Page 50 of Baby for the Bratva

23

Yuri

Why does everything I do lately come with so much guilt?

I wipe Stella’s cream off my cock with a towel, tossing it to the side as I stand in front of the toilet to pee. Fucking her raw like that was one thing, but knowing she could get pregnant and getting off to that fact is another entirely.

To make things worse, I feel like I’m somehow celebrating the fact that some crazy woman pushed Chekhov into the ocean. He’s almost certainly dead, though it will be some time until his body is recovered.

The ocean is cold and unforgiving. People don’t last long after going overboard, especially not this late at night. The woman on the video had to have wanted to kill him, but why she did it remains unknown.

And that makes me so fucking angry. Nothing that’s happened on this cruise makes any sense to me. Someone sharing my name gets murdered. Okay, that’s not that unusual. I have a bounty on my head, after all.

But Chekhov’s murder is throwing me for a loop. I know it’s going to cause this mission to go south, and tonight is the only night I’ll get to share with Stella before things fall apart.

Perhaps it’s selfish of me to claim her so late in the game when I know things are about to get messy, but that’s exactly why I did it. It’s my last chance to have her. I’d regret not doing this more than I regret doing it.

I finish peeing and step into the shower, rinsing off quickly as I try to regain my composure. I shouldn’t have even mentioned Chekhov to Stella, but she already knew something was wrong. Hiding things from her feels wrong for some reason, even though she’s not part of the Bratva.

It’s actually against the rules to share so much with someone who hasn’t been initiated, but since we had sex, I like to think of her as a little more than an outsider. Besides, as the boss I’m allowed to bend the rules sometimes.

As I walk out of the bathroom, I find Stella snoring in the bed, sprawled out like a satisfied little starfish. My heart melts a little as I walk up to her. I should tell her that I have to leave and meet with my new right-hand man, Akim, but I don’t want to disturb her rest.

She looks peaceful on a level that would be impossible for me to experience.

So, I don’t wake her up. I scribble a quick note on the pad from the nightstand, tearing it off and laying it on the pillow beside her.

“Sweet dreams, darling,” I whisper, taking one last look at her before getting dressed and leaving.

I find Dima in the hallway, waiting like a statue with his hands clasped at his midsection. He’s always so rigid that I wonder if he’s even capable of bending over. It’s like someone put an iron rod up his ass.

“I’m going to meet with Akim,” I tell him. “Stella is in the room sleeping. Don’t go and wake her, but don’t let her leave either if she wakes up before I return. You can tell her I’m in a meeting.”

“Yes, sir.”

I give him a curt nod, moving down the hallway as I send a text to Akim to meet me in the upstairs lounge again. We’re going to talk about what we must do going forward, and I’m going to finish my damn cigar this time.

He’s already in the lounge when I arrive, sitting at a dusty table he dragged out into the center of the room. All the lights are on, but it still isn’t very bright. I think I prefer it better that way, though.

“Any news on the woman?” I ask, sliding into the chair across from him.

Akim shakes his head. “No, but I have as many people on it as I can. As long as she hasn’t somehow left the ship, we’ll find her.”

“If she was smart, she’d have a getaway plan,” I reply, pulling a cigar from my jacket pocket. I wave it toward him. “You want one?”

“Depends on how long we’ll be here,” he replies.

I hand him the cigar and toss him my cutter. “Long enough.”

We cut and light our cigars, puffing smoke into the room until the light bends from the haze. The air is still, and there doesn’t appear to be any ventilation in here, but that’s okay. The smoke is like therapy for me.

“Chekhov rushed from his room. He didn’t just walk out,” I begin, laying one hand on the table. “He goes because some woman, a stranger, wants to have sex with him. Seems odd, considering he should be on high alert. He’s always very paranoid.”

“Indeed. That’s not normal behavior.”

“But it had to have been about sex. I mean, he brought a condom,” I say, clenching my cigar between my teeth as I struggle to make sense of it.

“Maybe she already had him all worked up, then demanded he go back to his room for a condom at the last second.”

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