From Russia With Claws (2 page)

When Andrey let him go, Sergei fell to his knees in front of him. Andrey circled like a hungry shark, stopping behind Sergei. He landed four more punches, this time to Sergei’s kidneys, before coming around to face him again. He grabbed Sergei’s face in one hand and said in a voice as cold as the depths of the Pacific, “If you fuck with me again, Sergei, I will make sure they never find your body. Same goes for your boss.” He leaned close. “Do you understand me?”

She drew back in surprise. Sergei worked under Alexei’s crew. If he’d done something against Andrey’s business, it was probably on her brother’s orders. What had Alexei gotten them into this time?

Galina watched Sergei nod weakly as he tried to hide his gasps of pain. She felt a burn of satisfaction to see him like this. She only wished Irina could witness this. It might make her smile—a genuine Irina smile, the kind she’d offered regularly before her wedding day. She appreciated that Andrey hadn’t messed with Sergei’s face—it was Katya’s Sweet Sixteen after all.

Andrey flung Sergei away from him. He strode back to the doors, catching sight of Galina on the way. He stopped for a moment, eyes searching hers. She nodded, doing nothing to stop him from leaving. There was no need to say anything.

After he was gone, Galina put on her shoes and took out her phone. She walked up to Sergei, who lay curled in a ball on the concrete of the loading dock. “Smile, Serg,” she said as she snapped a picture with the phone’s camera.

He stared up at her, a snarl on his face. “This will look great on Instagram,” Galina told him, pocketing her phone. Then she left him to find her sister. The picture of Sergei on the ground in pain might be just the thing to put Irina in a real good mood.

Kitchen Confidential

G
ALINA
S
LIPPED
B
ACK
into the party, feeling immeasurably better than she had just a few minutes ago. Seeing her brother-in-law beaten to a bloody pulp had that effect on her. Maybe now that he knew how it felt, he’d be more careful around her sister. She looked around for Irina. She was still with Papa, watching the young people have fun on the dance floor.

Glancing around the room, her gaze came to rest on Andrey where he stood talking to a man she didn’t recognize. She’d been attracted to Andrey last night, but hadn’t acted on it. Something hadn’t felt right. And now he—the head of the Romani contingent of the
Volk Organizatsiya
, gypsies—was here. Her father hated gypsies, thought they were nothing but liars and scam artists. Had he allied with them because they had power here in Seattle or because he knew about Sergei’s massive fuckup?

Turning to back to the bar, Galina looked around for Irina, intending to pull her aside and show her the picture she’d taken. Instead, she saw her sister on the dance floor, in the arms of one of Papa’s enforcers, a handsome Beta named Viktor. Galina glanced over at her father, still deep in conversation with the Caviar Prince and Uncle Petyr. He seemed unconcerned by Irina’s dance partner.

The Botoxed she-wolves of the first circle, however, were another matter. They sat at their table, heads together, snarls curling their lips. All of them watched Irina as she swayed in Viktor’s arms. The pair weren’t doing anything untoward—it was just a dance—but from the looks on all of their faces, they couldn’t wait to snipe at Irina for her daring to dance with a man who wasn’t her husband. This, despite the fact that said husband had no qualms about going outside to get a piece under his wife’s very nose.

Galina ground her teeth together, feeling the scrape in her jaw. If her mother were here, this never would have happened. Mama would have made sure these women knew their proper place, and that they respected Irina’s. These women knew nothing of Irina’s life or her marriage. They didn’t have to deal with Sergei’s moods, his anger, his abuse. Sergei knew how to hide the marks of his violence.

She looked over at her father once more. The fact that Papa ignored all evidence of his son-in-law’s poor treatment of his daughter made the situation so much worse. He’d been the one to broker the marriage. Alexei had fucked up—again—a major deal with the Volkovs and Papa, still in the fog of grief over their mother’s death, was short of cash. The Volkovs were long on money, but short on status, so he’d offered Irina’s hand and future to them to cement the alliance. Papa’s debt was settled and Irina got Sergei.

It wasn’t much of a trade.

Galina wanted to march over there and slap each and every one of those bitches across the face until their eyes rattled in their skulls, but she knew it wouldn’t help Irina. They weren’t the problem. Sergei was.

She wished she could help. Irina had been like a mother to her, something much needed in a house full of testosterone. She’d been the one to talk to Galina about boys, about heartbreak, about being a woman. Irina deserved better after everything she’d done for her family. It infuriated Galina that she could do nothing to help.

Spinning on her heel, Galina walked away. The kitchen would be good, somewhere out of the way and moderately quiet. The food had been served long ago so it should be deserted at this hour. All she wanted was a bit of space for a few minutes, so she wouldn’t drag Sergei out to the middle of the dance floor by his ear and slam her perfectly manicured fist into his arrogant face.

