Chapter One

Nikolai

Going home should make me feel good but instead, I’m filled with dread. Snowflakes pound my windshield as I race down the treacherous streets, but I don’t care. There is no visibility in these conditions, but it doesn’t matter to me. All I can see in front of me is the red haze of my anger.

The moment I reach my expansive estate on the outskirts of Moscow; I careen through the open gates and slam the brakes of my car. As the tires screech and skid, I grimace and throw open the door. Stepping outside, the snow crunches beneath my boots as I storm toward my house. Every step sends my blood pulsating more quickly around my body. I can’t ignore the ache in my heart, but I have something more important to focus on right now.

Destruction.

Throwing open the door to my home, I catch the scent of her perfume lingering in the air which proves to be the fuel that stokes the fire of my rage. I tear off my coat and gloves, ripping them from my body, in the same way, I would love to strip away her life. In the process, I manage to tear a huge hole in my Armani shirt; it means nothing to me. I can’t contain myself.

With tunnel vision, I slam my fist into a priceless piece of art that hangs on the wall. It clatters to the ground with a tremendous crash, and I revel in the destruction of it. Money means nothing in comparison to the ferocity of my rage. Every sinew in my body is flooded with white-hot wrath. Stepping over the painting, I head to the room where I’m sure I will find her.

I only pause for a moment when I reach my bedroom.  Peering through the crack in the door, I freeze at the sight of her. Just like I thought, she’s inside. The room is a mess, clothing, and makeup strewn across the bed and floor. The drapes blow at the open double doors that lead onto the balcony. It’s unusually light and airy for a home that usually feels like it is filled with darkness.

Rushing around like a bee trapped in a jar, she’s frantically stuffing clothes into a large suitcase on the bed. God, I almost forgot how insanely beautiful she is. Her long dark hair cascades around her shoulders, tumbling in gentle curls around her face. Her petite frame is stiff with tension as she runs from the closet to the bed, depositing all her belongings into the small case.

Gulping, I study her slender curves with my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to soak in her image for one final time.

I can’t wait any longer. I need to act. I kick open the door fully and march through the doorway in a fit of pique. A gasp escapes her lips as she sees me, her eyes widening in fear.

She still looks every inch the high-maintenance bitch she always was. Garbed in her deep purple designer dress, she is the perfect picture of a sophisticated woman, but she’s not; inside, she’s rotten, and I have to remember that.

“Nikolai,” she rasps. My name tumbles from her lips in a deluge of terror. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Narrowing my eyes, I scowl. “I’ll bet,” I hum frostily.

As I take another step, she grabs a gun from the bed and levels it at me. “Don’t come any closer,” she warns me. “I mean it.”

Completely ignoring the gun and her warning, I continue to saunter forward. I laugh aloud at her threats. The worst that she can do is shoot me, and I don’t care if she does. A bullet to the heart won’t be as painful as what I’ve endured over the past few days.

Glowering coldly at her, I glide forward, getting close enough to snatch the trembling weapon right out of her unsteady fingers. I smirk when she startles; she clearly didn’t anticipate my audacity. I guess she never really knew me at all.

She’s shaking so vigorously now, she wouldn’t have been able to fire straight even if she’d kept the gun. With a growl, I toss the gun across the room, laughing as it hits the far wall with a satisfying crack.

“There’s nowhere to run now,” I snap, my words dripping with vitriol. “All your lifelines are gone.”

Her entire body stiffens with tension, giving me a sense of satisfaction. That is all she deserves.

Fucking bitch.

My pulse thrums at my temples as I study her, caressing every curve with my gaze. I want to commit her to memory so that I can warm myself with thoughts of what I used to have, once she is dead and gone.

I don’t need to announce my reasoning for being there. Without saying a word, I can tell that she’s more than aware of it. The abject fear that lurks behind her dark eyes and the almost imperceptible tremble in her hands conveys her awareness.

“Nikolai,” she gasps again as I prowl toward her, cowering under my harsh stare. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Chuckling darkly, I shake my head. “I highly doubt it,” I hiss coldly. “But why don’t you enlighten me?”

