayed a foot away from her reach while she slipped it over her head, recognising she wouldn’t win tonight. Not once, in fifteen years, had she so blatantly intimated she wanted to have sex with me, her last-ditch attempt to coerce me into staying was a trap, we both knew it.
Irina was beautiful - alabaster skin, silky blonde hair, pert tits on her chest - a woman who was extremely attractive and often turned many a head. But she was a noxious creature, and Yosef’s. Or had been in another life, it didn’t matter he no longer walked among us. I’d already betrayed my brother enough, and to sleep with Irina would be another mistake to add to my list of indiscretions.
“Okay. I want the whore, Yan,” she said, changing the line of conversation.
“You’ll have her when I find her, she’s of no use to me.”
“Good enough.”
“Then we conclude our business. Your hold on me has all but ended, I’ll grant you a few days grace, you’d be wise to be careful how you use it.”
My warning was met with raised eyebrows and a subtle quirk of her mouth. “I shall miss you.”
“The sentiment is not returned.”
A part of me knew the lie for what it was. Irina had become an integral part of my life, as much as I disliked the woman, she’d crawled under my skin and taken up residence there. Her sense of depravity often called to my own, her ruthless ministrations rivalling mine. When Irina let go and threw her wrath around, you could guarantee I’d be out the next night looking for a warm mouth to choke with my dick. As much as I’d never touched my wife, her cruelty had once turned me the hell on.
I was not permitted to have penetrative sex, as per the sadistic contract I’d added my signature to. Suffice to say, it didn’t mean I wasn’t sexually active. Irina spared me grief as long as I didn’t break the rules, so I learned to take what I needed in other ways. I didn’t give a fuck what she did, and I hadn’t even entertained the thought of insisting my wife abide by the same rules at the time. Our families, Irina and mine, were the ones holding the blade against my neck, all I’d had to do was make sure the Ischmov name carried forth and I didn’t rock the boat, did as I was told. I’d done that, the organisation more formidable than ever, and in return, I’d kept my life and not ended up at the end of a gun in the same fashion as my brother.
Irina may have rubbed my nose in her exploits over the years, but her tame get on, get off show did nothing for me. She’d never quite pushed my buttons the way she would have liked, and I’d grown tired with her lame seductions to piss me off. Enduring her cruelty, watching her come more times than I cared to remember, had given me nothing but pity for the woman. Staying and watching was a deserved punishment once upon a time, I’d done this to her, so it was only right she took some revenge. Often, I basked in her moments of vulnerability because they were fleeting, but I never forgot how both our fathers had ruined my life as much as I’d ruined hers.
At forty, it wasn’t too late for life to begin. My life, not hers. With an empire beneath my fingertips, even if I didn’t want it, I hoped I could finally dictate terms. The imposed jail sentence was ending, I’d bided my time and kept my nose clean, it was the least they owed me.
First things were first, I had a problem to fix - a whore to collect and my money returned.
I didn’t ask where Kayleigh was, I trusted Irina would depart her impeccable wisdom when she saw fit. When it came to business, Irina had a smart head on her shoulders, knew what was needed and when. Wherever Kayleigh was, her days were numbered, and as much as I hated house calls, this one might actually be fun.
Leaving Irina and her pouting face perched firmly on the end of the dining room table, I headed to the kitchen where the chef Irina was fucking had left covered plates on the kitchen island. Fork in hand, I stood at the counter, eating semi cold Goulash, at seven o’clock in the evening. Early, yet it felt like the dark hours of the night had crept in far quicker than usual. I’d be in bed within the hour, for a solid twelve hours of sleep, the last two nights having been write offs.
Finishing the beef, I shoved the dirty plate into the dishwasher, then made my way up the stairs to the top of the house, to the bedroom I shared with the coldest-hearted bitch I’d ever known. A wife I didn’t love or touch, and tonight would not differ from any other. After all the years of sharing a bed, something I’d never done with anyone else since I was in my early twenties, it was remarkable how we slept. No gravitating toward one another, no spooning or cuddling, and come morning the great divide between us always remained. Why we even got in together… I’d forgotten long ago the reason.
It was a simple thing I craved with someone, to wake up wrapped around a soft and warm body, to wake up and not think about the terrible things that had been and gone. But not in Irina’s arms, never hers.
After a long shower where my mind remained blissfully blank, I slipped into checked sleep pants and climbed under the sheets of the enormous bed, switching off the lamp. Irina followed an hour later, early for her too, the scent of her nightly moisturising cream making my nose itch. The smell wasn’t repulsive by any means, more of a reminder she was lying next to me and that this was all a lie.
I should have left, slept in another room, yet I saw no harm in a night or two more in the uncomfortable bed with the uncomfortable woman, it made no difference. There were still a great many things to figure out from here, sleeping arrangements were at the bottom of the list, habits being hard things to break. It would be strange to lie somewhere without her, exciting for sure, but strange. My time as her whipping boy was over, I was so ready to move on.
* * * * *
“She ain’t coming back anytime soon if she’s got any sense. Moving company will come to shift this lot, I reckon.”
