I don't remember the last time I had seen a gun in my father's hand.
It was aimed at Mikhail, behind whom I cowered pathetically, arm clutching the remnants of the upper half of my gown together.
But it hadn't been my father's gun that fired. It had been Mogilevich's, standing behind him, having fired a warning shot at the ground by my head.
"I know this looks bad," I began, trying to disarm the uncomfortable and tensioned situation.
There's no buts. This is bad.
I was able to catch glimpses of the two furious men from my position behind the giant Slav.
They had rushed outdoors, their men trailing after their blazing fury, expecting to find either one of us dead. Instead, they found us bloodied and dirtied, with Mikhail's cock buried in me.
"It looks a lot worse, Natasha," my father gritted out, threatening and harsh eyes burning in to the man towering between us.
"Lower your gun," Mogilevich ordered, his now aiming at the side of my father's head. My blood ran cold.
In a fraction of a second our men had aimed their guns at Mogilevich, ready to fire. This was mirrored by Mogilevich's men against ours.
Unfazed by the aim on him and the stand-off, my father demanded, unwavering stare on the silenced Mikhail, "get away from him."
My lips pursed together, observing the situation. Shame and guilt flowed through me, my father's disappointment immobilising every possible movement.
I hadn't been able to kill him, nor had he been able to kill me.
Now everything went up in flames.
Hidden from the rest, the tips of my fingers brushed over Mikhail's lower back, covered by the drenched and dirtied dress shirt. I could only imagine the mess I was, my entire body aching from our fight and how it had ended.
He tensed at my gentle touch, but remained at the end of my father's gun without complaint, returning his glare murderously.
Each of the men itched to finally shoot one another, and I knew the only way to disarm them was to comply.
Clutching the top of my torn gown over my chest, I slipped away from behind Mikhail before he had a chance to voice his objection.
I stared at my father coldly, closing the distance between us while his focus remained on the man I left.
"Everything's-" I began carefully, reaching him.
His hand collided with the side of my face and I was knocked to the wet ground with a strangled cry, my vision growing hazy.
Without so much as a word Mikhail strode over my limp frame and delivered a crippling punch against his jaw. My father fell back in to the arms of one our men, groaning at the pain.
My eyes widened with panic, knowing what would ensue. I scrambled to my feet, my jaw aching from the harsh slap.
Our guns aimed at Mikhail, cocking as they waited for my father to gather himself and give them the go-ahead.
"Stop," Mogilevich's infuriated tone boomed, and for once I agreed with him.
We were at war, made worse by my treacherous activities, and if one was to fire now we'd all end up dead.
Digging the knife further in to the wound, I placed myself between our men and Mikhail, spent, throbbing and determined, one arm around my feebly covered chest as the other raised to halt our men.
Mogilevich spoke before I could, calmer than I would've expected.
"We're leaving."
Mikhail's hand moved to the back of my neck, the gentle grip relaxing me despite the guns aimed past me at the giant man.
My father resumed his threatening stance, glaring at Mogilevich who surprised us all by lowering his gun.
The heavy rain continued to hammer down, as heavy as the tension strung tight enough to be cut by a knife.
Past the handful of our men I met Vinnie's scowl. Instead of on Mikhail, his narrowed stare and gun were fixed on me. I burned with rage then, fists clenching by my sides.
My heart beat increased and the man holding me felt it, his firm front brushing against me. In return his grip on the back of my neck tightened, ordering me not to do anything stupid.
My teeth ground together, disgusted by Vinnie's threat to actually kill me. Whatever 'if I can't have you, nobody can' -bullshit he was playing at was the last thing this situation required.
"You won't have to expect further shipments," my father informed the two, ending the informal treaty then and there, "leave."
--
My heart clenched, forced to remain seated with our men as my father addressed us.
"We're on lockdown," he informed coldly, seated at the head of the oval table.
Murmurs sounded from the men, each in charge of their own unit with more heading back in to town from wherever they had been stationed around the world.