Her throat bobs and I can almost smell the fear radiating off of her body. “You believe this is all my fault. You’re wrong though. I didn’t want to do it but he deserved it, Nikolai,” she babbles, her hysteria reaching a crescendo. “But you need to know that I never meant to hurt you.”

“Was that just an unfortunate consequence?” I demand with a scowl.

She licks her lips and turns to face me fully, but she doesn’t answer my question. Instead, a single tear trickles down her cheek. No doubt it’s a ploy to evoke sympathy, but my heart turned cold the moment I realized the truth about her. The power she once wielded over me has long since evaporated, and all that’s left are the ashes of what we used to share.

She reaches out a hand, but I instantly bat it away, coiling my fingers around her wrist. Squeezing so tightly that I hear her gasp, I stare at her with abject disgust.

“You used me,” I accuse her harshly. “You took your chances and you used me.”

Her eyes widen. “No,” she protests heatedly, wincing as my grip tightens on her wrist. “I didn’t use you. What we had was real.”

Scoffing, I shake my head. Just another lie. I wonder how many lies she’s spewed since the first time she crawled into my bed like a viper. All that time she was just waiting for the right moment to strike, and I was so blinded by her charms I didn’t notice. But the veil has lifted now, and I see the stark reality of her true nature.

Tugging her flush against me, I breathe in her tantalizing scent. Even now, she’s still so tempting, but I wouldn’t fuck her with a ten-foot pole after what the bitch did.

She’s achingly beautiful, her stunning features belying her cold rotten heart. It hurts me to even look at her as I recall all the times that she fooled me with those effortless charms. I tumbled into the silken web she weaved, and I hate her for it. All she deserves now is to endure the same suffering that she’s put me through. A thrill races through me at the thought of her vibrancy draining from her, just as she’s ripped everything away from me.

It would be so easy to end her right now. I could simply wrap my hands around the pale, slender column of her throat and squeeze every drop of life from her. I have never killed a woman before, and I don’t know if I could; but after what she’s done, I would surely be justified.

For several seconds, I luxuriate in the feel of her body, remembering how her curves feel. Then, without warning, I toss her against the wall like the piece of trash that she is. Landing awkwardly on the ground with a thud, she gazes up at me, silently imploring me to let her go, but we both know how this story is going to end.

“Seven months,” I rasp, towering over her prone form. “You conned me for seven fucking months, and you laughed during every moment of it.”

Scrambling around on the ground she manages to right herself. Her chest heaves and her back is against the wall as I come closer.

“No, you don’t understand,” she says, terror lacing her words. “It’s not like you think. I had to do it.”

“Oh?” I sneer, chuckling humorlessly. “You had to do it?”

She nods, a tremble coursing through her. “He deserved it. I know that you can’t see it but it’s true.”

My jaw clenches. “All I see is your betrayal, you little bitch.”

Her eyes darken and swirl with a maelstrom of emotions. Most of all, I see pure fear and it’s like a drug to me. I crave that gratification.

“It’s not my fault,” she splutters. “Griffith made me.”

Her denials boil my blood, sending my ire up another notch. I’m almost shaking with the intensity of my rage now.

“You made your choices,” I remind her. “No one else did, only you. I trusted you. I took you into my bed and I gave you everything you wanted. I dressed you in the finest clothes, took you to the most exotic places. We were going to be married, I showed you parts of me that I never showed to anybody else, and you stabbed me in the back like a beautiful Brutus.”

“No, no, that’s not the way it was,” she pants.

My pain bubbles to the surface and I swallow hard, my throat dry and rough. “That’s exactly the way it was,” I counter, shaking with anger. “I trusted you, gave you everything!”

My pain threatens to choke me for a moment before I contain myself. Rage is the only emotion that will suit me here.

“You exploited it, exploited me.”

“Please, Nikolai, just listen to me!” she begs, turning those glistening dark eyes to me. They used to make me melt, now, they elicit nothing but a scowl.