Surveying the piles of boxes stacked in each room, a sign Kayleigh had been readying to leave anyway, I agreed. She’d already had a plan in place and the boxes told their own story. The woman had been ready to run. She could try, stupid thing didn’t realise she wouldn’t get far because she didn’t have the smarts to outrun me, Kayleigh would leave a trail. Silly fucking woman.
“No, I don’t suppose she is.”
Sitting on the comfortable brown leather recliner in the front room of Kayleigh’s council house, I pulled my phone from my pocket. Time for Irina to do her part.
“There’s a guy sitting outside in his car, keeps looking over at the house.”
“Not my business.” Whoever it was, was likely looking for Kayleigh too, possibly the kid’s family. If they had any brains between their ears, they’d do well to stay out of my way. What they wanted with her was none of my concern, Kayleigh had made her bed and oh, how she was going to lie in it.
Grinning down at the text my ever-helpful wife had just sent, I stood, wiping down the pants of my suit. “Let’s go give wonder boy a visit.”
Sandir, my right-hand man and best friend, barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope. Irina’s info, you know it’s good.”
“Brave fucking lad,” he chuckled, cracking his knuckles one by one.
Clive was known as ‘wonder boy’ to me and my inner circle. The guy had always been eager to please and was one of my top runners, making me a lot of money, which meant making a lot of money for himself in turn. Clive held down a mediocre job on top of what he did for me, and with no signs of a drug problem, I’d always figured he was saving up for a life of girls and partying on the Costa del whatever. He was one of those types - sex, booze and sun kept him happy, easy pleased. Or so it had appeared, I’d clearly read him wrong. Whatever he’d been doing with that double-crossing bitch was more than pound signs in his eyes.
He lived on a rundown council estate in Bethnal Green, a place I tried hard to stay away from. Clive had plenty of cash and the means to live elsewhere, but chose not to, and again I wondered why I hadn’t questioned it or looked a little closer at the people he was hanging around with. Honestly, he’d given me no problems, and I hadn’t ever thought I’d need to threaten him or dangle him upside down from a five-storey balcony. He’d been a straight shooter, never pushed his luck, didn’t come across as greedy. He kept his head down and punted the packages I gave him, always coming up with the cash on time. I’d been so wrong.
Well, Clive was shit out of luck, Costa del Sol was going to miss the young lad. Both him and Kayleigh had tried to one up me, no more questions were being asked, they weren’t getting away with whatever they’d been trying to pull off. Yannick Ischmov was not a man known for leniency, especially not with Sandir standing next to me, his nickname wasn’t Slaughter for nothing. Clive was no different from any other fucker who’d tried it on, the outlook was grim for the two chancers.
Parking up the car a half hour later, I didn’t bother worrying about safety, people knew who I was on sight even if I seldom showed face in this shithole. No one would dare to touch my car - the last kid that tried ended up with two broken wrists and a missing forefinger.
Sandir yanked the flat door open and halted his steps. “Think there’s someone already up there. Doesn’t sound very welcoming.”
“It’s about to get a lot worse,” I grinned, adrenaline pumping through my veins at the thought of confronting the thieves.
Sandir smirked back in my direction before bounding up the stairs two at a time, me and the others following closely behind. Sure enough, I could hear the sounds of a vicious fight beyond Clive’s door.
“Are you armed?” I asked Sandir. Andrey, Tayte and Greg were mumbling behind me, words along to the effect of yes, Sandir nodding. Pulling my firearm from the holster under my jacket, I motioned to the door. “Put it in if needed, I don’t want the cops coming but I do want what’s behind that door.”
Oh, how I loved the scene playing out in front of me when the door sprang open, the hard work already done, the need to get my hands dirty, minimal. My wonderful whore, who sucked cock like a pro, was pinned against the wall by a confused-looking man, who was darting his head around at the ruckus in the hallway. Someone was crouched over a shirtless Clive, pummelling fists into the poor bastard’s face, who was giving a hell of a fight back, but even I knew a lost cause when I saw one.
Realising it was Gripp climbing on top of Clive, wrestling a bat from his fist before the punches flew again, I grinned. He was a fascinating thing to watch, how utterly focused he was on my wonder boy. Gripp wanted to do him some actual harm, yet I sensed he was holding back, as if he detested the part of his life where this had been the norm for him.
A quick flick around the cramped hall, and I had to bite back the smirk. I knew these men, perhaps not the one holding my whore to the wall, but I certainly knew the man lying on the floor cradling his arm. Kayleigh grinned down at him, gleeful he was hurt, which incensed me more. Warren was a good man, far better than the one getting his face pasted by a furious ex-gang member. It was time to put a stop to the fracas and take what I’d come for.
“Enough!” My shout boomed through the flat, everything halting as I took steps deeper into the hallway.
Warren was inching his way toward a closed door until I halted his efforts with a boot to his back, pushing him to the floor. I didn’t know what was behind that door, but it was safer for him if he stayed where he was for the time being.
