Twilight Sins (Kulikov Bratva Book 1)

As if the blackened bacon and watery, snotty-looking eggs weren’t enough of a sign that I should put down the frying pan and permanently evacuate the kitchen, the smoke alarm chimes in with an ear-splitting shriek.

“The toast!” I spin around and pop the toaster, but it’s too late. I didn’t just burn the bread—I cremated it.

I drop four slices of black, ashy toast into the trash can and then dive for a cookie sheet to fan the smoke alarm.

I’m climbing onto the countertop with the cookie sheet under my arm when Yakov walks in.

“What in the hell are you doing?” He’s squinting against the noise, his massive shoulders scrunched up around his ears.

Up until twenty seconds ago, he was still asleep. I snuck out of bed before dawn to prepare this shitshow.

“Making breakfast!” I yell.

He shakes his head. “What?”

I yell louder, still fanning the smoke. “Everything burnt and the alarm went off! I was trying to surprise you, but⁠—”

Yakov hops onto the counter in one move the way normal humans would take a step. His arm bands around my waist so I don’t fall as he stretches up and presses the button on the smoke alarm.

Instantly, the noise cuts out.

“I didn’t know that button existed,” I mumble.

Yakov bounds down off the counter and holds out a hand. I take it, sliding off and down the entire length of his body. Including the very noticeable bulge at the front of his sweatpants.

Yakov winces and I jolt back like it’s electrified. And like I’m not already very friendly with that particular boner.

The last couple days, we’ve been more passing acquaintances than friends, though. Only because Yakov has been busy. Before that, we were tight. I was hoping we’d be tight once again after I flipped the tables and made him a nice breakfast.

I wave an arm at the counter and grimace. “Well… surprise.”

“You made breakfast.”

“Bacon, eggs, and toast. Er—bacon and eggs. The toast set off the smoke alarm.” I drop my face into my hands. “You don’t have to eat it.”

He pries my hands away from my face. “You’re mumbling into your fingers. I can’t hear you.”

I look up at him and it’s the first time we’ve been this close in a few days. I almost forgot how tall he is. How intimidating it is to look up at his sharp jawline.

I pick up a piece of shriveled bacon. “The pigs who died for this burnt-up mess are going to haunt me for wasting their sacrifice.”

Yakov grabs the bacon and takes a bite and the entire strip splinters into hundreds of pieces. It sounds like he’s chewing sawdust.

“Please don’t eat that.” I try to swat the rest out of his hand, but he holds it too high above my head. “Benjy always said eating my cooking was a form of torture, but I thought he was being an asshole.”

“He is an asshole,” Yakov growls.

“But he was right, too. That’s torture, isn’t it?”

Yakov reaches around me to make a plate. “I told you, I’ve been trained to endure torture. It’s fine.”

“It’s not supposed to be torture, though. It was supposed to be nice and—” The word “romantic” dies in my throat.

Was I hoping this breakfast would keep Yakov in the mansion with me for more than ten minutes? Sure.

Was there a small part of me that thought my whimsical take on the classic American breakfast would blow his mind enough that he’d lift me onto the counter and eat me for dessert? I’ll never tell.

Yakov spoons a bite of watery eggs into his mouth and swallows. He really must be able to withstand torture. He doesn’t even flinch.

“You don’t have to cook. That’s why I hire a chef.”

“But you still cook sometimes. Why do you bother if you have a chef?”

“Because I’m good at it.” He doesn’t look sorry for the dig, exactly, but he takes an even bigger bite of eggs. “I play to my strengths. You can do that, too. You have plenty of them.”

It’s an insult wrapped in a compliment. I’m not entirely sure what to do with it. The compliment least of all. “I don’t think marathon reading sessions and digging holes in the dirt are going to win me any awards.”

“Is that going well? The garden?”

I shrug. “I planted seeds and watered them. No signs of radioactive plants or unholy ground yet, so I think I’m doing okay.”

He nods, but there’s no hint of a smile. No fun quip tossed back my way.

After the bathtub debacle, I thought maybe the hot-and-cold roller coaster ride was over. Things seemed to be balmy, trending towards boiling.

Now, we’re tepid, at best, and I don’t know what happened.

“If I’m lucky, I’ll grow a Little Shop of Horrors plant.”

“Unfamiliar,” he says around another gritty bite of bacon.