Tears start to flow freely down her cheeks, reddening her pale skin. She’s never looked more pathetic than she does right now. Steeling myself against her attempts to soften me, I allow my fury to unleash itself.

“I don’t want to hear it,” I snap, narrowing my eyes. “Nobody made you do it.”

Shaking her head wildly, she howls, “No! If it weren’t for Griffith, I would never have done it. He’s to blame! You need to believe me, Nikolai.”

“I don’t need to do shit!” I exclaim icily. “You’re a worthless, traitorous little bitch and I don’t want to hear another damn word come out of your rotten mouth.”

Standing over her, I plant my arms on either side of her body. She’s backed up against the wall as far as she can. She seems to shrink as I tower over her. The powerful, confident woman I knew has been replaced with a shuddering girl who knows her end is approaching.

Once, I would have kissed her cherry lips, now, I want to give her the kiss of death. I don’t know whether I could do it, not after everything we shared. Already, I’m mourning the thought of her demise in my heart, even as my head celebrates it. But my doubts do not suppress my craving for blood. I want to unshackle all my rage, and she is my target.

A sharp breath passes between her lips. “Please, Nikolai” she begs me one more time. “If you have any mercy, try to understand.”

“You really don’t know me at all, do you? Do you think that I’m a merciful man? Have I ever shown mercy?” As she shakes her head, I cup her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Then why would I show mercy to you?”

“We had something special,” she says, licking her dry lips. “If you ever felt anything for me, please, just let me go.”

For a moment, I tilt my head and stare into her eyes. She’s always had such expressive eyes, and an animated face. Even the Dutch masters couldn’t have done that face justice in their finest paintings. Perhaps that’s why she blinded me so easily. Every man is a fool for a pretty face. But I’m her fool no longer, and I can’t let her go. Wordlessly, I lower my lashes to stare at her plump lips and I lean down to brush my mouth against hers. The sweet taste of her which I used to revel in, is acrid, and bitter now. As I pull back, I smile coldly.

“There will be no mercy,” I assure her.

My words seem to seep through her mind, eliciting a new wave of fear. With an abrupt show of courage, she suddenly shoves me back. I didn’t expect it and I stumble slightly. Oh, she doesn’t know it only incites me more. She’s playing with fire as if she wants to get burned. Eyes flashing with terror, she darts away from me and rushes toward the other side of the room, just out of my reach.

Like the predator I am, I prowl toward her, matching every step she takes away from me. Her hands are raised in surrender, but I refuse to accept her white flag. Grasping one of the drapes, she backs onto the balcony, and I know I have her cornered now.

We both know I’m playing with her before I take my final blow. Still, she doesn’t seem resigned to her fate, I’m glad that she has enough courage to resist me. It makes it that little bit sweeter.

As she creeps backward onto the balcony, we stare at each other in silence; the loudest silence I’ve ever experienced, rich with unsaid words. Suddenly, she takes another step back and hits the railing behind her. My eyes widen as I see her stumble and before I know what’s happening, she tumbles over the rail. Her piercing scream splits the air and I rush forward, in time to see her hit the ground below with a thud. Blood pools around her head, and I know that she’s gone.

For several moments, I stare at her twisted body on the distant ground below. Karma. The universe has delivered her ultimate punishment for her sins. Her final expression is one of pain, but I can’t deny that she deserves everything she’s gotten. Betrayal is something I don’t take lightly. There’s a tiny part of me that laments the loss, but I swiftly suppress it, reminding myself of the horror she committed against me. There’s a melancholy irony to her fate, as she truly makes the most beautiful corpse I have ever seen.

Suddenly, I recall the name she uttered before her death. Griffith. It’s not a name that I’m familiar with, but I was so engorged by rage that I didn’t pause to consider it when it left her lips. Now, in my silent solitude, I have the time and space to really mull it over. So, it wasn’t her alone that came up with the plan? Well, this is not over then.

Numb to every emotion but fury, I growl quietly. “I suppose there is one more person I need to exact my revenge upon,” I mutter as I turn to leave the bedroom.

