Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

Updated recap: I’m not gonna be dancing with any other men in the foreseeable future.

And Ruslan won’t be taking fake dates to his social events anymore.

That’s what I call a successful night.

I can’t help doing a little shoulder shimmy in the bathroom mirror. I thought I’d be a total mess when I rushed in, but apart from smudged lipstick and mild sex hair, I don’t look that bad. It takes a few minutes to apply a fresh coat of lipstick and comb out the knots in my hair with my fingers. Once that’s done, though, I look like the picture of class and elegance.

If you can forget the fact that I’d indulged in some very public sex with my boss while his entire social circle listened on.

Which you can only believe if you believe Jessica Allens.

Which I’m hoping no one does.

Once I’ve made sure my dress is on properly and nothing is peeping out—going commando and thigh-high slits are not a great combo—I stare at my reflection in the dazzling water-ripple mirrors that take up half the bathroom wall.

I can’t miss the glow on my cheeks, the brightness in my eyes. It’s hard not to feel like you’re walking on air when the man you’ve been pining for basically claims you as his own.

The feminist in me puts up a half-hearted fight—but the romantic in me is giddy with joy.

Emma and Ruslan sitting in a tree…

I have to stop spending time with Caroline and Reagan. Those two are a bad influence.

I scowl at myself in the mirror with all the seriousness I can muster. I’m a grown ass woman and I need to conduct myself accordingly. To that end, I’m thankful I haven’t gone off birth control. Ruslan has been diligent about wearing condoms lately, but he’d definitely forgone the wrapper this time.

Not that I’m complaining.

A startling image pops into my head. One that includes me and Ruslan—and a baby that looks like a mix of both of us.

My ovaries promptly do a backflip.

I push the thought right back out of my head, because it doesn’t belong anywhere in this emotional zip code. I’m not even technically dating him. Thinking about babies is, at best, laughably premature. At worst, it’s a complete fucking nightmare.

I take three deep breaths and head out of the bathroom with my head held high and my big girl pants on, metaphorically speaking.

“Well, well, well…”

I whirl around, taken aback by a nasal voice I’d hoped I’d never have to hear again. “Remmy,” I hiss.

The reporter ogles me with a wide grin that makes my whole body pucker up. “Missed me?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He’s wearing a sad gray suit and a purple bow tie, both of which have seen much better days. His face has, too—I can still see fading marks where Ruslan did God knows what to him. He pushes himself off the wall and walks over to me with a blustery confidence that he certainly didn’t have last time we interacted.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a reporter—and I’m here for a story.”

I shake my head. “There’s no story here.”

“Funny. That’s exactly what your boss said the last time we spoke. Right before he beat the shit out of me and drove me across the border in the trunk of his lackey’s car.”

That does explain the bruises.

“Seems like a pretty dumb move for you to be here at all then, don’t you think?”

He shrugs, pulling out a small recording device from his inner jacket pocket. “Sometimes, the risk is worth the reward. It could be for you, too.”

“If you think I’m gonna give you an interview, then you’re out of your—”

“You’re putting those kids in danger by associating with him,” he interrupts. “You know that, right?”

Fear rips through me. Not because of what he’s said; more because he’s mentioned the kids at all. “You stay the fuck away from them!”

He holds up his hands. “I don’t mean them any harm.”

“If Ruslan knows you’re here, he’ll kill you.” My attempts to scare him into leaving don’t seem to be working. But the mere thought of him laying his grimy paws on Rae’s hair makes me taste bile. “Just… just leave me and my family the hell alone, Remmy. I want nothing to do with you. I’m not gonna give you what you want.”

He sneers down his newly crooked nose at me. “Disappointing. But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you won’t rat out Ruslan Oryolov. Why would you? It’s not easy to fuck over the guy you’re fucking.” I stiffen instantly and his chuckling leer becomes all the more pronounced. “I must say, fucking your secretary is wholly unoriginal. I would have expected more from Ruslan.”

Since I’m not about to deny it, I decide to walk away.

“I have a tape!” he blurts.

That has me stopping in my tracks. I slowly pivot on the spot. “What?”

He laughs without blinking—creepy—and holds up the recording device. “Let me take you back to a few minutes ago. You and Ruslan. Moaning and groaning against that wall—” He gestures over to the wall Ruslan took me against. “—fucking like rabbits.”

A tiny zip of panic unsettles my stomach. But it’s gone as soon as it comes. “So if I don’t give you dirt on Ruslan, you’re gonna make that tape public?”

“You’re a smart one.”

I squint at the device he’s wiggling in my direction. “Wish I could return the compliment.” His smile vanishes. “That’s an audio recorder, am I right?”

His hand drops. “Yes.”

I shrug. “How can you prove it’s me on that tape? Without visual evidence, how can you prove it’s Ruslan on the tape?”

He bares his teeth. “People trust me—”

I scoff. “I think you’ll find that you don’t have the reach or the reputation that you seem to believe you do. You want to put that tape out there? Go right ahead. Frankly, I don’t give a damn.”

The last traces of his smug smile disappears completely. He glares at me with wide eyes and flared nostrils. “Wait… wait!”

I walk away without glancing back. But I do give him a parting warning over my shoulder. “I suggest you run, Remmy. Run now. Run fast.”

I don’t make eye contact with anyone when I enter the Onyx Room and veer straight towards my table. I know I’m the center of attention right now, and perhaps not for the right reasons—but I’m finding it hard to care. The only person whose eyes I want on me are Ruslan’s.

I have that from the moment I step inside.

And, the moment I sit down, his hand finds its way onto my thigh. That’s right where it belongs, too. He smells like me, his usual oaky musk underlined by the faint scent of citrus.

“You took longer than I expected.”

I ignore the eagle-eyed gaze I’m getting from Ruslan’s uncle and lean towards him. “I was stopped by someone outside the bathroom. Remmy.”

A shadow passes across Ruslan’s face. He’s too composed in public for his jaw to drop or his eyebrows to fly up his forehead, but I know where to look and so I see all the signs of a murderous rage. “Remmy?” he rasps. “You’re sure?”

When I nod, Ruslan snaps his fingers to get Kirill’s attention. The two of them whisper back and forth for a few seconds. I have no idea the specifics of the order that Ruslan gives Kirill, but I’m willing to bet it’s along the lines of “take out the trash; burn it if you have to.”

I expect him to take off with Kirill, but Ruslan stays right where he is.

His hand never leaves my knee.