Some glanced over at me, knowing all too well who had lead us to this point. Like a shamed child I kept my focus on my lap, wanting to be anywhere else but here.
"Are we attacking?" One of them piped up, and my heart pounded painfully at the idea.
Mogilevich's army was far stronger both in size and ruthlessness, and attacking them would not only end with great losses on our side, but push Mikhail farther away from me.
"No," my father assured us, "we're on the defensive, as Mogilevich should be."
To have this all unfold during my father's birthday event, in which powerful allies and names were in attendance, left the vulnerability of both our families in the wrong hands.
If the heirs of two rivalling empires were tangled together, from the outside we were viewed as weak. It was the most logical time to attack, and my father was painfully aware of it.
"Great timing," Henry muttered underneath this breath from beside me, and I slumped further in my seat and despair.
It truly was great timing. Instead of announcing my successorship, we had provided all families present a reason to take us down on a silver platter.
"We're no longer on friendly terms with Mogilevich," my father continued, each harsh word meant to strike me again and again, "if you see one of theirs, you shoot."
As if to torture me, he reminded me of my pathetic inability to take down the man I had grown to feel disturbingly for.
My father had found us in an all too intimate and raw setting, our guns laying uselessly beside us. Why the guns hadn't been laying next to at least one dead body was too much for him to comprehend.
He would have rather found me dead than fucking the enemy.
"Before the rest of our men arrive," he finished, "I want round the clock surveillance on Natalia. They'll come after her first, and we need to be ready."
I would be the easier target as a woman, in their minds, before they would go after Mikhail.
Each man in the room was either irritated or furious with me. I had never felt so alone in my own home, without so much as a say in what we should now do.
My muscles had grown weak and molten with exhaustion, yet I couldn't help but wonder what consequences Mikhail faced.
For one horrifying moment, Mogilevich had been more rational than my father, and it had left me questioning everything.
"Out," my father's rough order brought me back from my concerning thoughts, and the men around the table stood up simultaneously.
Without another look or word, my father lead the men out of the room, leaving me slumped on my chair, alone.
I buried my face in to my hands, wishing I had a plan. Anything, to make this situation better.
I let my eyes close, desperately needing sleep. The rest of the house would remain wide awake through the night, preparing for brutal attacks because of me and my raging hormones.
"Get up," the heartless voice commanded, and I looked up to find Vinnie stood in the doorway, glowering down at me.
"You're my round the clock surveillance?" I managed out a scoff, body and mind too tired to fight him any longer.
I mustered up the strength to stand up, and the floor felt wobbly underneath my feet.
Under his heated glare I rounded the table and stood myself before him, daringly meeting his green eyes.
"I hope you're happy," he gritted out, before his fingers wrapped around my upper arm and I was violently tugged out of the room and down the hallway.
I'm obviously not happy, you idiot.
"Vinnie, please..." I begged, wounded, exhausted and frightened, "no more."
His furious glare remained, as did his cold exterior. Even in my state of defeat my dearest friend hadn't an ounce of sympathy.
Like a prisoner in my own home I was dragged to my room.
Instead of stationing himself outside its doors, he pushed me in and I pathetically fell to the floor with a surprised yelp.
The door was slammed shut and his firm footsteps neared my powerless frame.
Hissing underneath my breath, I managed to push myself to sit against the cold floor. The lights turned on.
I screamed brokenly when I was tugged up to stand with a firm grip of my hair, pain shooting down my otherwise numbed body.
"Is that what you like, huh?" Vinnie taunted threateningly, glaring me down as he stood before me, much too close for my liking.
His hand left my hair as tears gathered by the lower lids of my eyes. My heart ached with each rapid thud against my bruised chest, too weary and spiritless to curse at or hit him.
"I've thought a lot about how you could ever like someone like him, an enemy," he spat out venomously, eyes ablaze with hatred, "it's because he beats you, isn't it?"