There is nothing left for me here in Moscow, I know it’s the right time to go. I will do whatever I need to do in my quest to destroy those who plotted against me. My wrath will know no limits. I have already cut a swathe of bloodshed in my wake, and it will never end until I have crushed those that deserve it. The world should watch out; I am not a man of mercy.

All that matters now is vengeance.

And I will not pause until I have my fill.

Chapter Two

Anya

 The night is just getting started, and music thrums throughout the busy club. As I sit at my table, surrounded by my friends, I stare at the vibrant dancefloor and watch the revelers enjoying the night. As far as nightclubs go, I think that the Haven is pretty nice. My father acquired it some years ago, as yet another way for him to launder his money, and avoid paying any of his taxes. It plays the same upbeat tempo music as any. The sort of dark, seedy place that encourages a person to drink far too much and grind on whatever body is closest to them.

Presently, I’m taking advantage of being the owner’s daughter, shamelessly enjoying bottle service in the roped-off, elevated VIP section of the club. Sipping on the glass of champagne in my hands, I want to make it last. I’m not getting buzzed tonight. Unlike my friends, I want to remember my evening tomorrow morning. If anything, I just want to get intoxicated enough to dance the rest of the night away, and not have to deal with the burn in my legs. That’s why I enjoy skipping high heels on a night like this; when all my friends are barefoot and staggering, I will enjoy comfort in my flats. Ignoring the dress code is another perk that I enjoy.

Out of all the clubs and businesses that my father owns, I like Haven the best. Perhaps it’s the younger crowd, or the open floor plan — or the fact that it’s located right on the Strip. Gambling doesn’t appeal to me, but there is never a shortage of washed out, nearly broke finance guys who lost too much money and need to wash away their sorrows. My friends always say those are the best men because they want to prove to their women that they are still worth something, continuing to spend their money recklessly. My friends tend to have very, very expensive tastes.

We’re an eclectic group, but it works somehow. I certainly stick out when compared to the others. Marina and Allison down on the dance floor, surrounded by men all competing for their attention, will go home tonight with whoever has the most money; while I sit here and admire the whole thing from afar. We all met in college, and logically we should have drifted apart, perhaps that’s yet another part of the magic. Once you find friends, you tend to keep them.

Las Vegas is the place where people come to make their dreams come true, and I love living here. I don’t know how long I’ll stay though. I’m not the kind of girl to settle down. I’ve never liked being limited to a single setting, and travel exhilarates me. But in the time that I’ve lived here, I can’t deny I feel at home in Vegas. It’s easy to get lost in the crowds in this city, and that suits me more than anyone realizes. It’s impossible to run out of things to see or do, impossible to get bored even if you tried; especially, if you have high-energy friends like mine. Not that they are talking to me right now. They haven’t said much to me this evening at all. My friends are submerged in their conversations, but I prefer to scan the crowds and enjoy the moment.

“Hey,” my friend, Rick, says. “We’re out of champagne.” He turns the bottle upside down and shakes out a few droplets while pouting at me.

Rising to my feet, I shrug. Sometimes comments like that make me think they are only my friends because my father owns the most popular nightclub on the strip.

“I’ll go down to the bar and order another bottle,” I tell him, raising my voice to be heard over the music as it vibrates through my body. It’s a good excuse to get up and take a walk. I’m not one for sitting down for long. I feel too energized for that.

Without waiting for an answer from Rick, I descend the steps that lead down to the main floor and bob my head at the bouncer. He lifts the red velvet rope that cordons off the VIP section and I breeze past him, heading toward the bar.

Bodies throb and writhe next to me, almost knocking me off of my feet as I push past them. Sometimes, it feels good to be anonymous among a crowd of strangers. I wonder what sort of impressions the strangers must have of me. I people-watch enough to come up with elaborate backstories for just about everybody that I pass easily, and I’ve always wondered if they do the same for me. Do they think I’m a tourist? Are they jealous? Do they think that Rick is some undercover cop and we’re here on a sting operation?

I smile to myself at the insane notion. As if my father would ever allow cops into one of his clubs.

