Page 8 of Lawless God

“By fucking me against my will?” I grunt, throwing the covers away from me and turning my back to him as I sit on the side of the bed.

I still haven’t released the gun. The letters tattooed on my knuckles are taut from how tightly I’m holding it. They’re scarred, disappearing slowly over time because of the street fights and teaching people not to fuck with me.

“I’m pretty sure being fucked against your will is the only thing that makes you wet at this point,” he mutters from his corner of the bed.

With a huff, I run my free hand over my face. I don’t know what I hate more. That he tried to test that theory, that he knows me well enough to have come to this conclusion…or that he’s right.

My mouth opens, intent on saying something helpful, but my brain has clearly given up on my relationship. “Don’t do this again, Ivan. I might not stop myself from shooting you next time.”

I finally put the gun back under my pillow, but I give up on going back to bed. I look at the time on my phone. Six thirty-three a.m.

“I’m gonna call my mom,” I mumble to myself, maybe a little for him too. So he doesn’t feel like me leaving the bed is just because I don’t want to be next to him.

Ivan and I have been together for four years, and I always wonder how I’ve let it last that long.

I should really let him go. We don’t share the same feelings. I can’t even have sex with him anymore without having that voice in the back of my head that screams I hate it.

I met Ivan when I was looking for the Bratva Wolves. The organization seems to have always had two goals in mind: money and discretion. Meeting a Wolf is about as likely as finding a rare diamond in a mine. It’s about as dangerous too.

Who would be crazy enough to look for an organization that goes by one motto.

A Wolf’s face is the last thing you see.

Me.

But I wasn’t crazy. I was desperate.

I did many things in my life that should have resulted in my death. And yet here I am. Still standing, unbreakable and unbeatable. And dating a Wolf.

Mine and Ivan’s meet-cute wasn’t exactly out of a romantic film. It was calculated.

Every night, for two months, I waited outside Vue Club on the South Bank of Silver Falls. The side of the city where North Shore trash like me doesn’t belong.

The place seems like a normal club on the upper levels, but the underground structure hosts a BDSM club where some Wolves meet. A place where they do business discreetly while enjoying themselves.

I had no chance of getting in. I knew that. And even if I did, I knew no important player really went to that place.

But any Wolf would do. I just needed to meet one of them.

Until Ivan and his friend stumbled out drunk one night. Drunk enough that the friend had forgotten to button up his shirt after their night of enjoying women, and his tattoo of the seven phases of the moon—the Wolves tattoo—showed beautifully under the streetlamps. They walked to their car, and I took my chance.

You shouldn’t drink and drive, I said carefully.

It took a minute while I waited for their “compliments” about my body to stop. But then they realized I was right.

Where do you need to go? I’ll drive you.

It was my luck that they were too far gone to clock how strange it was to have a random woman offer them chauffeur service. I drove them back to a mansion they were staying at in the neighboring town called Stoneview. Where the one percent lives.

Where the Wolves do business with politicians and CEOs. The kind of business I would never even dream of.

They offered me to come in. I refused. The next night, I was waiting at the back of the club again. I drove them back home again.

On the third, I told them I was looking for a job and they needed to compensate me for my services. They did. In a matter of weeks, I was part of a dangerous gang by day, and Bratva chauffeur by night.

And guess what kind of private place the Wolves talk business in?

Their car.

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