My feet were glued to the already unstable floor, hurt and shocked by him deciding tonight was a good opportunity for him to take his anger and jealousy out on me.
I opened my mouth to deny his absurd claim, one which we both knew was false.
His fist rapidly dug itself in to my abdomen and I slumped to the floor by his feet, my words caught in my clenching throat.
All air was knocked out of me and the tears brimming my eyes were forced out.
I gasped feebly for breath, arm clutching around my torso to soothe the burning in my already drained and aching body.
"I'm sure he's the one who left you with a fractured rib," he gritted out, unfazed by my state as his shiny shoes took one step closer, trapping me between him and the bed, "and I bet you loved it. You fucking slut."
The instep of his foot kicked in to my exposed side and I cried out, attempting to cower away from him but to no avail. The end of my bed's frame hit my back, and I was forced against it.
Vinnie crouched down in front of me, silencing my bubbling sob with his hard and empty eyes.
"You never looked at me the way you look at him," he spat spitefully, and I was unable to do anything other than clutch my throbbing torso and try to process the point of rage and green jealousy my friend had been driven to.
"I should've hit you, is that it?" he taunted, the coldness in his eyes frightening me and causing more tears to escape down my burning cheeks, "forced myself on to you after you're all bruised and bloody."
"No," I managed to croak out, my breathless tone barely above a whisper.
It was useless to compare the two men, especially just on the basis of sex as Vinnie was so vehemently set on doing.
It was easier for him to believe the only reason I in any way associated myself with the enemy was mind-blowing sex.
Vinnie had never so much as pleasured me, too focused on himself. Mikhail was hooked on the taste of me, and each action revolved around my pleasure, because he gained pleasure from it too.
Vinnie would never understand, nor would he understand why I now needed to leave our estate.
"Look at what you've done, Natasha," his furious tone softened, and I flinched at the feel of his thumb brushing away the tears on my cheeks.
Look at what you've done, you bastard.
I may have caused a war that would doom us all, but he had hit the final nail in to the coffin our friendship laid in.
"I won't take any of it back," I promised feebly, afraid of more hits but determined to stand my ground against his demented wants.
His jaw clenched, but I kept my gaze set on his.
If he punched me once more, I would lose consciousness. I was in no state to do anything except sleep and heal the bruises littered over my body and heart.
"You won't have to," he decided firmly, "it won't continue, anyway."
With that he lifted himself up and left my room. I was left numb on the floor of my bedroom, tears drying against my skin.
The door closed, and it was locked from the outside. I truly was a prisoner now.
Instead of letting the situation hurt me further, I shifted my focus to the windows in my room.
I had to leave.
With the experience of sneaking out from the estate and past its extensive and gated security measures from my teenage years, I knew exactly how I could do it, even on lockdown.
--
Mikhail needed some serious upgrades to his security.
After escaping through my window, sneaking past our men on patrol and climbing over the gates on our property, my powerless feet managed to carry me over to Mogilevich's territory.
With my phone left behind to avoid my father tracking me, I understood the risk I was taking.
Sneaking away unannounced, without a way to contact anyone and with several families now out for my head, I had entered enemy territory willingly.
Whoever I first came across wouldn't hesitate to shoot me on the spot, which is why I remained in the shadows, shielded by the darkness and my comfortability moving in nature.
Mikhail would be furious of the unplanned risk I had taken.
My father had hit me, Vinnie had beat me, and I was running straight in to Mikhail Mogilevich's arms, the arms of our enemy, in desperate need of their comfort and security.
Despite each corner of my body throbbing from the injuries gained tonight, ones which I would definitely need to see a doctor about, I had carried myself over the gates surrounding Mikhail's property.
Their men were stationed at the front gates, unaware of Natalia Wellesley climbing over from the back of the estate.
The crazy man needed new locks, too.
It was almost disheartening how easily I had been able to pick the lock of the door leading me in to the lower level of the house.
By the time I slipped inside unnoticed, I was shivering from the cold, trembling from my racing heart and mind, and close to falling to the ground in a horrid mix of pain and exhaustion.