As I continue to weave my way through the crowd, I pass by two young women. A pale redheaded girl is almost at the point of tears as she stares up at a curvaceous blonde. Frowning, I study the pair, I can tell something is going on; especially when the blonde glares scathingly at the redhead, stealing the drink from her hand.

“Do you really think that dress makes you look good?” the blonde woman shrieks nastily, scowling at the redhead’s gray ensemble. Her hands drift over her own bubblegum-pink gown.

I don’t like to pass judgment on people I don’t know, but if I were making up a history for her – it would be a nasty one.

“God, you didn’t dress well when we were in high school, and you still have no fashion sense. You make me want to barf.”

The blonde laughs and drinks from the glass in her hand then makes a face as if the drink that she’s stolen isn’t at all to her taste. “This is disgusting, here, have it back.” The blonde says before upending the drink all down the redhead’s front, staining her pretty dress.

My breath hitches in my chest as I watch the redhead duck her head, trying to hide the moisture on her cheeks. A pang of sympathy pierces me. Though I don’t know what’s going on, I can identify a bully when I smell one. I cannot let that go. Not here, not in my father’s club. Hell, I wouldn’t let that go no matter where we were. I wasn’t raised to be the sort of person who sees something like that and walks away from it. I cannot stand to see someone be a victim. I can’t count the number of times my friends told me not to meddle, but I simply can’t help myself.

Stepping up to the pair, I pull my tailored blazer from my shoulders, leaving me in my black crop top. I’m small, and the redhead was blessed with curves that I don’t have, but it should fit her well enough to cover the mess from the drink. My eyes dart from one to the other as I give her my jacket to cover up.

“Leave her alone,” I say, staring fiercely at the blonde-haired woman.

Instantly, she snaps her head to face me. If looks could kill, I’d be a corpse. She snorts at me, her eyes narrowing. “This isn’t your business, bitch,” she retorts. “So, why don’t you scuttle away, back to wherever you came from?”

I look at her incredulously, my eyebrow lifting. Refusing to be cowed by her, I shake my head. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” I shoot back. “This is my dad’s club, so I have a little authority here. Now, this is how it’s going to go. You’re going to leave this girl alone or I’m going to call security, and they’ll make you leave. I promise you; it won’t be pretty.”

I can tell this chick wants to fight, but instead, she huffs and glances at her victim. “You’re pathetic,” she sneers at the both of us. “You are not worth my time anyway.”

I scoff, mocking her. “Well as I don’t think your time, or you for that matter, are worth that much, to begin with – I’m not insulted.” I lift my shoulder into an arrogant shrug.

“She’s worth a lot more than you ever will be,” I tell blondie with a scowl. “Does it make you feel superior when you act like that? Well, you’re not. You’re insecure and pathetic and you have to tear other girls down to build yourself up. Get a grip.”

“Whatever,” the blonde snaps, rolling her eyes as she shimmies away, her hips swaying.

Once she’s gone, I turn to the young redheaded woman and give her a smile of solidarity. “Are you alright?” I ask in concern.

She nods. “Yeah,” she whispers, just loud enough for me to hear her over the pounding music. “I knew her back in high school and she made my life hell for four years. I didn’t expect to run into her here,” she tells me, swiping a hand across her face.

“I always say that high school never ends. When they’re a bitch in high school, they’re a bitch out of it.”

She gives me a small grin, and I’m glad I brought a smile to her face; it’s far better than tears.

“Thanks for that,” she tells me, awe in her voice. “And this too,” She nods down to the jacket. “You probably just saved my evening. You were amazing. I wish I could handle myself like that.”

With a shrug, I feel a blush heat my cheeks. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad that I could help.” I clasp her hand and squeeze it gently. “Go enjoy your night. Actually, you see Ernie behind the bar? Tell him Anya sent you for a free pick-me-up drink.” I wink at her and she smiles sweetly at me before she dissolves into the crowd.

Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my skinny jeans, I sigh. I wonder how people can act the way that this bully did. I guess I’ll never understand, how somebody can make themselves feel superior by tearing another person down. I’ve spent my life living in a bubble of security and I’ve never needed to make myself feel superior like that.