Her Papa wouldn’t have appreciated that. Women were ornaments to be dangled on the arms of powerful men, looking beautiful and keeping quiet. Galina knew she had the beautiful part down—why deny what the mirror told her every time she looked in one—but the “keeping quiet” part gave her a lot of trouble. And tonight, she didn’t want that trouble to carry over to her sister, who looked a little more miserable every time Galina saw her.

She pushed through the swinging doors and retreated to the back of the prep area. There was no one left back there. Everything had been cleaned up and put away neatly. The stainless steel countertops gleamed under the bank of low lights above. It was all cold steel and blissful silence. Even the sound of the party was muted in here.

Her feet were killing her. Already tall, Galina loved sky-high heels. Tonight she’d gone with a pair of four-and-a-half inchers, in a finish called “devilfish”—black with pale tiny circles. They reminded her of the back of a manta ray she’d seen in one of her childhood ocean life books. They were beautiful, but after several hours of standing and mingling, her calves were beginning to cramp.

Galina hopped up onto the counter, lifting one leg across her knee so she could massage her calf. Her short dress rode up her thighs as she dug fingers into the muscle, but no one was there to see. Not that she cared if there were. Embarrassment was for other people.

She heard the swoosh of the swinging door opening—probably a server or kitchen staffer coming in to pick up something they’d forgotten—but didn’t turn around. She wasn’t immediately visible from the door, so there was a good chance she’d be left in peace. She had too much to think about, and she just wished the party would end so she could go back to her apartment and start picking apart what was bothering her.

She’d been away for too long, that much was clear. While she’d been working on an advanced art history degree in California for the past several years, things up here had become unstable. Her eldest brother, Alexei, was agitating for family leadership, urging their father to step down. Her other brother, Nikolai, was the family lawyer, and more interested in finding a less violent solution to the endless conflicts between warring families as everyone jockeyed for an ever shrinking slice of the pie. But lately most of his time was spent keeping Alexei out of prison. And Papa just seemed content to sit back and do nothing.

She felt that special skin prickle that came with the sensation of eyes on her. Galina raised her head to find Andrey standing at the opposite end of the countertop, watching her. His silvery blue eyes were hooded, giving nothing away. The strong bones of his face stood out in a wash of shadows and highlights from the lighting above him. He looked like a contrast photograph come to life.

Her nostrils flared, taking in the scent of him. He smelled of both man and wolf, and it lit something in the base of Galina’s spine. Her werewolf sense of smell recognized another like her. It also recognized the scent of Alpha. She raised her eyebrows in surprise. Petyr hadn’t been kidding. Andrey really was the head of the Romani side of things.

He stepped forward. Galina watched him lazily, still digging her fingers into her sore calf. He didn’t frighten her, not even with the slow stalk he was doing now. She was more than able to take care of herself, even when not in wolf form.

“I’ve been watching you,” Andrey said, stopping a few steps away from her. His voice was like a good cabernet—rich, sensual, and full of blood and darkness.

“I know.” She kept her voice pitched low, just for the two of them. “I’ve watched you too. Nice work with Serg.”

“You don’t remember me, do you?” A bitter smile quirked the side of his mouth.

He obviously wasn’t talking about last night. She wasn’t forgetful nor had she been so drunk as to ignore a face like his. Galina cast back, trying to remember where else she might have seen him. When he cut his eyes to check the door, she remembered.

“I was eight,” she answered, dropping her leg. “My older brother was holding you down and punching you. It was in our backyard, so I guess you were visiting with your father.”

Galina remembered now. Andrey had been a serious boy of perhaps ten who’d come to her house one autumn afternoon. He’d been with his father, Nazur, who’d come to see her Papa in order to pay his respects and talk business.

Alexei had loved lording his status over any other child unfortunate enough to cross his path. Galina had been playing tag in another part of the garden with Nikolai, when she’d come upon Alexei sitting atop a smaller boy. His face was already bloodied and Alexei had his fist raised for another strike. The younger boy’s eyes cut to her, showing no pleading or fear.

“Stop!” she shouted, breaking into a run.

Alexei turned toward her without lowering his fist. Galina plowed into him, throwing him off of the boy. She punched him in the ribs and they tumbled together in a mess of limbs. Her brother quickly gained the upper hand, jerking her arm up painfully behind her back. He wasn’t allowed to hit her—Papa wouldn’t stand for anyone touching her in anger—but he could hurt her in a way that wouldn’t leave marks.

