Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

“You better get going! You don’t want to be late,” I half-giggle, half-moan.

Pasha growls against my neck, “I don’t want to be leaving at all. I’d rather bend you over the table right here and have you for breakfast.”

I swat at his wandering hands. One of us has to be responsible, and it looks like that’s me today. “You already ate. Twice.” I bite back a moan when he nibbles the sweet spot near my shoulder. “And there’s no bending me over anything. I’m the size of a beached whale.”

“Won’t stop me from trying.”

“You’re terrible!” I exclaim with a laugh. “Now, go. Shoo! I need to get everything ready for your mother’s birthday.”

Pasha sighs. “Fine. I’ll be at the office if you need me.”

I hand him his phone and check his wrist for the watch that he doesn’t always remember to put on. The longer we live together, the more I’m picking up on tiny little quirks I don’t think he’s even aware of.

When I met him, I thought he was a god. An angel, at the very least.

I still do. Now, I just know that he’s an angel who forgets to put on deodorant sometimes.

“I will need you at Chez Moliere at noon,” I inform him. “Noon, and not a minute sooner.”

He winks at me on the way to the front door. “I love it when you’re bossy.”

I steal one more kiss before making sure the door latches behind him. Then I get to work making our bed before I settle into the closet to pick out an outfit for Asya’s birthday luncheon. I strip the sheets for washing and replace them with a fresh set, grateful he listened to me when I refused to hire a maid.

I don’t need some stranger figuring out just how often we have sex.

Hint: it’s a lot.

Like, a lot.

But just as frequent as our lovemaking is our heart-to-heart conversations about the things on our minds. Sometimes, it’s just venting about the day; sometimes, we delve into memories that make us laugh or make us understand each other’s darker sides a bit better.

Pasha never goes into great detail. I never press for it. I’m just grateful he’s willing to give me as much as he does.

I’m even more grateful he’s kept to his end of the deal we made.

Does he still storm off into his home office when we have a heated disagreement? Yes.

Does he leave the door open and not say a word when I eventually wander in to sit nearby? Also yes.

Did we have an especially feisty debate the other day over something so stupid, I felt compelled to walk in, drop to my knees between his legs, and suck his soul through his dick?

You bet your ass I did.

The vibration of my phone pulls me out of my daydreams and back to cold, ugly reality.

“Nope.” I shut the ringer off hastily. “Not today, Satan.”

Conrad’s attempt at an incognito number disappears from the screen. I don’t know how the hell he got my new contact info, but I have my suspicions.

They rhyme with “Teeth” and “Odd.”

I save the number just so I have it in case I need the records later. Such as for a restraining order.

DICKHEAD: Pick up the phone, Nay

DICKHEAD: We need to talk

“No, we do not.” I don’t even bother responding to him. It’s wasting my thumbs trying to text a brick wall.

BRIT THE BITCH: Answer your fucking phone!

BRIT THE BITCH: It’s important!

Figuring out how Brittany got my number isn’t rocket science. With Conrad being down one hand, it makes sense that she’d do his dirty work for him.

They make a perfectly pathetic pair.

When my phone keeps buzzing, I put it on Do Not Disturb and set an alarm to remind me to grab it before I leave. I’m not going to waste my time or energy dealing with their bullshit.

But right before I set it down to forget it for a while, a different name and number pops up on the screen. Someone I actually want to talk to for a change!

“Hazey Baby, what’s up?”

“Are you sitting down?”

I don’t like the sound of her voice. She’s dead serious. I ease myself onto my vanity chair and reach for the jar of moisturizer. “Now, I am. What’s going on?”

“Conrad came by my place this morning. Like, not even an hour ago.”

I go still. “What did he want?”

“What else? You. He kept demanding to see you, and wouldn’t believe me when I told him you don’t live here. Literally shoved his way into my home just to make sure you weren’t hiding in a closet from him.”

“Shit, Haze! Are you okay?”

She scoffs. “I’m fine, just shaken. And also shaking, like, with fucking rage. Who does that? Who the hell does he think he is?”

“I am so sorry you had to deal with that.”

“Girl, for you? I’d take a bullet. I’d take the whole clip if I needed to. I just wanted you to know in case he’s trying to pull some bullshit.”

“Like always.” Sure enough, he’s still trying to call me when I don’t respond to his barrage of texts. I hit the button to send him straight to voicemail. “Thanks, though. You’re a real one.”

“You wanna know the best part?”

My ears perk up. “There’s a best part?”

“Big time. Have you seen his hand?”

I pause midway through blending my foundation into my skin. His hand?

Oh. Right.

The one Pasha broke into pieces.

“I, uh… Not yet. Is it mangled?”

“So, overall, dude looks like shit. I don’t know when the last time he’s bathed, or eaten a healthy meal, or what. He’s losing it. But his hand? Girl. Girl. Your man did a number! Honestly, I’m genuinely shocked they didn’t amputate.”

The compassionate Good Citizen in me, the one who abides by the law and cares for people no matter how bad they are, cringes.

The Bad Bitch who’s carrying a mob boss’s baby doesn’t give a flying fuck.

Actually, she does—in that she wants to see the thorough job her man did to her enemy.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a picture, would you?” I cannot believe I just asked that.

“No, sorry. I was too busy trying to get his ugly ass out of my apartment. But if you want a close likeness, just do a search for ‘hamburger inside glove.’”

My jaw drops. “That bad?”

“Honestly, worse. Well, anyway, I gotta go. I’ll let you know if his dumb ass shows up again. And I’ll take pics if he does.”

“Thanks. Love you. Oh!” I grab my phone as if it will stop her from hanging up just yet. “One more thing: I’m gonna go ahead and change my phone number. Again.”

“Say less. Just text me so I have the new one. Love you.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Conrad may be a lunatic and Brittany might be every bit as bad. But Hazel still loves me. Pasha still loves me. My sister still loves me.

What else could I possibly need?