I head over to the bar and order another bottle of Dom Perignon. Luckily, the bartender easily recognizes me, and I don’t have to pay. I suppose that’s one of the many perks of being the boss’s daughter, though it’s not something I exploit if I can help it.

The bottle firmly clasped in my hand, I make my way back toward the VIP section. Then again, what’s the point in being Peter Griffith’s only daughter if I can’t indulge in the perks every once in a while?

Just as I’m on the right side of the rope, my thoughts are interrupted. I hear a commotion at the entrance of the club. Spinning around, I strain my neck to see what’s going on. The champagne that I was pouring for Rick overflows, covering my hand in a sticky mess.

A melee of chaos floods in from the door, which ignites a spark of concern in the depths of my chest. Clearly, there’s trouble and it’s not what I’m in the mood for. Of course, dealing with angry drunks is an occupational hazard, but all I wanted was a quiet, relaxing evening.

My heart starts to thrum when I catch sight of a group of towering men intimidating the doormen. They are all dressed in head-to-toe black, with matching little earpieces. They look like the security teams that my father is always surrounded by, a hell of a lot bigger though. You don’t see men built like that every day. They all seem like they are one solid flex away from bursting out of their expensive uniforms, their hair closely shorn to their heads, and are clean-shaven.

A few of the intruders shove the bouncers aside and push past them. Something is definitely not right here, and these don’t seem like the usual troublemakers. The pack of men charges through the patrons, parting the crowd as they march forward. Are they looking for somebody? As the owner’s daughter, is this the sort of thing that I’m supposed to intervene in?

My father hates whenever I ask about his business dealings. He would likely be pissed if I did so now. Should I call him? Feeling my stomach clench, I struggle against the rising wave of bile in my throat. No, whatever this is — I can handle it myself.

I put the champagne down as Rick grabs my arm. “Anya, don’t just let it be! Those guys are huge!”

I pull my arm from his grip and shake my head. “They don’t belong here.”

“And you’re going to do what exactly?” Rick moves for my arm again, just narrowly missing me a second time. “Those guys can bench press a tiny thing like you, Anya, you cannot go down there.

“Anya!” Rick hisses after me, but I’m already moving down the lounge steps and onto the main dance floor.

I force my spine straight, lifting my chin high, as I stride across the dance floor toward the intruders. Surprisingly, the people who had been dancing before move out of my way.

I don’t have a plan. I try to summon one with each step that I make toward the grouping, but my mind stays blank. Vastly outnumbered, they look like they can lift my entire body with only one hand.

As I draw nearer to them, one man steps forward – he’s different. He’s taller, his shoulders wider, a sort of intimidating presence to him that I find painfully attractive, which I feel instantly guilty about. I will not let them intimidate me any more than I let that blonde bully did.

I lift my chin and glare at him, placing my hands on my hips defiantly as if that will somehow make me larger. The man returns my glare, a tempest raging behind his dark eyes. He stares down at me and I quickly conceal any concern. I will not allow him to scent my fear. He rakes a hand through his short dark hair and shakes his head as he approaches me like a panther stalking its prey. He walks a half-circle around me, as if sizing me up. I refuse to turn to watch him despite the creeping sensation of fear up my spine.

I can’t deny that he is one of the most handsome men that I have ever seen. Tall and strongly built, he radiates an aura of power. He’s the sort of man that my rare late-night fantasies involve, settings much like this one. Only, in those fantasies, we would be somewhere a hell of a lot more private.

“Now, now, who do we have here?” he demands, raking his eyes over my body. I can hear an accent coating his words. Russian, maybe?

Steeling my gaze, I glare at him. “I could ask you the same question,” I retort, refusing to be intimidated.

“A woman with spunk,” he hisses, laughing. “Just how I don’t like them.” His gaze grows colder, and he exhales slowly. “My name is Nikolai Volkovich. You’ll want to remember that sweetheart since I’m the new boss around here.”

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