Galina had leaned forward and sunk her teeth into his other wrist. Alexei yelped and let her go. She scrambled to her feet, balled her hands into fists and stuck them on her hips. “You are such a jerk, Alexei. You know you’re not supposed to hurt our guests!”

Her brother snorted, an angry sound, as he clutched his wrist in his other hand. “Shut up, you little bitch.” He climbed to his feet, shoved her to the ground, and ran off.

A hand came into her field of vision. Galina looked up at the boy who only moments before had been beaten. His black hair was in disarray, standing up in wild tufts. His cheekbone was already beginning to darken with a bruise, and there was blood on the side of his mouth. But his blue eyes were calm, like two still lakes.

“Thank you,” was all he said, helping her to her feet.

Galina had put her hand to his face, wiping away a smudge of dirt. “My brother is a bully,” she said by way of explanation.

“I know.” His lips twitched in a smile.

“Yeah, guess you do.” She took his hand. “Come inside and I’ll wash your face. I’m Galina.”

“Everyone knows who you are,” he said. “I’m Andreyev.”

Present-day Andrey raised his brows in surprise. He obviously hadn’t thought she’d be able to recall their first meeting. He’d hoped to stump her. Galina saw all of this, even as his face smoothed into a pleasant mask. She hopped down from the counter and took a step closer to him. What kind of game was he playing with her?

“You stopped him,” he said, as if that explained everything. “He hurt you and you still fought him. And then you took me inside and cleaned my face.”

She nodded. “So I remember you. That doesn’t explain why you’ve spent the whole evening staring holes in the back of my head.” He was tall. She was six feet in these heels and he still topped her by several inches.

His answer was to wind his fingers in the hair caught up at the back of her head in a loose up-do and pull her into him. Her eyes widened, just before his mouth dropped onto hers in a soft kiss. Galina felt his lips on hers, soft and demanding at the same time, and the fire at the base of her spine ignited, spiraling flames shooting through her belly and down her legs.

He pulled away slightly so he could meet her gaze. They stared at each other for a few moments, eyes wide, as if daring the other to speak. Galina felt the tension ratchet up inside of her.

She reached forward with both hands, grabbing the sides of his neck and pulling his mouth down to hers again in a bruising kiss. She kept her eyes open, as did Andrey, watching each other as their mouths went to war.

His hands slid around her waist and to her back, pulling her to him so that she was pressed against the length of his chest. Galina wrapped her arms around his neck, dragging him closer as she slid her tongue into his mouth. He bent her back over his arms, forcing her chest even closer to his so that her breasts rose and fell against him.

Galina sighed into his open mouth, so happy to be touched again that she thought she might lose her mind. She hadn’t felt this attracted to someone in years. The feel of his hands on her was a reminder of how much she’d missed the sensation of a broad hand spanning her back, of being physically moved by another person. When he pulled her upright once more and backed her forcefully into one of the massive refrigerator doors, she moaned against him, the sound swallowed up by his lips and tongue.

She slid her tongue against his, wrapping around it, sucking hard. She felt an answering spasm in his pants. Galina smiled, deepening the kiss still further. Andrey’s hands skimmed up her hips to cup her breasts through her tight dress. She pushed into him, the blossom of heat in her belly moving lower, until she felt like she might die if he didn’t touch her skin directly.

Her hands worked at his plum colored tie, loosening it so she could get at the buttons and then at his flesh. She growled against his mouth as the fastenings frustrated her, her hands clumsy with lust. She heard him chuckle low in the back of his throat and she growled again.

Andrey broke their kiss, pulling away from her slightly. Again they stared at each other. Galina could only imagine what she looked like now: hair falling down from her up-do, face flushed, lips swollen from kisses, eyes hungry and wanting. Her sex throbbed with the need to be filled. Why was he stopping?

“Galina,” he whispered, his eyes a dark blue. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip lightly. She nipped at it, drawing it into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it. His nostrils flared as he looked down at her, and she knew he could smell that she was ready. His eyes, if possible, grew darker.

“Galya,” he said, even lower, using the diminutive form of her name.

She hummed in response, releasing his thumb. Galina stared up into his eyes, her green ones meeting his blue. “Andrey.”

They were quiet for a moment, their harsh breathing the only sound. Then he spoke. “I’m glad to see you again.”

In answer, she slowly dropped her hand to the front of his pants, palming his erection through the cloth. “I would never have guessed.”

His eyes flared with a wicked light and he laughed softly. Andrey’s hand wrapped around hers and he brought it to his lips so he could press a kiss to the inside of her wrist. Galina drew in a sharp breath, feeling her knees turn to liquid at the warmth of his mouth on her flesh.