Forcing every last bit of energy and strength I could muster, I dragged myself to the stairs leading on to the main floor.
It was too quiet. Too dark.
Maybe he wasn't home.
It would make sense for Mikhail to remain firmly by Mogilevich's side after tonight, and I decided to wait for him here.
I'll have Olga, the kind lady with the strong lungs, I reminded myself of Mikhail's housekeeper, I'll wait with her.
To think of him as related to the disgusting man jumbled my mind all over again, left with too much to process in my state of discomfort, disorientation and agony.
Feebly grabbing on to the railing of the stairs I dragged myself up them, each heavy step requiring energy I hadn't any left of.
Not once had the thought of Mikhail killing me crossed my mind. Mogilevich's men had surely been ordered to kill any of Wellesley's, and I was no exception.
The disturbingly sexy, shattering and savage man had gained my unwavering trust tonight. He was the only one who could make me feel safe and warm, the state I achingly craved now.
Once I reached halfway to the main floor, I struggled to breathe. Fiery ache jolted through my veins from my abdomen and side, the areas which had taken Vinnie's brutal hits on top of the ones inflicted by Mikhail.
I was forced to stop and gather myself, unwilling to lose consciousness from the overwhelming physical reactions.
Rabid barking and growling snapped me out of my debilitated haze, and the pads of Bean's feet neared the top of the staircase.
I continued onwards, knowing once it recognised me and made sure I wasn't after his owner, the furious barking would seize.
Ascending toward the comforting dimness of the main floor, I found Bean peering down at me curiously. Silence filled my surroundings once more, and I gave the dog a small smile.
With two more steps left, each feeling like climbing the Mount Everest, my eyes fixed on Mikhail. He stood a mere two feet behind Bean, gun in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.
My heart thud painfully against my constricted chest, floored at the sight of the brutal man.
The simple black tee shirt wrapped around each bulging muscle invitingly, and the sweatpants hung lazily from his hips sent unholy thoughts and feelings rushing over me.
"Hi," I managed out, barely above a whisper. His brows pulled down, gun relaxing in his large and firm hold.
"Were you expecting someone else?" I forced out a light grin, heart clenching at the thought of him sending me back to my father when he was left glued to the floor in surprise.
Before I could struggle up the remaining few steps, the sinful man had slipped his gun away and strode to tower over me at the top of the staircase. I held his darkening and firm gaze, his frustration over my reckless risk all too clear.
The glass of whiskey was placed on the railing circling the stairs, and I was all but lifted up to the main floor, stood before him weakly.
I hissed and writhed in his hold when it pressed against my side, over the deep bruise inflicted by the instep of Vinnie's unforgiving foot.
"Call me and I'll pick you up," Mikhail scolded, indecently low tone vibrating with fury, just as I'd expected, "think before you act, kukolka."
I nodded feebly, directing my gaze to the small space between us.
Relief flowed over me and I relaxed in his vicinity, the heat of his body feeling much more like home than mine did now.
"Can I stay with you?" I wondered delicately, too worn out to even think of shielding my vulnerability from the fierce man.
Without a reply my shirt was tugged up to my chest, the aggravated bruises littered over my torso baring themselves to his darkening eyes.
My heart beat loudly in my ears, nervously awaiting his reaction which seemed to be taking its sweet time.
My chin was grabbed in to his hold and my face directed back to his, his touch burning against me and menacing glare directed at the person who could have left such marks on me.
"Who did this to you?" the venom in his murderous tone sent a shiver down my spine, each sensation heightened from my exhaustion, "are you alright?"
"No," I choked out, unable to look away from his stunting and ferocious eyes.
His hold on my chin remained, as did his hand holding the hem of my shirt just under my breasts. If this fury had been directed at me, I would have crumbled to the concrete floor in pieces.
I need to stay with you, I felt like adding in a pathetic plea, but decided against it.