“It’s a musical. A Venus flytrap with a taste for blood and a kickass baritone. I wouldn’t mind a little song and dance around here.” I circle my finger on the marble countertop. “Might liven things up a bit.”

Yakov stands up and rinses his plate in the sink. “Good luck with that.”

“Do you have work to do today?”

I hate the desperate edge in my voice. I’m not the woman who sits around and waits for a man. I don’t want to be, at least.

He grabs his coffee cup. “I’ll be in and out. Mostly out.”

With that, he’s gone. The office door clicks closed and I sag against the counter.

I’m not that woman… mostly because there is no one to wait for. It’s not just Yakov being busy. It’s the fact that Hope has had the last few days off, I can’t call Kayla, and…

Yeah, okay, it is mostly about Yakov.

I thought we were getting to a place where he’d start letting me in. Emotionally but also on a practical level. Things like “Who the fuck is after me?” would be a good place to start. How long can he keep me here alone and in the dark?

I don’t want to think that Yakov spending time with me and playing games was a trick. But if it was a trick… it would be a really, really good one. I let my guard down. Now, I’m so busy being twisted up over him that I’m not thinking about when I’m finally going to get the hell out of here.

I pour food into Gregory’s dish, which is my cat’s version of a siren call. Fifteen seconds later, Gregory comes running down the hallway, tail high, ears up.

“Food is definitely the way to your stomach,” I mumble.

Gregory ignores me and dives to the bottom of his bowl. He hasn’t been as cuddly since he got to the mansion. I suspect he’s getting his daily dose of cuddles from another, much more muscular member of the household. But I haven’t confirmed that theory. Yet.

I’m thinking about whether I could order and set up cameras of my own. Maybe a cat collar camera to catch Gregory and Yakov in the act. And then I realize what I’m doing.

“Human interaction,” I say to myself. “I need human interaction.”

I march towards Yakov’s office door before I can stop myself.

I’ll ask him if I can call Kayla. Just a phone call. Preferably one where he isn’t leaning over my shoulder to make sure everything I say is approved. Ten minutes of talking to my best friend might pull me out of this funk and give me some perspective.

Kay makes up for her terrible taste in potential suitors for me by being a rock-solid support system. She told me once she always has an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, and an uncle with a woodchipper if the first two don’t help.

I stop outside of Yakov’s office door and raise my hand to knock—just as I hear my name on the other side.

“This has nothing to do with Luna,” Yakov growls.

I didn’t see anyone go into his office. He must be on the phone.

Turn around, I tell myself. Walk away and give him his privacy.

Instead, I lean in closer and press my ear to the door.

I wait, but I don’t hear anything inside. No voices. No movement. Maybe being alone in this house is making me crazy. I’m having hallucinations.

I’m about to stand up again and knock when the door suddenly flies open. Yakov’s broad shoulders fill the door frame. “What are you doing?”

I jump back and smile. “I was coming to see you.”

“Hard to do that through a wooden door.” One brow angles up. He might as well shine a flashlight in my face and snarl that we can do this “the easy way or the hard way.”

“I was about to knock.”

“I don’t like to be interrupted when I’m working.” He steps out of the room and pulls the door closed behind him. “Do you need something?”

Human companionship. A hug. A time machine so I can go back and undo approaching your office in the first place.

“I wanted to say hi.” I rock from my heels to toes and back again. “So… hi.”

I could ask him about calling Kayla, but I know what the answer would be. I gave the slightest tug on the leash and he’s acting like he caught me climbing out a window or scaling the fences. Asking to talk to Kayla would set off too many alarm bells.

Yakov presses his hand to my lower back and leads me down the hallway. “I have to leave for a bit. If you need anything, talk to someone on staff or security. They can help you.”

Don’t call me. That’s what he’s really saying. If you need something, talk to someone else.

Yakov leaves me a few steps away from the bedroom. Like he doesn’t want to get too close. “I’ll be back later.”

I wave and smile. But the moment the front door clicks closed, I make my way back across the house to his office.

He always locks the door behind him. I’ve seen him do it.

But he didn’t lock it just now.

There’s a chance the door automatically locks behind him. It could also open with some high-tech eye or thumbprint scanner. I wouldn’t be surprised one bit.

But when I twist the handle and push… the door opens.

I’m not the woman who sits around and waits for a man’s permission. I’m the woman who takes what she needs.

Whether Yakov wants me to or not.