Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

“I cannot get over this look!” Phoebe declares as she follows me into the living room.

The kids are already asleep so we’re both talking softly and walking slow. Well, I’m walking slow. The three-inch Prada heels I’m wearing weren’t exactly made for running.

“And, wow, not to bury the lede here, but your ass looks amazing from back here.”

I spin around for her benefit. The truth is, I feel pretty dang good. And not just because of the sequined Valentino mini I’m wearing. Tonight is my club date with Ruslan and I’m all squidgy inside with excitement.

We’re actually going to be out in public together—a couple for the world to see.

It’s about freaking time.

“If only I had a camera on me. We need to memorialize this moment so that you can look back forty years from now and remember what a hot bod you had.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t you worry. I’ll have a hot body forty years from now, too.”

“Ooh! I like the confidence. This new Emma is definitely an upgrade.”

“New Emma?”

“Oh, brand spanking new.” Phoebe wags her eyebrows at me. “Let’s face it: you’ve transformed these last couple of months. You went from a stressed, tired, worried little caterpillar into a confident, happy, sexy sequined butterfly clothed in designer like it ain’t nothin’.”

I cringe. “He keeps buying me expensive clothes—”

“And you need to keep accepting them. For my sake, if not for yours. I’m borrowing this dress when you’re done with it, by the way.”

I laugh. “No prob—”

I stop short when I see Ben’s shadow come up behind Phoebe. She steps to the side with distaste, making no secret of the fact that she barely tolerates his presence. That makes two of us.

His eyes land on my dress. “The fuck’re you going?”

“Out,” I snap shortly.

His eyes veer to Phoebe. “What’s she doing here?”

“She is staying over to look after your kids,” Phoebe retorts before I can answer.

Ben doesn’t even acknowledge her. I wonder if he forgets that Phoebe was Sienna’s friend, too. That she lost Si, just like he and I did.

If he does remember that, he shows no sign of it. He just refocuses his glare on me. He’s been a little extra abrasive since the night Ruslan threatened to cut his hand off, though he’s kept his distance.

“I need to talk to you,” he growls.

“I’m about to leave, Ben.”

“Well, this is important. I need—”

The knock-knock-knock at the door has his mouth clamping shut. Phoebe gives me a satisfied smile. “Ruslan has excellent timing. Another point in his favor.” She wiggles her fingers at me. “Have an amazing time, Cinderella.”

She shoots me a wink and disappears down the hall towards my room. I walk over to the door but pause before I open it. “What did you wanna talk to me about?”

He scowls. “That him?”

“Yes.”

He blanches and backs away towards his room. “We’ll talk later then.”

Suppressing a smile, I open the door and walk right into Ruslan’s arms. I drop a kiss on his lips and, when I turn to close the door, Ben’s already disappeared.

“You look sexy as hell,” Ruslan rumbles as he curls an arm around my waist. “I might have to get a taste of you right here and now.”

“Right back atcha.” I finger his open collared shirt as I lean close and add in a seductive whisper, “But if you think I’m letting you get me naked in this roach-infested hallway, you’ve lost your mind.”

He laughs and nips at my neck, then we make our way out of the building and out into the heart of the city. I really must look sexy because he doesn’t take his hands off me. With the exception of getting in and out of the SUV, he has at least one palm on my waist at all times. You’d think the possessiveness would be claustrophobic, but I can’t stop smiling.

His club is understated on the outside. I particularly love the dark tunnel adorned with black and whites of old New York City. But the moment we enter the body of the beast, it feels like I’ve stepped from the past into the future.

Neon. Bass. Roving lights, dancers on high pedestals, so much to see and hear and smell in every direction that I don’t even know where to begin.

Ruslan’s arm only winds tighter around me as he drops his lips to my ear. “What do you want to do?”

“Mr. Control Freak is asking me what I want to do?”

His grin is intoxicating. “Thought I’d mix things up for once.”

“Then I want to dance!”

Cheesing from ear to ear, I drag him onto the middle of the dance floor. A huge, studded disco ball revolves overhead, bathing us in strobe lights as the music intensifies.

When was the last time I was in a club? When was the last time I danced? It’s been so long ago that the last dancing partner I can remember is Sienna. I brace myself for the usual pang that comes up whenever I think of her—but for once, I don’t feel sad that she’s gone.

I’m just grateful I got those wild, carefree moments with her, however brief they were.

I keep a hand on Ruslan’s shoulder while I roll my body into his. The music is so loud that I can feel it in my bones. The only way to communicate is through body language. Luckily, Ruslan knows exactly how to communicate with his. I shouldn’t be surprised, really—the man is good at everything.

He spins me around, pulling me close enough to slide his hand up my skirt. The way his hands glide over me, touching and caressing without ever lingering for too long—it feels like a dance in and of itself. A dance meant to drive me crazy. Every time his fingers run up my inner thigh or snake over my breasts, I shudder with longing, wondering just how far his public sex fetish is capable of going.

I’m pretty sure the answer is, He’d fuck you right here if you let him.

At one point, I tease him right back by flicking my tongue over his salty neck. He answers by pulling me against him so tightly that I can feel his erection at my thigh. He slides his own tongue into my mouth and the music kind of fades into the background. When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless and completely wet.

On second thought, fuck the games. I need more.

“Restroom,” I mouth to him. “Now.”

He smirks and nods once. I bite my lip suggestively and walk backwards off the dance floor, making eye contact with him the whole time.

The restrooms on the bottom floor are packed, dozens of women queued up for their turn. So I head up the stairs to try my luck with the bathrooms on the second mezzanine. Maybe they’ll afford us a little more privacy. Before I can even locate the bathroom, I feel his presence behind me.

Hm, he’s following more closely than I thought. Someone’s eager…

But when he grips me tight around the elbow and whips me around, my excitement turns to dread. His smell is wrong. His presence feels different. This touch promises pain, not pleasure.

Then I realize that it’s not Ruslan who followed me at all.

“Remmy!” My eyes bulge with shock.

“You look sexy.”

It’s amazing how the exact same compliment can give you two completely different reactions. Ruslan made me feel like I was the only woman in the world.

Remmy is making me feel like I’m cornered prey.

“You need to get a fucking life!”

I reach for my phone so that I can call Ruslan but Remmy slaps it out of my hand. When I reach down to get it, he twists my arm and yanks me into him.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Get off me!”

“No,” he hisses. “Not until you give me what I want.”

I would scream if it weren’t for the fact that the music is so damn loud and not one solitary soul in this building will hear me. Which leaves me with two options.

Option one: wait for someone to pass by so that I can get their attention.

Or option two—fight back.

I like the second option better.

Summoning up all my courage, I push Remmy back as hard as I can and try to race around him. He stumbles momentarily, but he still manages to grab me by the waist and reel me backwards before I can get away. Reacting blindly, I stomp down. My heel digs into the toe of his wingtips and he howls in pain.

These Prada heels may not have been made for running. But they work pretty damn well for fighting.

I take advantage of his wild hopping and kick him in the balls. I don’t even realize how close we are to the staircase until Remmy loses his balance and starts to fall.

Finally. A fight I fucking won for a change.

The relief stops at my throat—right when his hand grabs a hold of my ankle. “No—!” I get the wind knocked out of me as he pulls me down with him and we both go soaring into the air above the staircase.

First, there’s fear.

Then there’s pain.

Then there’s nothing at all.