"Tell me who did this," Mikhail ordered gutturally, blazing dark eyes moving between mine, "I'll have their head."
"He wasn't thinking clearly," I mumbled in my dazed state, my legs unable to carry me for much longer, "Vinnie's jealous and-"
"Don't excuse his actions," he gruffed out threateningly, and my expression faded in to a frown.
Mikhail was right, of course, but before I could even begin to process what had happened with my father and with Vinnie, I needed to rest.
My heart squeezed painfully, realising I trusted and was forced to trust this man more than my own family.
As if he had read my thoughts, I was swiftly gathered in to his arms and brought toward the kitchen as if I weighed no more than a feather. I gazed up at him dreamily, the darkened fury in his stunning eyes directed at anyone who had so much as touched me.
He was beautiful to the point of adding to my pain.
"Your security is really bad.." I decided to inform him quietly, carried like a child and sat atop the kitchen island, my legs hanging off it lazily.
The giant man shot me a look of disapproval from my trivial comment, before turning his back to me and heading toward the freezer.
Bean trailed behind him, interested to see what was happening and if there was a chance he'd get food.
"You're safe here," Mikhail grumbled viciously, returning to me after grabbing an ice pack and slamming the door of the poor freezer shut.
I was safe, that I knew for certain. If someone were crazy enough to break in as I had, they would need to get through Mikhail the ferocious to reach me.
Without another word by shirt was tugged over my head and discarded on to the countertop beside me, before the ice was gently held to the throbbing bruise on the side of my waist. I let him do as he pleased, too worn to lift a finger in resistance.
I sucked in a rapid breath from the stinging cold against my bare skin, resting back on my hands to watch him redirect the cooling relief, which soon replaced the burn flowing through my weak frame.
The giant man situated himself between my parted knees, his hand moving over my thigh comfortingly, warming and jumbling my mind further.
"Thank you," I breathed out, unsure if he had heard me despite our closeness.
With his dark and focused glare firmly on the ice pack in his hold, he murmured something along the lines of me not needing to thank him.
"You'll stay here," Mikhail decided with finality. I leaned in to place a quick kiss on to the side of his delicious lips, shoulders dropping with relief.
The rousingly dangerous man averted his gaze, muttering vehemently under his breath, something I didn't understand.
"Whomever you wish dead, Natalia," he grew solemn and my heart raced, submerged in the warm darkness of his intoxicating eyes, "I will kill for you."
That's way too romantic.
I'm falling for a fucking Mogilevich.
"In return I ask for your consent to do as I please with Vinnie."
The beats of my heart halted and I gaped at the serious man ever so gently holding the ice against my injuries.
Vinnie had hurt me both emotionally and physically, and had done so for the past few weeks. It had reached its boiling point tonight, his raging emotions getting the better of him. Still, the past weeks were only a few days compared to the years we had known and experienced together, and to even consider Mikhail's proposal caused guilt to flood my mind.
Since when does the professional killer ask for consent on such matters, anyway?
If he wanted Vinnie dead, there wasn't a person alive who could stop him.
"Why?"
"He hurt you." Simple as that.
I frowned, enveloped in all that was him with my relaxation slowly fading and replaced with troubling thoughts.
"You left a few bruises too," I reminded him, barely above a whisper.
His gaze harshened, unappreciative of the prompt in a different direction.
"If you want him alive, so be it," he grunted out, "I won't hesitate to kill the man if he lays a finger on you again."
My heart ached and soared simultaneously, taken by the fury embedded between his gruff words yet nervous of the promise. He watched my train of thought intently, dark gaze unwaveringly set on mine.
I couldn't answer him, as much as I told myself killing Vinnie was off the table. He was my friend despite everything, and I held hope for his emotions to soon calm.
"Does my family name not bother you?" I inquired, shocked by how he would care for Vinnie having hurt me over who I was and what my future position were to be.
A sheepish grin tugged up the sides of his lips, "it does, kukolka."
My brows pulled down, confused as to why he took this all so nonchalantly and with a disturbingly attractive and suggestive glimmer in his eyes.
"Does mine bother you?"
"A lot," I breathed out, heart thudding loudly when he inched closer, the decreasing space leaving only the ice pack between our fronts.
With a low chuckle the ice was placed in to my hands and I was instructed to keep it in place. I did, left gaping at the sudden show of amusement.
"It should," he agreed lowly, lips ghosting over mine and forcing my eyes to flutter shut with an uneven exhale, "the forbidden fruit is always the sweetest."
And it's the fastest to spoil.
"I'm yours, sweet Natalia," Mikhail gruffed out, guttural tone rumbling from his chest and muffling against my lips, "I could never harm you."
My hold on the pack of ice trembled, and I came close to crumbling in an exhausted and heated mess, his secure hands rising up along the sides of my thighs torturously.
When they met my hips I was tugged to the edge of the counter, a small sound of surprise slipping past my lips, and his hard front brushed against mine.
My heart raced, left speechless at the meaning sown in to his serious words.
"Tell me you feel the same," he murmured, hot breath fanning over my tingling lips and impossibly lowering tone sending a heated jolt to coil in the pit of my stomach.
Obliviously my thighs clenched in an attempt
to press together, needing to quench the pulsing and inappropriate craving between them. Instead I managed to pull him closer and keep him locked in place.
Ever so gently he reached his hand to the side of my face, where he brushed pieces of my unruly hair behind my ear.
Sinfully burned by his touch, the ice pack fell on to my lap, my chest rising and falling noticeably with each deepened breath.
"I do," I admitted, my uneven tone pathetically quivering.
Without so much as thinking twice, I grabbed at his shirt, the tips of my fingers brushing against the intoxicatingly flexing muscles on his abdomen, and pulled him closer.
My chest crashed in to hardness of his, and my lips followed not far behind, kissing him as if he were the air that I breathed.
Not only was this daunting for my future reign and the stability of our rivalling families, this was a repeat of what had once existed between Vinnie and me.
Unlike Vinnie, Mikhail was all too capable of caring for and shielding me without losing sight of his goals. It would be explosive and would most certainly only deepen the constant competition, but with each desperate nerve overwhelmingly burning for him, I couldn't have ended this if I had wanted to.
He kissed me hard enough to melt me in his rough hold, the ice wetting my leggings yet unable to extinguish the unbearable heat coursing through my veins.
The giant man ground his hips against mine, groaning out gutturally at the needed friction. A jolt of bliss shot down my spine, and I mewled for more.
"Does Wellesley know you're here?" he grunted, struggling to keep hold of the situation we found ourselves in with the enormously pulsing hardness pressed against my clothed cunt.
"No," I managed out shakily, hungrily grabbing at him and forcing my fingers to steady as they slipped underneath his shirt to meet the smooth concrete of his skin.
He forced himself away from me as if I had burned him and my eyes shot open, a frown immediately forming on to my parted lips, heavy pants leaving them.
"He'll come for you," Mikhail informed me slowly, the warmth of his hands slipping away.
"I know," I nodded absentmindedly, far too focused on trailing my touch over the hard and prominent outlines of his muscles.
"I need to know your preferred weapon," he decided firmly and my frown deepened, realising he wasn't going to give me what I wanted, "and then you'll rest."
"You're not my father," I muttered out distastefully, in my state of exhaustion not having realised the words leaving my lips until it was too late.
His darkened eyes narrowed in on me, and I grew smaller under the harsh glare.
"I'm not. I would never hit you," he dug the knife deeper in the wound of the memory, and I looked down at the ice pack slowly melting on my lap.
I was too numb, too hot and too delirious to find the stinging cold painful, and instead found solace in the shots of pain emanating from my thighs. They reminded me I could still feel and were the most pain the giant and menacing man before me would allow me to experience.
"Unless you beg for it," he added a devilish grin, and I reddened with both humiliation and arousal.